man driver

hollywoodreporter.com
Gal Gadot Got Paid the Same as Henry Cavill in Their Superhero Stand-Alone Debuts
Slow your roll, Twitter Outrage.

Contrary to a story that Wonder Woman’s Gal Gadot made millions less than her DC counterpart Henry Cavill as Superman, the two were paid the same for their debut standalone outings.

That’s according to a source familiar with both negotiations, who told The Hollywood Reporter that Gadot made the same amount upfront if not slightly more on Wonder Woman than Cavill made on 2013’s Man of Steel.

The alleged salary discrepancy story was based on a post from Elle magazine, which cobbled together salary information that had previously appeared in various publications and did not differentiate between upfront salary vs. bonuses and performance escalators.

The story was later updated but caused a stir on the internet as Hollywood’s gender gap on wages has become a popular issue. The Elle story said Gadot was paid $300,000 for Wonder Woman vs. $14 million Cavill received for Man of Steel. The source called the latter figure “ridiculous.”

Warner Bros., the studio behind both movies, declined to comment.

A salary of low- to mid-six figures is standard fare for Hollywood tentpoles, especially for actors with short track records; Gadot had bit parts in movies such as Date Night and Knight and Day before landing a more substantial but still supporting role in the Fast & Furious movies. Chris Hemsworth made $150,000 for his starring debut in 2011’s Thor, for example. Adam Driver was paid in the $500,000 range for his part in Star Wars: The Force Awakens, according to sources. Felicity Jones, who had an Oscar nomination under her belt before landing the lead in Rogue One, was paid more than $1 million for the Star Wars stand-alone.

These salary figures do not take into account box-office bonuses, which hit when certain benchmarks are hit. And actors gets substantial increases when it comes to sequels, even in spite of having option agreements and especially if a movie is as successful as Wonder Woman (the film has earned $574 million worldwide to date). Gadot’s deal will very likely be renegotiated.

8

Alternative movie posters

Horror in Room 1046 

Just after lunch time on 2 January, 1935, a young man entered the Hotel President in Kansas City, Missouri. He had no luggage and asked if he could have a room for the night. He signed his name as “Roland T. Owen” was given the key for room 1046. Shortly afterwards, the maid arrived to clean the room. As she opened the door, she found the man sitting on the bed in the dark. Even though it was still light outside, he had tightly drawn the blind. She recalled that the man seemed somewhat afraid or nervous. As she was cleaning, he put on his coat and left the room, asking her to leave the door unlocked because he was expecting a friend to arrive later on. At approximately 4PM, the maid arrived at room 1046 to leave fresh towels for the evening. The man was lying on the bed with a note beside him which read: “Don, I will be back in fifteen minutes. Wait.

The following morning, the maid arrived once again to clean the room. Once again, she found the man sitting in the dark. As she cleaned around him, he took a call from “Don” and told him he wasn’t going to get any breakfast. Before she left, he began to question her about her role within the hotel and what duties she was to carry out. When she returned later on in the afternoon with more fresh towels, an unidentified male grunted that they didn’t need any. Later on in the afternoon, another guest reported hearing a woman’s voice coming from room 1046 and relayed that she sounded angry. At around 11pm that night, a man driving downtown saw a man running down the street in pants and a shirt - strange clothing choice for the brisk winter air, he though. The man asked the driver, who he initially mistook as a taxi driver, if he could give them a lift to somewhere that he could flag down a taxi. He noted that the oddly dressed man had a large wound on his arm and looked in a bad shape.

Back at the Hotel President the next morning, it was noticed that the phone in room 1046 was left off the hook. A bellboy was sent up to inform the guest. When nobody answered, he used a master key to enter the room. At first glance, he saw blood smeared over the walls and over the floor. In the bathroom, “Roland T. Owen” was on his knees with rope tied around his neck and wrists. He had been repeatedly stabbed and bludgeoned across the head. Still clinging to life, he said he had “fell against the bathtub.” He died later on that night. An investigation of the room turned up nothing. Not one piece of clothing could be found nor any complimentary hygiene products or towels. It was soon discovered that the man had given a fake name, thus his body was displayed at a local funeral home in the hopes that somebody could recognise him. The man who had picked up the bewildered hitchhiker the night before recognised him immediately. Multiple people from separate establishments, including other hotels and even a wrestling arena, came forward to identify him. However, each person that identified him said that he gave a different name.

As the weeks passed, the man remained unidentified, even though many could identify him by appearance. He was intended to be buried in the city’s cemetery for the unidentified but as locals caught wind of this, police received an anonymous letter from somebody who asked them to hold the burial off until they would be able to forward a hefty amount for a decent burial and funeral. Days later, the money came in and he was buried in Memorial Park Cemetery. A local florist also received an anonymous donation for a bouquet of flowers that were signed off with “Love Forever - Louise.” Other than a couple of investigators working on the case, nobody attended the funeral. 

The case remained cold until 1936, when Eleanor Ogletree read about the murder in a magazine. She believed the description of the man sounded like her brother, 17-year-old Artemus Ogletree, who had been missing since 1934. The family had assumed he was okay because in spring of 1935 - months after “Roland T. Owen” died - they had received several typewritten letters from Artemus, claiming he was sailing to Europe. The family were initially suspicious of these letters because Artemus couldn’t type. A few months after these letters, they received a phone call from a man who told them that Artemus had saved his life in Egypt and that he was happily married to a woman he had met in his travels.

The Ogletree family were shown a photo of the murder victim. It was Artemus, they unfortunately confirmed. His identification led to even more questions. Why had he used so many fake names? Who was the woman in his room? Who was Don? What happened to him the evening he was picked up by the driver, looking dishevelled? Who paid for his funeral? Who was Louise? Who sent the letters to his family? And finally, who killed him and why?

3

I’ll let nothing stand in our way

What I Read This Week

(4/16/17)

With all the Easter events I totally forgot to do “what I read this week” yesterday! Sorry!

Don’t You Know That’s the Way Love Comes? by ken_ichijouji (dommific), Gen, 10k (WIP)
Deputy Director of the Parks Department Victor Nikiforov gets the surprise of his life when the city government gets a visit from a pair of auditors. SO GOOD

Of Bright Stars and Burning Hearts by Reiya, Explicit, 44k (WIP)
Part 2 of the Rivals series and companion fic to ‘Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches’. One small change alters the course of both Viktor and Yuuri’s entire lives, throwing them into a bitter rivalry that spans across many years and creates a world where they both tell a very different side to the story. I’M DYIN THIS IS SO SO AMAZING MY POOR SON VIKTOR I LOVE HIM

Masquerade by Ashida, Explicit, 74k (WIP)
“Just say the word.” came the whisper as Victor stepped close, behind them Yuuri was aware of guns out and at the ready, of confused men and questioned loyalties, here Victor was offering, and Yuuri was too selfish to say no.
“Ok.” Yuuri smiled as this game of masquerade came to an end, what would happen now, he didn’t know, he would probably die, his family would come after him and try to put a knife in his back or a bullet between his eyes, none of it mattered, because together they would fight, and the rest of the world would finally burn. The update killed me…. oh man I love love love love love love love this fic!

Twenty-Five Hours by 0lizzybennet0, Mature, 22k (WIP)
In which Yuuri spends a 25 hour flight next to Victor Nikiforov, skating legend, and feels it might simultaneously be the best and worst thing that has ever happened to him. ADHIUVBSDHIAFBDALHJBCDHJLS I AM YELLING THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE FICS

Language Barriers by Galloping_Monroe, Teen, 182k (WIP)
Victor Nikiforov had always wanted to travel the world. When an opportunity arises to spend his final year of university study abroad, he is quick to leap at the chance. Yuri Katsuki only applied because his friend forced him to. He’s just trying to get through the year, keep his head down and his grades up. Victor has other ideas. SUCH a good fic!

Like a Fairytale by lucycamui, Teen, 73k
In which Prince Victor gets swept off his feet at a royal banquet and will go to any length to find his ‘Cinderella’ Yuuri. (And Phichit is the fairy godmother who has no idea what he’s doing). THE ENDING WAS SO CUTE <3

Nerve Endings by Phyona, Explicit, 62k (WIP)
When Yuuri moves in with Victor in St. Petersburg, they have to work through Yuuri’s anxiety and Victor’s secrets to find their balance. aaaaaaAAAAAAAAA

Met by Accident (Shall We Skate?-YOIWeek2017) by paxton1976, Explicit, 293k (WIP)
Viktor is having the worst day of his life. He overslept and is late for work. To make things even better, he rear-ended the car in front of him. His attitude quickly changes when he lays eyes on the other driver. The man was shorter than him by a few inches. He had jet black hair that was slicked back with a bit of gel. His glasses left something to be desired, but Viktor admired those large chocolate brown eyes. Simply put, he was fucking gorgeous. I have been utterly obsessed with this fic!

Right Off His Feet by EmilianaDarling, Mature, 7.4k
One of Yuuri’s hands is sliding around his waist, guiding him effortlessly until they’re dancing together. Really dancing together, and Viktor forgets to think, to breathe. Yuuri’s so close that Viktor can feel the heat of his breath against the back of his neck, the warmth of his skin through his clothes. Then he closes his eyes, leans into the touch, and gives in completely as he lets Yuuri lead. This fic is AMAZING! Must read!

Victor!!! In IKEA by victoryinthestars, Gen, 1.9k
What happens when some of the best skaters in Russia help a lovestruck living legend, who’s always lived alone, prepare for his fiancée to move in? A trip or six to IKEA, of course. SO funny and a nice fic to read after some serious angst!

(˃̶͈̀_˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾( ノ_ಠ)₍₍ (̨̡ ‾᷄♡‾᷅ )̧̢ ₎₎

Here’s to another week of great fic reading! Be sure to give the authors some love!

anonymous asked:

Do you have any advice for writing characters undercover? Thanks!

So, we’ve covered this topic a lot in the past. Undercover operatives, intelligence agents, black ops, assassins, and spies I’d start with a spies search on our website, as that’ll get you started. The really good references will be there. My big advice for writing any kind of spy fiction is to have a clear idea of what you want and which genre you’re chasing. Do want James Bond or George Smiley? You can blend these genres, but it’s a good idea to have a clear idea as that’ll define your narrative.

The first thing to understand about spies and any sort of shadow operative is the Burn Notice quote: “A spy is just a criminal with a government paycheck.”

Take a look at this passage. This is a character (Thirteen) trained as an undercover operative exiting a bad situation. What do you see?

Limping down the hall, I forced one foot before the other. Slowly, my stride lengthened. The silver door at the end didn’t open, so I pushed it, and stumbled out onto the launch pad. My gaze fell on a string of oval automatic airstreams parked all in a row. No, I frowned, eyes sweeping to street and the vehicles winging by in the air overhead. No self-respecting AI would let me drive in this condition. Robots always insisted on hospital, and I had no time to hack. To get out fast, I needed a human. A cabbie. Older, preferably female. Fingers to my neck, I tapped twice. Up came the ODS, my thoughts linking to: call a cab. Human.

A string of numbers and faces appeared before my eyes, the oldworld men and women working a dying industry. Better for No Questions Asked rides in our digital world, no one else called when they could pay a corporate run robot for half the cost.

I picked the first female face that flashed across my dash.

Time to pick up… thirty seconds.

I gripped my injured arm, and ran an analysis. Tucked out of sight, Sixteen’s pistol rested against my ribs. Ammunition at less than half a magazine, so seven rounds. Eight, if I counted the one in the chamber. The Uplink already registered the irreparable damage and severed the blood flow to the damaged limb. So, no more bleeding out. My upper lip curled. A bad trade off for no more arm. Damn, Sixteen.

Fifteen seconds.

I couldn’t hide in the shadows. Needed to seem desperate, distraught. Call up tears.

Ten seconds.

My blurred gaze flicked to the skyline, watching for black. The Ghosts wouldn’t appear in the datastream. Still, NIS hadn’t cut my access. Not yet.

Five.

A beat up airstream in ruby red dropped out of the sky to the left, pulling up to the curb. They were early. From the shabby state of their car, probably desperate. Good.

I limped over quickly. Even if they weren’t my ride, they were human and sitting in the driver’s seat. A car enthusiast who needed no AI systems to handle the steering. Likely to have built in cameras. More likely to possess a slow Uplink. Slow data received poor police service. My fingers seized the handle, flung open the door, and threw myself inside.

“Need a ride?” the voice was sympathetic, unfamiliar.

I slid across the bench into the seat behind the driver. My free hand tight on my damaged limb, couldn’t do much about my nose. So, instead, I tilted my head and caught her reflection in the mirror. Younger. Mid-thirties. Red hair worn short with one gray streak, tied back in a severe bun. Clear hazel eyes. Talk like you’re in pain, scared, but putting on a brave face. Tears. I wiped the blood from underneath my nose, sniffling. “Y-y-yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Thanks.” I tried for a half-smile, half-grimace, and leaned on the window. “Just looking to get away. The address should be—”

“You don’t need to worry, I have it,” the driver said. “Came in with your order. Grace, right? You want to go downbelow, the Rep Shop.”

“Yeah.” Resting my cheek against the glass, I closed my eyes; Uplink sizing up her car’s systems. Automatic turned off, but easy enough to hijack. My free hand drifted off my injury, and moved near the pistol hilt jabbing my ribs.

“I’m Marla, I’ll be your driver today.” A pause followed. “You sure a pretty girl like you wants the Rep Shop? Not a hospital? You look pretty banged up.”

“No,” I replied. I got what she suggested, this was a nice neighborhood. “I just need… need to go…”

“Boyfriend trouble?”

I grimaced, eyes squeezing shut, and wished I felt a twinge of guilt. It’s like the Overseer always says, love is just a cover.

“Don’t worry, no need to say it,” Marla said as the engine revved, the floorplates shook, and the airstream lifted skyward. “Shipped enough victims out of here to know.”

Notice, she pays attention to her surroundings and makes choices based on her condition in service of her needs. She needs to get out quickly, but would run into more trouble stealing a car so she calls up a cab driven by a human. Human’s are easier to manipulate in short order than code cracking. She specifically aims for a female cab driver, one preferably older than she is.

Why?

She’s female. Another woman is more likely to assume her injuries are because of a man, and a cab driver will have encountered this scenario often enough to not pry too deeply into it. An older woman is likelier to be maternal and protective, but not so protective that she’ll stay beyond when Thirteen needs her too. However, pay attention to the fact that Thirteen never verbally confirms it was a man who caused her injuries. She lets Marla assume, and fill in the blanks herself. This gives her an out later if she needs to change her story and place the blame on Marla’s shoulders for misunderstanding.

This is an example of what’s called social engineering. Deliberately manipulating the people in your environment to divulge confidential information or getting them to do what you want.

Notice also: After getting into the vehicle, Thirteen’s hand goes to the gun she stole. As she is playing to Marla’s sympathies, she is also assessing the possibility of killing this woman and taking control of the car if things don’t go the way she’s planned. Thirteen would prefer to exit by the easiest means possible, but a good spy always has a contingency. She won’t compromise her safety, and civilian lives mean next to nothing. A dead body is one more problem to deal with, one more attention getter that she doesn’t want, but she’ll go there. Violence is messy, and sometimes necessary.

There’s no real difference between a spy and a conman. Still, if you want to trick people there’s a few rules to follow.

What a spy isn’t:

A compulsive liar, an overseller, or lies all the time. An undercover operative needs to maintain their identity, that is one identity, singular. While a spy can create many false personalities, they should only be using one at a time with the goal of giving away as little information in trade as possible.

Notice: Thirteen does not tell Marla a story, she lets Marla create the story and then plays along. It is easier to convince someone of a lie when they’ll craft it themselves. Why say something when you can get just as much by saying nothing at all?

“You’ve told her three lies. Suppose she’s an asset, now you have to make all three lies true.” - Spy Game

Your character can’t just lie, a liar will be caught after a prolonged period of time. They need to manipulate the truth by creating a fiction. A cover is a fictional person with a fictional job who people think really exists when they check the character’s identity. Assume their identity will be checked, re-checked, and checked again. They are not maintaining a cover to a singular individual, but multiple ones. Their assets are the locals they are manipulating in order gain access to information, and who often run the jobs for them. These assets will, most of the time, not know the truth or not know the whole truth about who the spy really is.

Assets can be friends, business associates, girlfriends/boyfriends, wives/husbands, disgruntled employees, janitors, etc.

Your character can’t enter a business or government agency as a pretend janitor if they’re also going there everyday as a reporter or contractor or some other job. They must maintain the fiction of their identity.

This is the biggest problem most authors will get into when writing spy fiction. The concept of telling lies is something that comes easily to most of us, the problem comes in with keeping up a fiction over a prolonged period of time. The next step is to be able to lie without guilt and throw over people who help you without remorse. Crafting that dual identity of a person who genuinely cares about their friends and allies versus the real one who… really doesn’t.

You need a solid grasp of social functions, mores, and conventions in order to write a spy because a spy is manipulating all those points to gain access. You also need to understand these rules change based on what society your character is entering. Social rules change based on social groups, be it economic or cultural. The expectations for a man or woman in Mexico City versus Seattle are vast, and your character needs to be versed in the world they’re walking into. They need a cover identity to suit their work. Someone who has the freedom to go many places without being questioned, but unimportant enough to be neither needed nor remembered.

A spy is always looking for a way in, to slide into your confidences or sympathies however they can. They are going to use you to get where they need to go. They are very convincing actors and they are changing, modifying themselves slightly for each person they encounter. Not so much though that their falseness becomes obvious to the other people who know them.

When we’re working with a female spy, for example, all the “bad woman” societal traits you’re inclined to throw away are exactly what she needs to succeed. She will flirt, and flatter, and seduce, and manipulate the men (and women) around her to gain entry. She may rotate between being a gorgeous woman and an unremarkable one by the use of fashion and makeup. She is exactly what so many men are afraid of, a social climber who is manipulating their feelings and her attractiveness in order to get what she wants because it is the most expedient method to get what she needs. The one who is manipulating society’s view of women as nonentities, nonthreatening/replaceable objects in order to do her job.

Don’t be afraid of these characters. Don’t be afraid of “unlikeable” characters.

Spies are bad people who do bad things. They are often cold, calculating, impersonal manipulators looking for the most expedient method to get what they need. Your spy’s cover is just a cover. Never forget the real person underneath, especially when they’re lying to themselves.

-Michi

This blog is supported through Patreon. If you enjoy our content, please consider becoming a Patron. Every contribution helps keep us online, and writing. If you already are a Patron, thank you.