aanonburr: (pic#10108625)
Aanon Burr, Sir ([personal profile] aanonburr) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet2016-05-07 12:44 pm

the picture prompt


the picture prompt meme


I — Comment with your character.
II — Others will leave a picture (or two, or three...)
III — Reply to them with a setting based on the picture.

IV — Link to any pictures that are NSFW, please.
V — Be aware that this meme will likely be image-heavy. That's kind of the point.



Link to an image:

Embed an image in your reply:

You can control width and height of your pictures:
waders: (Chimifuckingchangas)

Deadpool | Best Movie Ever Where the Main Character Looks Like Chili Con Queso |

[personal profile] waders 2016-05-07 06:19 pm (UTC)(link)
waders: (Sad from that dark-green part of my life)

Hey, I know you!

[personal profile] waders 2016-05-08 04:17 pm (UTC)(link)
It was a common misconception that those that regenerated didn't feel pain. After all, when Wade was so easily hacking off limbs without so much as a peep to get out of metal grips or to escape or to fucking wreck someone's day, it seemed like a simple thing. Easy decision. What's the real loss of an arm (as long as it's not his jacking off hand, am I right?)?

HA. Hahahaha. Fuck you. It was the same pain as everyone else, only accelerated. Fast. Wounds would start to itch and beg to be dug out the second they appeared, nerves on fire and screaming inside his head only to be swallowed up by the other noise in his head, voices that never shut the hell up. But it was old hat now, things he knew, things he was used to, and after awhile, the pain was...familiar. An old friend. Sometimes he called it by name, "Hurty McHurtyson", and chatted until whatever wound closed itself up.

Today, Hurty was screaming. Hurty was loud, persistent, Jehovah's Witness achievement level persistent, and Wade was stuck on the floor while his legs ever-so-slowly worked to knit themselves together. Machine guns. Not a big deal. Flame throwers, not a big deal. Both at the same time?

Still not a big deal, it just hurt like a fucking bitch.

It wasn't just the seemingly million holes in his legs, it was the sword gashes across his spine. Paralysis sucked. It'd be fine in a couple hours, but fuck all, till then he was stuck lying on this filthy warehouse floor, trying to blow at the rats that kept trying to come nibble on the most talkative corpse they had ever met. Hey, at least the Black Plague had nothing on cancer, am I right?

...probably not.

But it was fine. The guys were dead (sorry, Spidey; he had tried to bring them back alive, really! Who knew a flamethrower would explode like that when he shot the gas pack? ...well, he did, but that was beside the point), and the fire that was consuming the other half of the building would come for him soon. It'd suck. It'd hurt. It reminded him too much of that night, but he'd live.

He'd always live.

This contract had been a joke, had been too little pay for too much work, had been... a trap and he knew it going in. But it was that anniversary, the anniversary where he walked into that Frankenstein meets Maniac Mansion lab and trusted some fucknuts with the most cryptic card known to man, all without check Yelp reviews. And maybe that was what this was, a reckless endeavor that reminded him that he was still human, but just insane enough to take stupid risks on stupid anniversaries when he was moved and vulnerable.

"Well, fuck...Where's Dr. Phil when I need him? I'm making a fucking breakthrough here."

The crackle of the fire spoke back, and he wished he had some marshmallows.

"Shut up, Hurty. I still know you're there."

You know what would be awesome? If someone came to rescue him right now. You know, because things like that were nifty.
spideyguy: (SM Closeup)

[personal profile] spideyguy 2016-05-08 07:40 pm (UTC)(link)
It said something that Peter heard the explosion from his house. He wasn't even near the warehouse district, and when he looked out his window, there was a faint wisp of smoke in the distance. He definitely needed to check that out, and he barreled out the door with his skateboard and a half-cocked excuse about practicing tricks to Aunt May.

He changed into his costume and webbed his belongings to the roof of the butcher down the street before swinging towards the source of the disturbance. By the time he got there, a few minutes before the police, the entire right side of the building was ablaze.

"Holy cow." Peter muttered, closing his eyes to listen for signs of life over the crackle of the fire.

He honestly shouldn't be surprised that there was only one. The chattiest dead man Peter had ever known. Christ.

Rescue comes in the form of shattered glass and a web to Wade's chest, and Peter hauls him up to the steel beam he's currently perched on. It was already starting to heat up with the fire, he'd better make this quick.

"I'm sending you the dry cleaning bill," Peter wrapped an arm around Wade's chest, making quick work of webbing the merc's hands to his shoulders. Couldn't do to have him falling, and if he hadn't gotten out of the building in the first place, it was probably safe to assume he couldn't move that well.
waders: (Whatchu talkin' 'bout Francis?)

[personal profile] waders 2016-05-08 10:48 pm (UTC)(link)
Yep. Marshmallows. Maybe some weenies. Maybe marshmallows on weenies? No, that’s just gross. There was probably a Pinterest recipe out there for it. The internet was weird.

But he was preparing for a roasted Deadpool left on the grill a tad too long when the window shattered. Heat? Did the heat do tha—No. Nope. It was him, it was the cheery neighborhood Spiderman, and Deadpool smiled. See, this was what a hero looked like! He even came in to save a lowly little merc like him.

Now, that’s a friend.

The ground fell away beneath him, and he recognized it more as a visual than a touch sensation; his legs were tingling, asleep, but that was as close as he was going to get to feeling anything with them for awhile. He wondered if Spidey could feel the heat of the beam through his suit.

You shouldn’t be here. I’ll live, you won’t.

But that was part of the biz, right? And people knew that when they signed up for this career path, encouraged by only the most corrupted of student guidance counselors. Wade just hated it when people unnecessarily risked themselves for him.

“Hell, I’ll buy you a new suit after this, my prince charming.” He’d like to say it was weird, being carried out like this, but it wasn’t the first time he had been rescued. However, dangling from webs on a guy’s shoulders? That…was a little different. Feet and legs swung like a windsock in the breeze.

“Am I a cape now? I feel like a cape.” He laughed, but that was common. When wasn’t he?

“So, if I told you that it was like this when I got here, you probably wouldn’t believe me, would you?”
spideyguy: (SM Hanging)

[personal profile] spideyguy 2016-05-09 12:19 am (UTC)(link)
Oh, he could feel it. Peter swung them out the window as fast as he could, and maybe his form was a little sloppy but it beat the scent of melting flesh, so he couldn't really complain. He webbed the firetruck ladder to direct them down a side alley, away from the scene of the crime. He'd probably regret that later - letting the cops see him, that is - when they found the charred bodies, wouldn't he?

"Don't go swooning on me, Pool." Peter warned, trying to ignore how limp Wade was. Sure, he couldn't die - not from anything Peter had seen - but he was hoping the guy couldn't feel his legs because damn, that looked like it would hurt.

"What do I look like, Thor? No capes!" A few more zig-zags through the streets and Peter slipped into another warehouse. This one had a workstation and a mattress, looking semi-lived in. It was just a warehouse he came to crash at sometimes when his injuries were too much to hide from Aunt May. "Welcome to the inner sanctum."

"Yeah, no I really wouldn't. I'm sure you'd spin a great story though."
waders: (Sad from that dark-green part of my life)

[personal profile] waders 2016-05-09 06:16 pm (UTC)(link)
The inner spider sanctum. He looked around best he could; turning his neck too much was still a no go. The fanciness was lost amid the blown out squatter homeless feel from it all. Maybe some curtains would spruce this place up. A throw rug? Decorative vintage camera shaped pillows from Modcloth?

This? This was where he stayed? Hopefully not all the time because that guy needed a new manager, one that could set him up with totally new digs.

Just another sign that the hero thing didn't pay for shit.

"Spidercave is a lot more underwhelming than I thought it would be." Legs dangled, and whether he liked it or not, Spiderman had a cape. A human cape. A human cape that smelled of burnt flesh and pancakes. Mm, tasty. "You know, we could get some contractors in here, spruce the place up a bit? Put in a Spidermobile, a wall of monitors, probably a sweet video game system for when I come over and crash - because I am crashing, just so you know. On Fridays, we can turn it into a sweet night club and charge a cover to come in; you'll make bank. Who wouldn't want to hang out with you? Maybe we can even have dance contests."

Was he stalling? Of course he was. He didn't want to have to admit that he was in there on a job, that there was a host of bodies burning up like dried out firewood all because of him. He didn't want to see that mask move as he let Spiderman down.

He...really didn't want to do that.

Ugh, having friends was hard.

"Sooooo, watched any good movies lately?"

Yeah, like that wasn't subtle.
spideyguy: (Glasses)

[personal profile] spideyguy 2016-05-10 02:27 am (UTC)(link)
"Sorry to disappoint." Peter carried Wade over to the mattress and cut the webbing from his hands, carefully depositing him on it. It didn't matter if he got blood on it, Peter would just trash it and find a new one. "You're more than welcome to it, Pool, just don't let me catch you inviting friends."

"I patrol Fridays. I patrol everyday. Don't really have the time to run a night club." Peter knelt down by a wooden crate, digging through it for his medical supplies. Street fighter supplies, but it would do. He couldn't give Wade anything long term anyway. "Where should we start with the patch job, Pool?"

"Dude," Peter crossed his legs, sitting beside the mattress. He pulled off his gloves, preparing to thread a needle. "Come on, spill it. Least you can do when you're ruining my mattress."
waders: (default)

[personal profile] waders 2016-05-12 01:22 am (UTC)(link)
Oh, now see, that was a thing Deadpool was great at: getting blood on things! Clothes, bad guys, good guys, mattresses (in a non-kink way...and sometimes in a kink way), it all got a lasting little taste of Deadpool on it, a gift to last a lifetime. He smiled beneath the mask, laughing under his breath.

"Friends? That's cute; you think I'm popular!"

A surprised little hum came from the back of his throat; was Spiderman really going to try to patch him up? Really? He...cared enough not to let him take care of himself? It wouldn't do much, not really, just speed up some of the time but...it was nice. Really nice. Most people didn't think to--

"Um, my legs I guess?" His back was a mess, but it'd have to work with turning him over and not smothering him, so legs. Legs were a good way to go. "Going to have to get a new suit after this..." And it wasn't like he could just buy one, which meant sewing. Again. That took forever with this material.

He really needed to get better at not getting shot.

"You've got to promise not to be mad." Because if he was, then Wade was just going to describe a piece of Golden Girls fanfiction. In detail. Word for word. Pick your poison wisely, Spiderman.
spideyguy: (SM Closeup)

[personal profile] spideyguy 2016-05-12 05:55 am (UTC)(link)
"More popular than me. The day people shoot at me in your name, though, I'm kicking your ass."

Peter had begun to notice a sort of...pattern. Deadpool would be shot, or maimed, or brutally slaughtered (for all intents and purposes), and he'd just...walk it off. Which, okay, fine, he could stand to walk it off. But should he have to? People seemed to forget that it must fucking hurt. Maybe it was from being out on the streets daily, but Peter couldn't watch him get the shit kicked out of him without feeling some sympathy pains.

So, yes, he's going to patch him up as best he can and let the healing do the rest. Peter pulled out the tweezers and settled cross-legged on the floor, gently pulling one of Deadpool's limp legs into his lap. "Damn, what is that, machine gun?"

"Do you mind if I just cut the fabric off?" Peter asked, bug-eyed mask turning up towards Wade. The blood was congealing, sticking the suit to his wounds, and hell, it was ruined anyway.

"I promise." He kept his voice mild, grabbing a lighter from the kit to sterilize his equipment. He didn't say he wouldn't be disappointed, which could be a thousand times worse.
waders: (Crotch shot!)

[personal profile] waders 2016-05-13 06:38 pm (UTC)(link)
"Okay, but people only know about me because of my big name movie deal and obviously dashing good looks. You, however, have some of the best marketing in the world! Ever see my underwear? Spiderman right on them, not even lying."

So, maybe it was TMI Tuesday or whatever Facebook decided anymore. The point was everyone knew who Spiderman was. Everyone knew what he could. He was a household name, stocked with merchandise from every Walmart, Target, WhateverBigNameStoreExisted. Kids wanted to be him. Kids couldn't even see the Deadpool movie, as it should be.

Really, he wasn't for children.

"Machine gun. Flame thrower. Be careful ; I think the suit is melted to pieces of my leg." Shit, this was going to hurt, going to hurt bad, and he wished he had something to drink...not that it did any good. Super healing meant alcohol was a nonissue. It was the little things that no one ever told him about that made it suck so much.

"Go 'head. Gotta get a new one anyway."

Great. The story. Ugh... if it had been anyone else, this might have been mildly easier. "Got a contract. I knew it wasn't good, something was just off about it, but the money was full of zeroes and I went anyway. It's not Happyville in Deadpoolland; the It's A Small World ride - which is not named after my dick, I'll have you know - is down. Too much shit. So I took it.

"And it was a trap. I thought it could be, and it was, so I killed them. Only because they shot first." Among other things. Super soldier slave bits not withstanding. "And I mean, they kind deserved it."
spideyguy: (Glasses)

[personal profile] spideyguy 2016-05-15 05:49 am (UTC)(link)
"We've got to have a movie night. I need to see this," Peter teased, shaking his head at the mention of his merchandise. "Seriously, they make that now too? Why do I even bother being surprised anymore?"

"Shit," Peter mumbled, taking careful stock of Wade's leg. It was going to hurt, definitely. He wondered if he could give Deadpool any painkillers, but his healing factor was even more intense than Peter's, so probably not to any real effect. His fingers traced over the fabric, trying to find a lifted edge to start working it away from Wade's skin. "A flame thrower? I mean, this totally sucks but that sounds cool."

Peter just sighed, holding himself back from even the slightest hint of annoyance. He did promise, after all. He carefully wedged the scissors in between the fabric of the costume and Wade's leg, starting to cut it away. "...what's the matter, Pool? And don't give me the usual, you haven't gone off the chain like this in a while. Did something happen?"

"You know, you can always come find me if you need it." He offered this neutrally, carefully, not wanting to imply that Deadpool couldn't handle himself but...well, sometimes you just needed someone around, even if it was just for an hour of busting purse snatchers. A little superhero R&R, if you will.
waders: (Sad from that dark-green part of my life)

[personal profile] waders 2016-05-17 02:51 am (UTC)(link)
“I…don’t think it’s available here. Not yet.” He grunted a little, smirking. “And you should have gotten a better lawyer. Seriously, where’s your trademark? Copyright? Make them pay to use your likeness like everyone else. I mean, Taylor Swift trademarked everything, including years.”

Ahhh, and this was the fun part, wasn’t it? The nerves were coming back online first before movement, and he could start to feel things but couldn’t pull away. In effect, it was the perfect time to do the cleaning, the fixing: he was forced to lie still while Spiderman worked him over, making his work on repairing the damaged leg easier. But fuck all, this was going to hurt.

It might even hurt more now than when it happened.

“It was totally cool,” he admitted. “It was even cooler when I shot the gas tank and exploded.”

Oops. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. “I mean… you know, if I did something like that? Which I clearly did not.” It wasn’t lying if he was really bad at it, was it? Of course not.

But here it came, the offer, the heaviness, and he sighed. Part of him wished he could take his mask off because it was hard to breathe; another part wanted to melt into the suit and just… be it. Be burnt up and flaked away. Ugh. Melodrama. Angst. Muns always liked to make people suffer.

Instead, he bit the inside of his mouth til it bled.

“Yeah, it happened back when my face happened.” Anniversary. Worst day out of the year. “It’s fine. I’ll be better…” when I can fix all this. Fix what happened to me.
spideyguy: (SM Closeup)

[personal profile] spideyguy 2016-05-17 05:17 am (UTC)(link)
"What a shame." Peter snorted, shaking his head. Sometimes Deadpool just went right over his head. "Some of us have secret identities that we can't put on licensing forms. Besides, someone's probably bought it by now. Probably Taylor Swift. Aren't her legs insured now?"

"You didn't? I guess Santa must have set that building on fire while he was doing his July dry run. To an abandoned warehouse. Where you happened to be getting your ass kicked." It doesn't count as lying if Peter's sass doesn't count as judging. They're even.

Peter had never thought of death as a luxury, but in a way it was probably comforting, knowing that you would return to dust eventually. There'd be an end. Deadpool had a whole other version of eternity in front of him.

"Well what happened to remind you of the first thing that happened?" Peter pressed, cutting away the fabric methodically, trying to minimize the number of times he was going to have to rip it out of Wade's skin. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours, by the way." He still didn't know how it happened, the scarring and the ability to take a bullet without blinking.
waders: (Whatchu talkin' 'bout Francis?)

[personal profile] waders 2016-05-19 06:41 am (UTC)(link)
"Secret identities are so 2006. Get with the times." How many people had he shown his face to? How many had his name? He wasn't hard to find; he was practically flaunting it now. Shy? Not in his bag of tricks (that was reserved for yoyos and strapons). The only thing he ever worried about was someone close to him getting hurt, but when you hung around with a cubic ton of mercs, it was rarely a problem. Well, except for Vanessa. That... that had been...

Dammit, why couldn't he shake his head yet?! That was a head-shaking moment if there ever was one.

"I don't know if even the Swiftly Tay-tay has enough money to buy out your merchandising. Your insignia is worth quite a bit of money."

Yep. Yep, he was blushing at being called out. Sure, he couldn't shake his stupid head, but blushing? Blushing was totally okay. "Didn't you know that Santa's elves have sniper training? It's for when they're flying over Detroit." Two could play at this game of Chutes and Ladders, Spidey. Two. Maybe three. But two for sure.

So, now the big stories came. The origin stories, not of ninja babies or rogue families or anything else; Spidey was picking out pieces of melted suit from his skin, which meant he should probably tell him the truth. What did it matter, other than his own ego?

"I showed you my whole freaking face already, Mr. My-Weakness-Consists-Of-Rolled-Up-Newspapers. I think you get to start this round." And it bought him a little time, something to prepare himself. These stories...they never involved fun waterparks or alien moon-kitties bestowing crescent wands; they tended to have more blood involved. Pain. Things people didn't tell you in super camp.
spideyguy: (100)

I got an icon just for them xD

[personal profile] spideyguy 2016-05-19 06:59 am (UTC)(link)
"I have a life I have to live. I have - " Peter stopped himself before he said too much. Especially about his Aunt, which was particularly difficult considering she was pretty much Peter's world. Loved the hell out of her. And Wade - well, Peter didn't know his name, but he'd seen his face. You couldn't exactly hide that day to day. Plus, Wade couldn't die. Peter considered that a special circumstance.

"Too much for me, at this point, anyway." Still trying to get through college. Not to mention the costs of his vigilantism. Spandex and chemicals for his webs didn't come cheap.

"Yeah, I saw that Full Metal Jacket dub of Rudolph, try again." Peter snorted, pulling the fabric out of his leg without preamble. Better than letting him tense beforehand. He winced sympathetically, smoothing over the area with his palm, as if to will some semblance of pain relief over the skin. "Yikes."

"And what a gorgeous sight it was." He sighed a little, working on the next piece of Wade's suit. Peter honestly wasn't sure he'd ever gone over the whole affair. "I was looking for more information about - " He hesitated, fingers curling around the edge of the fabric. " - my father. I followed a lead to Oscorp and ended up somewhere I shouldn't have; one of their genetically engineered spiders bit me. Fast forward through a weird mutation montage and here I am, proportional strength of a spider and stupidly amazing reflexes."
waders: (Brother wanna thank your mother for a bu)

Omg, I love that icon!! XD

[personal profile] waders 2016-05-19 06:34 pm (UTC)(link)
"You have people you care about." Come on, it didn't take a rocket surgeon to figure out what he was going to say; Wade had the same sentiments, the same feelings. He (and his ego) just liked to believe that he could beat everyone before they even got close to his loved ones. It didn't always work that way, but he could at least save them before it went too sideways. Usually. Sometimes.

"Maybe we could make it an investment opportunity. I can front the money; you just be cute and web-slingy, i.e. normal. We'll make a killing...a killing you'd actually let me make for once."

Deep breath. Deep breath. Fuck it, this hurt. Teeth ground behind his lips as he closed his eyes; the white lenses hid most of it, and he was glad for that. "I know you haven't been able to get it out of your head since that night. Do me a favor and try to be a medical professional instead of an adoring fan with a super huge crush on me. We can get to the customary flirting later."

The smile behind his mask was bitter, and somehow he managed to keep his voice steady. "Rip the fabric off like a bandaid. It'll hurt like a bitch, and you'll get a few layers of skin with it, but it'll heal faster." His father, huh? Genetically engineered spiders? "Did they look like real spiders, or giant six foot tall ones? If it's the former, tell everyone it's the latter; I mean, think of how much more impressive it sounds."

Did he have to talk about his now? Couldn't he just deflect for a little while longer?
spideyguy: (78)

too accurate xD

[personal profile] spideyguy 2016-05-22 07:24 am (UTC)(link)
"Everybody does." Peter finished neutrally, or as neutrally as he could manage. Sometimes it was difficult, not being able to truly be himself with anyone. He wasn't all Spiderman, but he was no longer completely Peter Parker, either. But every time he tried to reconcile those parts - it went to shit pretty fast.

"Did you just call me cute, Mr. Pool?" Peter faux-sighed, practically batting his eyelashes through the mask. "I'm swooning!"

"You're the one wearing my non-licensed merchandise on your ass. I'd return the favor, but I'm usually a commando type of guy." He wasn't, really, except the days he forgot to throw boxers on. Peter nodded seriously, continuing to rip the fabric off in big strips. The chunks of flesh that came with it - he'd tried to minimize the damage, honestly, but Wade's healing was pretty fast.

"Just one spider. Not even the size of my palm. Don't go spreading that around, either - people like to think I'm a mutant."

And no, because once he regained the use of his legs he'd probably run away from the conversation. That's what Peter was betting on, anyway. Besides, talking helped distract.
waders: (Crotch shot!)

Soooo accurate! And sorry it took me so long; it's been a long few days!

[personal profile] waders 2016-05-27 11:38 pm (UTC)(link)
"It's cute that you think that." Because there were those that didn't care about anyone, not a person in the whole blue world. Francis had been like that, and part of him wondered if he had been that big of a douchebag before the whole Super Soldier Happy Fun Time or just after.

But yeah. Long story short? Not everyone gave a shit. Sociopaths existed.

And you're not supposed to call him out, Spidey! Blushing under the mask hard enough to practically radiate the heat, Wade was stuck lying there helplessly. Damn, this was like the middle school dance all over again. "It's the outfit. You look like a little mini me, without all the muscle and black awesome designs. And pouches. So, you know, it's like thinking I'm cute, but twice removed."

Was he? Was Spiderman really a commando guy? "That would explain the lack of panty lines, but something --like your junk outline in the suit-- tells me that the lie detector would determine that to be false," he offered, using his best Maury Povich voice to hide the pain of his skin peeling. What? Daytime talk shows were the best; they made his life look sane.

A wince flickered over his face, teeth biting into his cheek. An itty bitty spider. It... it was almost funny. He laughed a little over the absurdity of it all. "You secretly want to be part of the X-men, don't you? C'mon, tell Uncle Deadpool. You wanna room with Logan."

The fact that Spiderman was helping him at all, that he hadn't just left him to bleed out...and regenerate...and bleed out again...over and over until it finally healed enough to stop, that meant something. It was important, and he needed, no, he deserved to know. Spiderman, surprisingly, was becoming a friend, and Wade...well, he had even less of them now.

"Cancer." He cleared his throat and tried wiggling his toes; there was a twitch. Good. "I know, right? How does someone as healthy-looking as me have cancer? I could model on the cover of Chernobyl Monthly. But yeah, I've got that, and some Willy Wonka motherfuker offered me the Golden Ticket, I thought. A cure.

"Word of advice: Don't trust people. Especially when you're desperate."
spideyguy: (76)

[personal profile] spideyguy 2016-05-28 03:35 pm (UTC)(link)
"All the people with a cause worth fighting for." Peter corrected, tilting his head at Wade. He can't imagine that Wade doesn't have somebody. "Anybody human has cared for someone or something at one point in their life."

"Excuse me? I was here first, you're the one copying me." Peter shook his head, and you can feel the mock-judgement from here, can't you? "I'm plenty muscular. Bet you five bucks I beat you if we arm wrestle." Once Wade's spinal cord healed and he could move his arm, that is.

"Stop looking at my junk. Jeeze, that's the problem with the masks - can't see where your eyes are." Peter scolded, finally pulling the last of the fabric out of Wade's rapidly-healing skin. Honestly, wounds were starting to close before his eyes. "One, definitely not. Two, never call yourself 'Uncle Deadpool', that's so creepy - and three, as I said before, I prefer living."

Gee, it was a wonder why.

Peter was silent for a moment, listening to Wade's explanation. He's - yeah, a little surprised - but only because it was oddly...normal. Not the insane ninja baby training he'd usually gotten out of the mercenary. "Cancer would make anybody desperate."

"So did they...cure you?" Clearly not without a cost.