#civil war joel

[alicestrange98]

CIVIL WAR (2024) Cailee Spaeny and Wagner Moura as Joel and Jessie

[screenbeanz]

Civil War (2024).

Wagner Moura.

[karma-is-my-girl-friend]

Thinking about how they both share the name Joel and both look cozy AF in their flannels ☺️

[lucy-sky]

"You don't get a minute of sleep tonight. My advice, don't expect to sleep. That way if you do, it's a nice surprise."

Civil War (2024), dir. Alex Garland

[the-west-meadow]

Can I request Joel with #57 from the recent prompt list? I need more roadtrip shenanigans ugh…maybe make him drink a little (too much) to sleep through everything 🤞🏼do your thing I trust uuu ⚔️

thank you for this request xo hope you enjoy!

Joel Martinez (Civil War) x Original Female Character

prompt: "We're gonna be okay."

She woke to gunfire in the dead of night. She bolted upright in the back of the press van, immediately casting around for Joel. He wasn’t in the front seat where he had been sleeping all week on the road. She peered out the window, expecting to see him crouching against the wall of the burned-out school where they had parked, watching for soldiers. But he wasn't.

“Fuck.”

The gunfire broke out again and she flinched, ducking down in the back of the van. She didn’t think her heart had ever beat this fast. She grabbed her helmet and flak jacket with PRESS emblazoned on the front, throwing them on as the gunfire rattled in her ears.

“Fuck fuck fuck.”

Then the van door flew open and Joel threw himself inside, breathless.

“Oh Jesus, Joel,” she said.

“It’s okay,” he said. He was panting and there was a sheen of sweat on his brow, but his eyes were alight with excitement. “It’s our guys.”

“I heard returning fire.”

“It’s a long way off. They’re just scaring up the rabble. I told them we were here.”

At the next spurt of gunfire, they both flinched. Joel grinned.

“Were you sleeping in this?” he said, touching her helmet lightly. He started to take it from her head but she jerked back. His grin faded as he looked at her more closely, the fear widening her eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay. Really— listen.”

Silence. The gunfire had faded. Joel reached out carefully and lifted the helmet from her head. He eyed the flak jacket but she drew her arms around herself. They shared a long look.

“Want a cigarette?” he said.

She nodded. He grabbed a pack from the front seat and fished a lighter from his jeans. When she took the cigarette from him, her hands were shaking so badly that she dropped it.

“I didn’t know where the fuck you were,” she said, voice trembling.

“I’m sorry. I went out to smoke when it started. I didn’t want to wake you. Sleep is hard to come by.”

He nodded at her flak jacket. 

“Let’s take that off. It won’t do much good if they come up on us at close range anyway.”

Slowly she relaxed her arms and allowed him to undo the velcro at her sides, lifting the jacket over her head.

“There. Maybe now we can both get back to sleep.”

“There’s no way I’m fucking sleeping tonight.”

“I have plenty of ways to help with that.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I’m not taking your drugs, Joel.”

He looked across the darkness at her and she could see he wasn’t smiling anymore. The sodium vapor lights from outside glinted in his eyes.

“There might come a time when you won’t be able to function without them,” he said quietly.

The adrenaline was leaving her system and to her surprise she felt her body grow heavy with weariness. Joel could see it happening.

“Go ahead and sleep,” he said. “I’ll stay up a while if it makes you feel better.”

She nodded, lying down atop her sleeping back with a t-shirt crumpled under her as a pillow; she couldn’t remember if it was hers or Joel’s. The familiar smell of smoke and whiskey filled the van, calming her system. At least she knew where he was. He was close now. She closed her eyes.

Gunfire again. Closer this time. She shot awake but this time Joel was there, peering out the window. He grinned over at her.

“It’s okay,” he said.

But there was something off in his smile. They could hear voices in the distance now. She looked at Joel to see how scared he was, but he appeared oddly relaxed.

“What’s going on?” she whispered.

There was something vacant in Joel's eyes as he gazed out the window.

“It’s never going to stop,” he said, his voice low and even. “This is how it’s going to be from now on. You never know when it’s going to come.”

There was a lull in gunfire while he spoke but it rang out again and she flew to Joel’s side. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly against his body. The smell of alcohol hit her and then she knew why he seemed so calm.

“Shh,” he said, his voice a lull. “It’s okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

With her head against his chest, she feel hear his heart hammering. He held her tighter, rocking slightly back and forth as he stroked her hair.

“Joel.”

When she looked up at him, she saw the first glint of fear in his eyes and her stomach sank. His silver flask was sticking out of his pocket and she slipped it out. He watched as she tipped it back, wiped her mouth with her sleeve and passed it back to him. He turned it up and drained it.

Joel gazed at her for a long moment then stroked her face with the back of his hand. It was shaking slightly. She took it and held it against her face, feeling its warmth, the only thing grounding her in this dark reality. He closed his eyes at her touch.

“Joel,” she murmured again.

“Yeah.”

“We’re gonna be okay.”

He nodded, opening his eyes slightly, glazed with drink and fear and something else. Then he took her face gently in both hands and leaned forward, kissing her as if he had all the time in the world. She could taste the alcohol on him, smell the cigarette smoke on his clothes. He moved his lips slowly over hers, and she forgot for a moment that they were in the midst of a war that would never leave them. He was there, she knew, but part of him was far away, perhaps gone forever. For a moment she didn't know who it was that was kissing her, but the warmth and the smell of him was so familiar and comforting that she dared not question it.

Joel pulled back and looked at her, still cradling her face in his hands.

“I believe you.”

[rainncarradine]

characters named joel >>>>>>>>>>>

[radicalrascals-gifs]

[GIF Pack] Wagner Moura

Following this link you’ll find 175 gifs (245x150) of Wagner Moura as Joel Martinez in Civil War from 2024. Wagner Moura is a Brazilian actor and was 47 at the time of filming.

Please reblog and/or like if you plan on using these. Do not claim as your own. Do not include in gif hunts. Thank you. For more Wagner Moura gif packs click here.

Trigger-warnings:  alcohol, cigarettes, guns, war

[chellestrash]

i need wagner moura BIBLICALLY. i need him in a way that is concerning to feminism

[lil4chry]

gente, queria divulgar que estou escrevendo uma fanfic do joel (guerra civil) porque estou na minha era wagner moura

[forgedinmyheart]

Joel from Civil War Icons

Requested by @kilamonster

Please like or reblog if you use! For any other characters/celebs you’d like to see, send me an ask!

[littlestsheriff]

cg joel (civil war) headcannons

• totally a cool dad type

• loves listening old musics (especially rock) with jessie

• can't say no for puppy eyes (jessie has him on her hand)

• can be pretty strict too, but in a lovely way

• super silly !! loves making fun

• loves to explore outside with jessie, like an adventurer

• just like jessie, he loves animals and the nature

• spoils his little one too much (sometimes to annoy lee)

• avoid smoking when Jessie is regressed

• has the best arsenal of cartoon dvds

• always tuck jessie in bed when she's regressed

• gives a lot of sweets to jessie (especially chocolate)

• super sweet and comprehensive with his girl

[pizza-is-my-buziness]

“You look like you could use a drink.”  When Jessie turns her head, the first thing she sees is the promised drink, bubbles bouncing against the side of the glass. And then Joel, that smile on his face, looking far more familiar than anything else has so far.  Jessie blinks, takes a step back in her surprise. “Joe.”  That grin. “It’s been a long time.” “Wow. Yeah.” On autopilot, Jessie reaches out a hand to take the drink, the glass cool against her skin. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

Written for Fictober 2024 Day Two Prompt: "It's been a long time."

Canon events? In my fic? It's more likely than you think.

[screenbeanz]

Civil War (2024).

Wagner Moura.

[movietonight]

My favourite lyrics on Turnstiles

inspired by @thebreakfastgenie

Say Goodbye to Hollywood

So many faces in and out of my life Some will last, some will just be now and then Life is a series of hello's and goodbye's I'm afraid it's time for goodbye again

Summer, Highland Falls

And though we choose between reality and madness It's either sadness or euphoria

All You Wanna Do Is Dance

Well you wish you were back in the good old days When tomatoes were cheaper

New York State of Mind

But I'm taking a Greyhound On the Hudson River line

James

James, do you like your life? Can you find release?

Prelude/Angry Young Man

And he's never been able to learn from mistakes So he can't understand why his heart always breaks

I've Loved These Days

We light our lamps for atmosphere And hang our hopes on chandeliers

Miami 2017 (Seen the Lights Go Out On Broadway)

They burned the churches up in Harlem Like in that Spanish Civil War

[pedroam-bang]

Civil War (2024)

[jomiddlemarch]

the better part of valor

“And this is Captain Miller,” Mary said, keeping her voice low. The man, a pallor beneath his tanned skin, dark shadows under his eyes, had taken a turn for the worse in the night, a consequence perhaps of being assigned to Dr. Hale, and she was loathe to wake him any earlier than she must. Hale would bluster about his time being valuable, but Jed was more likely to shrug and then expound upon what any decent physician could glean from a simple observation. If they had had coffee and not chicory, he might go on at some length, clearly enjoying himself while also waiting to see if the patient would rouse to the sound of his voice. If Jed sidled a bit closer in these circumstances, the hint of a smile almost concealed by his beard, the admiration in his gaze more obvious, Mary could not be held responsible or accused of any untoward behavior ill-suiting a Head Nurse.

“He ain’t. He’s Major Miller,” the young boy in the next bed piped up. 

“Indeed?” Jed said. He barely needed to pivot to take in the youngster, the beds having been pulled closer together than Mary ordinarily allowed. It meant the ward could hold a few more wounded, but she’d acquiesced primarily to assuage the boy’s combination of imperious demand and abject pleading. It happened this way sometimes, a pair or trio of soldiers came in together and it was apparent that their bond went beyond the battle or the uniform. 

“I see no evidence of such an elevated rank,” Jed added. “Perhaps you’re mistaken, a head injury can cause confusion—”

“I know what I know.” Beneath the bandages, the boy’s eyebrows drew together. Stubborn he was and though Mary was certain he’d lied about his age and very possibly about his name and sex given the binding she’d discovered under his newspaper-lined coat, she recognized the ring of truth in his expression and the flatness of his voice.

“Then you know better than the Union Army?” Jed countered. He’d taken chicory but there’d been fresh milk and Mary had poured with as lavish a hand as her New England upbringing would allow. Jed was in good spirits and was sure to regale her with a thorough medical assessment of the young private when they left the ward. 

“He got a whaddyacallit, a brevet, after what he did a month ago. Should’ve gotten a passel of them, all the Rebs he’s got, sir,” the boy said. 

“For gallantry on the field,” Jed said.

“Not gallantry,” the boy said, shaking his head as much as he could. Mary had attended to his dislocated shoulder herself, strapping him securely without disturbing the muslin tightly wound around his, or rather her, chest. “He’s the bravest man I know, the bravest man in the whole Union Army, and I wouldn’t even be here if he hadn’t—if he didn’t—”

Something, a memory most likely, had overtaken the boy and his voice had risen before he broke off, worryingly soprano, enough to draw attention to the discussion and to the smoothness of his cheeks washed free of dirt and dried blood, the slightness of his frame. Carrying a flag and a drum, he’d be taken for what he said he was, but here, in the narrow cot, the bandages around his head like the nuns’ wimples, he was in danger of discovery and his champion Major Miller slept on, unable to defend with a distraction. Someone must intervene before Jed was forced to ask questions Mary knew he would rather defer, a truth undiscovered one he needn’t act on as either Doctor or Captain Foster, could trust to her discretion.

“I’ll be sure to make of note of the Major’s rank, Private Elton,” Mary said, lingering just a little on the name the boy had given her when she’d asked, a subtle reminder of the role that had been undertaken. He’d stumbled over it, really, salvaging the near-disastrous admission by coughing, first clumsily as Mary recalled the poor acting of the man rehearsing as Juliet when Corporal Gielgud had spiked a fever and been unable to tread what passed for the hospital’s theater boards, and then with the convulsive hacking that those who’d breathed in too much smoke and dust were prone to. Ellen was most likely or Eleanor, Elizabeth more commonly shortened to Lizzie or Betsy, not the El— that had been abandoned. The people she’d left behind must fear for her greatly, unless there were none left, Elton an orphan or a poor relation the larder barely stretched to feed.

“He rode a horse gut-shot,” Elton offered. “Major Miller was shot, not the horse.”

“A helpful, though unnecessary, clarification,” Jed remarked. “Exceedingly helpful for the horse, one imagines.”

“Took out two snipers while he did it,” Elton went on, undeterred by Jed’s comment. “They would’ve killed me but he could’ve not got wounded. Belly’s bad to get hurt—” 

Jed picked up Major Miller’s wrist and after a few seconds, nodded, raising an eyebrow in that rapid assessment he was capable of, indicating he thought the man would live but that he’d have had a better chance under Jed’s hands than Hale’s. It was enough for Mary to go on with; she always found it easier to tell the truth and to lie by omission.

“I’m sure he was glad to do his duty. To keep you safe,” she said. She had half-expected another argument, that protecting Elton wasn’t Miller’s duty, that it was unreasonable to be kept safe in a battle, to have a stranger become your closest ally, but Elton stayed quiet.

“His injury isn’t terrible, though you’re correct that abdominal wounds have generally worse outcomes,” Jed said. Elton gave Jed such a glare of skeptical scrutiny it was all Mary could do to keep from chuckling. “I’ve seen worse and I’ve seen plenty,” he said, direct as he could be when it was needful.

“You ain’t the one they call the Butcher, are you?” Elton asked.

Jed choked on the laugh he couldn’t suppress despite the quelling glance Mary gave him.

“No, I haven’t been given that esteemed title. It belongs to our other surgeon, whose efforts your comrade appears to have weathered. Major Miller likely possesses a hearty constitution and an ample degree of, shall we say, fortitude?”

“He’s got grit and he’s obstinate as my Aunt Phaedra’s mule, if that’s what all your high-falutin’ words mean,” Elton said. This time, Mary permitted herself to smile.

“I’ll watch over him myself,” Mary said. “And you may send any of the orderlies for me if you are worried, I’ll come as quick as I can.”

“And now, young Elton,” Jed said, the name uttered with a sincerity that was undercut by the acute acknowledgement of his gaze, “you may rest easy, for there is no one here who is more determined to keep a man alive, even if he should wish to argue, than our Head Nurse. She should merit her own brevet, save that there is no higher post for her to ascend to, given that Lincoln’s still in the White House and the Mother Mary Veronica assures me God occupies His throne.”