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taylorxtiva · 2 months

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I will never get over the fact that Ziva is pregnant at this exact moment and neither of them have any idea 🫠

GIF: found on tenor.com/gifer.com, but originally @harmandmac’s!

#tiva #ncis #cote de pablo #michael weatherly #tali dinozzo #ziva david #michaelweatherly #cotedepablo #tony and ziva #anthony dinozzo #naval criminal investigative service #tony x ziva #otp #tali dinozzo david #past present future #whiskey tango foxtrot #season 11 #11x02 #in the wind

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danidoesathing · 10 months

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Lonesome Dreams + Titles Cards

#more funky title cards love to see it #please more the next album I love them so so much #lord huron #lord huron lonesome dreams #lonesome dreams #lord huron gif #huron #lord huron gifs #ends of the earth #she lit a fire #in the wind #time to run #the ghost on the shore #the man who lives forever #dani speaks

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labellepetitefleursauvage · 7 months

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You've been gone for a long long time

You've been in the wind, you've been on my mind

You are the purest soul I've ever known in my life

#lord huron #lonesome dreams #in the wind #this might be the most beautiful song ever #I don’t cry almost every time I listen to it #Spotify

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bombshelllblonde · 2 months

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DEATH IS A WALL BUT IT CANT BE THE END!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YOU WERE MY PROTECTOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

AND MY BEST FRIEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#lord huron #lonesome dreams #in the wind #ugh this is so arthur coded #i love him #i love arthur morgan #screaming crying throwing up

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kalahs-beautiful-realm · 1 year

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Art by, PacificDash. (Nocturne)

#art #bright night #black horse #purple #white hair #full moon #imaginative art #beautiful #beauty #in the wind #peaceful #fantasy art #nocturne #nocturnal #awake

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cedarboughs · 2 years

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Album climaxes: the Lord Huron quartet

#lord huron #lonesome dreams #strange trails #vide noir #long lost #in the wind #way out there #what do it mean #music #indie #indie folk #indie rock

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prairiedaun · 8 months

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In the Wind - Lord Huron (Alive From Whispering Pines) [subtitled]

I just really love them.

#youtube #lord huron #in the wind

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euesworld · 1 year

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"As the wind blows you kisses across your skin and blows your hair around, I can't help but to be enticed by the sound of your voice and how I love having you near me.. the wind is such a lucky thing to get away with touching every inch of your body in broad daylight like that. I could only wish it were tonight so I can do the same.."

I wish I were the wind for a day so I could touch you as I may - eUë

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soulinkpoetry · 11 months

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You wanted me to forget you. I try my hardest.

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.I reposted due to a typo

#your name #trying to forget #in the wind #soulinkpoetry #poetry #she writes #thoughts #feelings #poets on tumblr #that’s life #it is what it is

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jianghuchild · 3 months

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In The Wind

I wrote this story a couple years ago, as a response to my anxieties about the Russian invasion of Ukraine, the pandemic, and the idea that lifelong separation often disguises itself as something much more trivial.

I was angry with you that night, the last night we would ever see each other. You’d forgotten to take out the trash again. The house was a mess, and the twins were bouncing off the walls.

“How many times do I have to say this?” I told you, voice stringent. “I can’t put my foot down anywhere. Look at this.” I picked up the papers strewn across the dining table and slapped them back down. I kicked at the cardboard boxes blocking the hallway. “And this. Malachi, take that out of your mouth. Mara, watch your brother.”

“Gonna see gramma, gonna see gramma,” the kids chanted, either gleefully oblivious to my ire or purposefully ignorant.

“It’s fine,” you said, flapping a hand at me. “I’ll clean it when we get back.”

My annoyance simmered all night and flared to new life the next morning. The wind was so strong it almost blew us apart and I just managed to wrangle the kids into the airport’s stillness. I watched you pat your jacket, a look of infuriating innocence on your face.

“Where’s my passport…” you mumbled. The PA system chimed and announced that our flight was boarding. And here we were, stuck at check-in. You looked up, apology in your eyes. “You take the kids. I’ll catch the next flight.”

Looking back, I imagine that I felt a prickle of unease go down my spine. But maybe it was just the last vestiges of my frustration. Should I have stayed?

No, I would have said, It’s alright. We’ll go home together.

But the kids twisted in my sweaty hands and annoyance made tangled knots of my thoughts and if truth be shamefully told I wanted to punish you. And, not so shamefully, I am glad for my selfishness because it took the kids with me.

“Let’s go,” was what I really said, tugging on their hands. “Your father will catch up.” Mara turned to look back at you curiously. I gave her a gentle tug. “Come on. Time to go see gramma.”

Did you know what would happen? Sometimes, when I am desperate for poetry, when I am hungry for some sense to the closed borders and gas shortages, I imagine that you must have. I imagine that you knew the airlines would shut down and we could no longer stay in the country and that you made some great sacrifice to push us to safety. I imagine I am the ill-fated heroine in a tragic play, watching the threads unravel into my inevitable epilogue.

But I am weaving story where it doesn’t exist. Because of course you didn’t know. How could any of us know, if even the presidents and prime ministers did not?

You’ll be glad to know I watch the news now. I don’t do it like you did, with a rice bowl in your left hand and a foot propped up on the edge of your chair. I do it sitting straight, fingers stilled on my chopsticks and a mug half-raised to my lips.

And sometimes I don’t, because sometimes a man with blue eyes in a windless mansion drools false sympathy into the TV.

“I hear what you’re saying, Sarah, I do,” he lies, and says words like “collateral damage” and “economic recession.”

Malachi asked me when we could go home, some months or weeks after we left. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that this was home. I stroked his nose with my knuckle and smiled.

“Well, the airplanes are very tired.” He swung his legs in his seat. I glanced at his clumsy letters. “But planes like boys who work hard, so if you do well in school maybe they’ll make you an exception.”

I refused to feel guilty for the lie. We all need some false hope.

My mother and I watch the news together, sometimes. That man, Jared Thompson or Karl Cobbler or whatever his name is. (I know the news anchor’s name, but I am trying to make a point.) The blue-eyed man smiles genially from his tall ivory office.

“He reminds me of someone,” says my mother. “We didn’t have TV back then.”

She takes my hand in hers. I trace her finger, slightly bent at the same angle as mine. I’m startled to find I have callouses in the same places she does. The air is heavy, so I grab a cracked banana leaf fan and fan us both. The weight in my chest does not lift.

Mara lost her temper once. (More than once, but I am telling this story so it makes sense. At least in my head, I need this to make sense.) I took her to get the E string on her half-size violin replaced, and she wouldn’t get out of the car.

“Dad will fix it,” she said.

No, he won’t, I tried to say, but the words stuck like a fishbone in my throat.

“Of course he will,” I said instead, “but in the meantime you still want to play it, don’t you?” I perched on the cracked leather of the backseat and reached for her hand. She jerked it away, tucking her toy into her armpit.

“Dad will fix it,” she said again.

My own string snapped with a sting. I grabbed Mara’s tiny elbow and tugged. She shrieked. I yanked harder, but she scrabbled against the flaking leather and kicked her Skechers in my face.

“Fine!” I snapped, red face and wind-tossed hair giving the impression of a smoking fire. I slammed the back door and jerked myself into the driver’s seat, muttering all the way. “You want to play with a broken toy, you do that. I drive all this way, waste precious gas, you little ingrate—” The seatbelt jerked to a stop in my impatient hands and I resisted the urge to tear it to shreds.

Mara cradled her broken violin in her skinny arms. When we got home, I rested my forehead against the steering wheel until my mother coaxed me out of the car.

I’m a light sleeper. I bar the windows so the night wind will not wake me. I always got annoyed with you for opening the bedroom windows. Now, alone in my bed, the air stagnant as a dead summer, I pretend I am arguing with you. In my mind you slide the windows open and I grumble as the draft slides cold fingers down my arms.

“You’ll swallow the sky and float away in your sleep,” I mumble.

“A little breeze is good,” you say. You wrap your furnace of a body around mine. “The wind will carry me to you.”

My eyes snap open. The sheets are cold and the air is still. I turn on my side. The windows in this house aren’t the sliding glass kind like we used to have. They’re shutters that swing open like doors, bolted from the inside.

Eventually I tire of watching the news. When the blue-eyed man says words like “our heroes” and “liberation,” I stand at the door and watch the dirt road like a forlorn girl in one of those romances. Your silhouette never breaks through the dust. The road throws up eddies of dirt but the wind is aimless and smells of spider lilies. (I don’t know what spider lilies smell like.)

Malachi graduates middle school at the top of his class. Mara plays the cello and learns to change her own strings. They track airlines and ticket prices on our beat-up desktop computer and close the tab when they catch me watching. Some borders open, but not all, not yet.

Maybe not ever, no one says.

The night you return is the night I know you will never return. Papers are strewn across the table and cardboard boxes clutter the cramped halls. I startle awake on the worn couch with Malachi’s jacket around my shoulders. Mara is playing a rendition of Baikal Lake, but that isn’t what woke me. I sit up. Malachi’s jacket slides into my lap. I turn around.

A wind has blown the window open, warm despite the autumn night.

#m's writing shenanigans #short story #in the wind #international conflict #global anxiety #separation #grief #idk how to tag this

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nade2308 · 2 months

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Precious and sad

@thethistlegirl

#jesse cardoza #csi miami #8x14 #in the wind #eddie cibrian #my gifs #csi miami gifs #my edit #he looked so sad #he is a sad puppy

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taylorxtiva · 2 months

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Why 2024 will be the year of Tiva:

In 11x01, Tony tells Ziva to “count to a million.” Now, of course we assume that he meant ‘count for one million seconds and I’ll be with you.’

But what if the ✨ universe ✨ was telling us that to count to a million, and that it would be an essential number for their love story?

1,000,000 minutes = 694 days

6 + 9 + 4 = 19

Which is the number of years since Tiva first met.

(Season 3 aired in 2005, and 2024-2005 = 19)

This year is also the shows 21st season.

2 + 1 = 3

You know what also makes 3? 1 + 1 + 0 + 1

And when did they first meet?! 👀 3x01!!!

But there’s more!

1,000,000 hours = 41666 days.

11 years = 4017.75 days.

If you remove the decimal point from the bottom number and subtract the top one from it, you get this:

401775 - 41666 = 360109

If we then add the individual digits of the answer together, we again, get the number 19!!!

3 + 6 + 0 + 1 + 0 + 9 = 19

Now, 11 is Tiva’s number.

Ziva left in season 11.

“Past, Present and Future” is the 236th episode overall.

2 + 3 + 6 = 11

And she left again in episode 11 of season 17.

“Jet Lag” (the first time Tiva are in Paris together, and is also an iconic Tiva ep) is episode 7x13

7 + 1 + 3 = 11

Tony is born in 1971. Ziva is born in 1982. There is an 11 year age gap between them. But also, if we add up the individual digits of their birth years, and then add both of those together:

1 + 9 + 7 + 1 = 18

1 + 9 + 8 + 2 = 20

20 + 18 = 38

And of course:

8 + 3 = 11

Which is also the number of years it’s been since we’ve seen Tony and Ziva on screen together.

2013 + 11 years = 2024.

And you know what also equals (20)24?

The equivalent of 11 years.

4 + 0 + 1 + 7 + 7 + 5 = 24

Now, if we go back to the beginning:

1,000,000 hours = 41666 days.

4 + 1 + 6 + 6 + 6 = 23

If we add 24 and 23 we get = 47.

“Kill Ari (Part 1)” is the 47th episode of NCIS, and the episode in which they first meet.

Add those two individual digits together and we get

4 + 7 = 11, which is Tiva’s number.

The episode also aired on 09/20. 9 + 2 = 11

Even further, if we add the digits of 2024, we get 8.

2 + 0 + 2 + 4 = 8

“Truth or Consequences” (which is possibly the most iconic Tiva episode where we all knew they loved each other) is 7x01.

7 + 1 = 8

Which also happens to be the number of years they were at NCIS together.

This episode also aired in 2009.

2 + 0 + 0 + 9 = 11

“Under Covers” is also episode 8 of season 3, which is where they first kiss each other (albeit undercover as Sophie and Jean-Paul).

8 + 3 = 11.

I’m just saying… the universe works in mysterious ways. ✨

UPDATE: I have not recovered from the announcement. I’m not sure I’ll ever recover. Of course, I wrote this post as a joke, because I thought there was absolutley no way it was going to happen. And what’s a bit of harmless clowning fun in the grand scheme of things?

Someone did make a comment though, saying that I give CBS too much credit. In fact, I give them zero credit in this. This is nothing to do with CBS.

This is all to do with Michael and Cote and them being the awesome Captains of the Tiva ship that they are. They are the ones responsible for this, not CBS.

CBS wouldn’t even dare entertain the possibility. I mean… they couldn’t even entertain the possibility while the two of them were on screen for 8 years, let alone anything else. The idea of having a whole spin off show dedicated to their most popular ship on their OG show? That would be utterly absurd!

But, I am perhaps the most excited I have ever been to see my babies back on screen together again, and to give us all the Tiva content we deserve. I might not trust writers because of all that we’ve been through, but I trust them. I trust Cote and Michael. They know what we want, and I have 100% faith that they’re going to deliver.

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underachievers-please-try-harder · 2 months

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Track of the day // KAM-BU - In The Wind ft. Jeshi

#track of the day #recommended #new music #music #kam-bu #jeshi #in the wind #off grid #Youtube

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adrenaline-whump · 1 year

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Fade to Sunrise

Summary: Cade wasn’t OK with dying, but he wasn’t really prepared to not die, either.

Context: Immediately after In the Wind, after the phone call that confirms Hank is OK.

This is all @redwingedwhump’s fault for saying nice things about my team dynamics. :)

~~~

“First,” Donnie said, “Let’s run you by a hospital real quick to get checked out.” “First, we’re going to pick up Hank,” I said. Hank was in South Carolina without any way to get back to us, so we had to go get him. The plan was to meet him at the highway welcome center just past the state line. “We only need one car for that,” he said. “Alex can go get Hank, and we—” “It’s not like I’m bleeding out. I’ll be fine. I'll go later.” He gave me an exasperated look, but no way were they going to drag me to a hospital right then. I’d just talked to Hank, so I knew he was OK, but I needed to see him face to face. I don’t know why. I just did. The drive was pretty miserable, although that wasn’t Donnie’s fault. He asked me if I’d rather talk or listen to music, so I chose music. And then every other song seemed to be some guy smashing his guitar while screaming about not being OK. I could've asked to change to another station, I guess. But he might have asked why, and explaining felt like too much work. I’d run out of energy a long time ago, burned through all of it waiting for Owen to finally get around to killing me. If I’d had any reserves, I’d burned through those too. And it just wouldn’t end. I felt hot and hollow, like the last log in a campfire, ready to collapse into sparks and ash. The longer we drove, the more scrapes and bruises woke up and started complaining. I started to rub my eyes and stopped when I saw the back of my hand was scraped to hell. When had that happened? I couldn’t remember. I remembered walking into the cabin. Nothing was out of the ordinary, or so I’d thought at the time. I watched the replay in my head, over and over, looking for where I’d screwed up. The door had been locked when I got there. I didn’t think I could’ve mistaken an unlocked door for a locked one. Then what? The light in the kitchen had been on. I’d assumed one of us had left it on, but I probably should’ve wondered, right? If I’d paused for one second and looked down the hall, maybe everything would have turned out differently, and I wouldn’t have come so close to getting Hank killed. What the fuck was I going to say to him? There wasn’t an apology strong enough for the gnawing disgust that snarled my insides. “How you doing over there?” Donnie asked. “Fine.” “Of course.” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “That hurts my feelings, dude. Lying to my face like that. I thought we were friends.” “I’m lying to your face because we’re friends.” “Points for honest lying, I guess. Or lying honestly. You don’t have to be fine, but you do need to tell me if you feel sick or dizzy or something, in case I need to divert to the next hospital.” “OK.” He was keeping his curiosity to himself, I could tell. He was dying to ask what had happened, where I’d been, how everything had played out. He and Alex and Hank had spent too many stressful hours waiting and wondering what was going on. And now here I was, the guy with the answers. I watched the dark landscape scroll by the window. Talking about it would mean thinking about it, and I was already doing too much of that. We crossed the South Carolina border, and my heart started thumping harder. It wasn’t like Hank was going to yell at me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him raise his voice. But whatever he’d gone through between when I walked away from him and now was my fault.

Too soon, a blue sign pointed us off the highway to a tidy little brick building with picnic tables on either side. Hank was sitting on a bench out front. As we pulled in, he stretched a little and stood up, like it was totally natural to be hanging out at an empty rest stop at 4:30 in the morning. Donnie pulled into the closest space and glanced at me expectantly.

I almost couldn’t get out of the truck. I felt sick again. Maybe that bump on the head would turn out to be a fatal head bleed after all. On the plus side, if I stood up and immediately passed out, I wouldn’t have to decide what to say. Unfortunately, I stayed conscious the whole time my feet got me out of the truck and walked me toward Hank. He seemed OK, as far as I could tell, though I couldn’t make myself look him in the eye. I took a deep breath as I stopped in front of him. “Hank, I—” “C’mere, buddy,” he said, and hugged me like he was my dad. I almost lost my shit. Again. All the apologies I’d set up in my head fell apart, and I just croaked fuck into his shoulder. And then said it a few more times, as my eyes burned and I tried not to drip anything on his shirt. He was there, solid and real, the same Hank as always, which meant that even though I’d still fucked everything up, it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. He finally let me out of the hug so he could look me over. “You look like shit,” he observed. “I know,” I said. “Listen, I’m...I’m sorry.” “Sorry for what?” He sounded honestly baffled. “We’re all going home, buddy, and that’s all I care about.” Back to Memphis. Familiar things. Normal things. Home. I didn’t know why it felt so disorienting, like being underwater and the surface isn’t where you thought it would be. He glanced at the brick building. “Want to run inside and wash up a little? The sinks have decent hot water.” Alone? It struck me as another strange idea. Free to just walk off by myself...that sounded good. Really good. And hot water sounded even better. ~~~ As Cade disappeared into the building, Donnie and Alex joined Hank. “Hey, guys. Thanks for coming down.” Donnie shook his head. “You know, I wasn’t a big fan of this plan...but I have to admit, you are looking remarkably not-dead.” Hank shrugged deprecatingly. “It’s a talent.” “Talent.” Alex’s deep voice had the slightest edge. “If any of us dived into shit expecting talent to get us out, what would you say?” “It could’ve been a bad call,” Hank said evenly, “but it was mine to make.” “Yeah.” Donnie rubbed his head. “But let’s not ever do that again, OK?”  

“Agree.” Hank tilted his head at the building. “How’s he doing?” Alex and Donnie looked at each other. “Not great,” Alex said. “Yeah,” Donnie said. “He’s pretty fucked up.” “Did you take him anywhere?” Donnie snorted. “You know how he feels about hospitals. He says he’s not hurt that bad. But he can hardly move his left arm, he holds himself like he’s got a cracked rib or two, and he admitted he took a couple of skull taps, though he says he didn’t get knocked out. That’s physically. Mentally...” Donnie paused, uncharacteristically serious. “I’m not criticizing, just observing: if Owen had ventilated you, I think Cade would’ve lost his mind. He’s better now, but he’s still...not great.” “Well, he hasn’t slept, probably hasn’t eaten since lunch yesterday...” “Dehydrated,” Donnie said. “I don’t think Owen gave him anything that whole time.” “And then I sprang the trade on him. Lucky for both of us that it worked.” “For all of us,” Alex said. “It’s not like Donnie and me would’ve handled it any better.” Hank nodded. “Fair. The three of us can debrief after we get back. I’ll talk to Cade as we drive. Will you two head back to the cabin and bring our gear back to Memphis? We can sort out everything at the office.” “Will do. And you’ll head straight back?” “Mostly. That boy’s going to get checked out at a hospital if I have to frog-march him in there myself.”

#in the wind #cadeverse #cade #hank #donnie #aftermath of trauma #angst #team

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bombshelllblonde · 2 months

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#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr 2 #dutch van der linde #lord huron #in the wind #lonesome dreams #Spotify

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gildas-lepetit-castel · 2 years

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Nantes, 50mm - Fuji X-TRA

#wind #bob dylan #in the wind #colors #c41 #fuji #analog #gildas lepetit castel #streetphoto #portrait #face #flore #love #nantes

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