For the 50 word prompts list... century for Sid/Geno?
“Do you think about it?” Sid asks, or Geno thinks he says something like that, at least. He’s sprawled across the couch in his little suite at Mario’s, and Geno’s used to it by now but it’s still a little disconcerting, to see the next Gretsky in basketball shorts and a ratty t-shirt and bare feet--a reminder that they’re kids, even though Geno doesn’t feel like one. Well. Sometimes he doesn’t.
“Think about what?” Geno asks, after a pause to fit the words together in English. Sid waits, patient, because if there’s one thing he’s learned about Sid since getting to the US it’s that Sid’s often impatient, but not about the things that matter.
“What they’ll say about us.” Sid gestures to the TV, that’s playing an old war documentary, ostensibly because it’ll help Geno with his English but mainly because Sid’s a nerd. A nerd with muscles emerging from his baby face and a way of standing and looking and being that makes Geno want it to always be pointed at him, but definitely a nerd.
“I know what say. Say, need score more, need better backcheck, need--”
“Not like that.” Sid rolls his eyes. “Although, actually, if you want to work on--”
“Sid,” Geno whines, and Sid laughs, loud and undignified. Geno can’t look away.
“Not like that,” Sid repeats. He’s looking at the documentary again, where there are images of men--well, guys about Sid and Geno’s age, probably--getting onto ships, grinning and laughing, guns on their shoulders. “Like, what they’ll think about us, in a century.”
Geno sits up a little, so he can look at Sid better. Sid’s not usually this...it’s not that Sid isn’t introspective, necessarily, but not unnecessarily so. He believes in keeping his mind in working order in the same way he believes in keeping his body in working order; both are necessary to win. But now he’s looking at TV, but he’s looking past it, too, to something Geno can’t see.
“No,” Geno answers, because he doesn’t. He thinks about what they say now, and how he’s playing now, and what the people he cares about think of him, and even what magazines think of him, but that’s as far as he goes. “I mean, I’m best player, so they know that. Know I’m set all records, never break for hundred years.”
Sid snorts. Geno decides he’s too lazy to prove his point, so he lets it go, but he’s definitely going to make sure to prove it at practice tomorrow.
“Fine,” He says, and grabs a pillow to throw at Sid. It has nothing to do with how far away Sid’s look is, how he’s not looking at Geno. Which is a good thing, because Sid just catches it, barely looking, and tucks it behind his head. He’s still not looking at Geno. “What you think?”
“I don’t know.” Sid looks at the TV again, then he pushes himself up on his elbows, which does really interesting things to the muscles of his chest, but Geno barely notices. Sid’s looking at him now, and it’s the look--it’s the look Geno crossed a world to see, to play with, the one he knows that he’d follow anywhere. That look of utter, implacable determination, like Sid won’t accept an outcome other than what he believes is right, and he will throw himself at that outcome until it happens, and drag everyone else with him. On the ice, as captain--that’s one thing. Here, on just Geno...it’s almost overwhelming, except for how it’s not. How Geno could live in the fire of Sid’s gaze and thrive there.
“I don’t know,” Sid says again, in that voice that makes Geno want to reach out, touch him. “But I know they’ll remember us.”
Geno grins back, hearing that last word echo. Us, he thinks. Forever. “Have to win Cup first,” he points out.
Sid’s smile is fierce and set. “We will,” he says, and Geno hears it like a promise.
Hi! Need help finding a fic... I want to say it’s a tumblr story but I could be wrong. Author was posting it in parts and I don’t remember if it ever got finished. Troy took Sid and Taylor to a local lake to swim and Sid gets kidnapped. Theres an investigation to follow, story is told for a while from one of the investigators POV. Thanks in advance!
That’s my Murder Mystery WIP (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6) (It was never finished, by I’ve promised @northisnotup that I haven’t given up on it)
Sidney Crosby disappeared as a child. Troy Crosby refuses to believe he’s dead.
Camboy was so freaking amazing! I haven’t looked forward to a story being posted this much in easily a decade. That being said, there was a post asking about what readers would like to see from this blog next… I can’t think of a better blog to propose “prostate milking” to than one that’s dedicated to Geno’s awesome booty.
Hey! So a time stamp or just a question, however you wanna answer it for Shelter... when is the first time Taylor asks about Trina and how does Sidney react or handle it?
Technically, the first time is that day that Geno flies to Pittsburgh and finds Sid in such a terrible state. Taylor had been calling for “Mama” all day and every single time it shredded his heart a little bit more.
Sidney keeps a photo on her bedside table from the time they first set up her own room in Pittsburgh. It’s the photo that he’d once given to Trina of the three of them. Every once in awhile—on Trina’s birthday, holidays, Sidney might mention her or talk to Taylor a little about her but when Taylor’s a little older, he lets her take the lead. The first time she asks about Trina unprompted is one night as Sidney is tucking her into bed.
“Sid, did Mama ever make cookies?”
“Oh. Um, yeah, she did every once in awhile. Why do you ask?”
“Ksenia made cookies for us today and Natalie said sometimes they even make cookies together.”
“Oh.”
“Can we make cookies sometime?”
“Yeah of course, Tay. For sure.”
“What kind of cookies did Mama like?”
Sidney settles down next to her, pulling her close. “Her favorite were white chocolate macadamia nut but she didn’t make those. They’re kind of hard to make. Her favorite place to get them was at the cookie stand in the mall.”
“Can I try one the next time we go to the mall?”
“Definitely.”
“What was her favorite food?”
“Well that’s a funny question because if I asked she’d say her favorite food was a veggie omelet and she did like them but she loved pancakes more than just about anything.”
“Why did she lie?”
“I think she wanted me to think she liked the healthy food better.” Sidney smiles at the memory and Taylor laughs.
“Will you tell me more about her, Sid?”
“Yeah, Tay.” Sidney settled back in next to her a little more. “Anything you want to know.”
taylorj8771 replied to your post: Sid seems to be wearing a blue bracelet in a few...
Dan potash posted about it on Twitter as he’s wearing the same bracelet. It’s for awareness about a penguins fan who has medical issues. Dan posted the fan’s Facebook page where anyone can write happy messages to the fan.
This is very sweet, thank you for the info! Sid continues to have a planet-sized heart.
For the prompt list you just posted, Sid and Geno for number 20??
things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear
“I don’t know, I think he has a lot to learn,” Geno hears, as he’s on his way out of the rink. He’s in the hallways he doesn’t enter in often, the ones near the front office–he’d been in a meeting with Dan, which is a part of being captain and not necessarily one he likes. He loves hockey. He’s fine with the team. It’s the other shit that he doesn’t like. Like walking behind two guys who are talking without caring who’s behind them. “Malkin’s great, yeah, but did you see his boardwork last game? He’s been focusing too much on–”
Geno clears his throat. Loudly.
“His offensive game lately,” the guys continues. His Canadian accent is strong. “He needs to–”
“Excuse me,” Geno cuts in. He’s not going to just stand here and listen to this bullshit.
The two men turn. The one who wasn’t talking makes a shocked face, his eyes wide, and glances at his companion. The other guy–short but stocky, built like a tank, like a hockey player–goes a little red, but he meets Geno’s eyes. He’s in a suit that’s decently tailored, if boring, but it looks like it’s rebelling against the breadth of his shoulders. He’s got a nice enough face too, big eyes and a strong jaw that’s set stubbornly. Geno knows his type. The type of guy that thinks they can talk about hockey because they believe that would have made it, even though they’ve never held a stick in their life. A suit.
“Sorry, are we blocking your way?” the guy asks. He sounds sincere about it too, polite.
“What I need to do?” Geno demands. “If my boardwork so bad.” He gives the suit his most intimidating glare, crossing his arms over his chest, looming more than a little. He’s been having a few bad games. So what. He’d like to see the suit do any better.
“Sid,” the other guy mutters. But the first guy–Sid–lifts his chin. His eyes are glinting, with a challenge and with something else, something devastatingly intent.
Geno meets the challenge with his own gaze. What’s this guy going to tell him that he doesn’t already know? Suits don’t know anything.
“Well,” Sid says–and proceeds to take apart Geno’s game in minute, excruciating detail, from his skates to his stick. He doesn’t sound malicious about it. He just sounds like–like these are the facts, every bit of Geno’s game he’s ever been unsure about, every bit he’s ever known he’s weaker on, it’s all laid out there in front of him, in a stupid Canadian accent from a guy in a suit who probably can’t even play, who thinks all this shit is easy, thinks that he can do all the things he’s calmly telling Geno he should be doing better.
“You wrong,” Geno sputters, as Sid takes a breath. he doesn’t seem to be slowing down. The guy next to him looks like he’s about to facepalm.
“I’m not,” Sid replies. Confident. Sure. If Geno were on the ice, he’d check him. As it is–he wants to prove him wrong. Wants to take all of his words and shove them back into his mouth.
“What do you know?” he demands. “You just–suit.”
Sid’s eyes flash, and he draws himself up too. He’s not easy anymore. “Am I wrong?” he asks, sharp as a whip. Not backing down. It’s been a long time, since someone pushed back against Geno like this. He’s the fucking captain here. Who’s this guy?
“You think you can do all this?” he spits. He takes a step forward.
Sid doesn’t move. “Am I wrong?” he repeats, his head tilted up, steady and unmovable as a wall, and Geno–
Fuck it, he has better places to be than to hear his hockey criticized by some random suit. “I’m going,” he says, and pushes past the two guys. “Nice to meet.”
“Let me know if you want to work on any of that!” Sid calls after him, and he doesn’t even sound smug. Geno hates him. What the fuck did that guy know? Just because–he might have been right, but that didn’t mean anything.
///
Geno goes home, makes himself lunch. Doesn’t think about it. Works out. Goes to sleep. Doesn’t think about it.
There’s a game the next day. He doesn’t think about that guy, but he thinks about–about his fucking offensive game, and all the shit he’d said, and the advice he’d given, like he knew, and–
And the puck goes in for the first time in weeks, a neat goal right past the goalie’s blocker.
///
Geno can take a hint. He goes back to the front office. It only takes a little poking around until he finds the right office–Sidney Crosby, it says on the door. No title. Geno doesn’t know what he does, other than critique Geno’s hockey.
He knocks, then hears, “Come in!” and pushes the door open.
Crosby’s sitting at his desk, his suit jacket off and his sleeves rolled up. Geno’s eyes skate only for a second over the muscles of his forearms before they’re back up to his eyes, which are watching him, his face blank.
“You had a good game today,” he says, like a greeting. Bland, though. Like he’s in front of cameras. “Broke your streak.”
“Yeah,” Geno says, and sits down in the chair across the desk. “You say I need to push more, I do. What else i do?”
Crosby’s eyebrows go up. “You really want to know?”
Geno takes a breath, but–he’s a professional. He wants to know. He wants to win. “Yes,” he says, and tries to make himself believe it.
Crosby smiles, and pulls out an Ipad. “Okay. Come here, I want to show you tape,” he says, and then he starts.
In the next hour, Geno learns a few things. First, that Crosby never stops talking. Second, that Crosby is a bigger hockey nerd than anyone Geno’s ever seen, and has better hockey sense than anyone other than maybe Mario. Third, Crosby’s really attractive when he’s worked up over hockey.
Finally, “Oh shit,” Crosby says, as his phone beeps. “I’ve got a meeting with Jim, I’ve got to run.”
“But we not done!” Geno protests. They’ve barely gotten halfway through the game.
Crosby laughs, but he looks as intent as Geno. More so. “I’ve got a real job to do, though.”
“We pick up later,” Geno decides. Crosby shrugs, but he’s smiling.
“For sure,” he says, and shuts off the ipad.
“You get on ice?” Geno asks. “Show me there, too?”
Crosby smiles again, and this time it’s a faceoff smile. “I can show you up there too, yeah,” he retorts, and Geno can’t do anything but grin at him as he leaves. Fine. Maybe he doesn’t hate him. he doesn’t think he could hate anyone who loves hockey that much.
He’s still a suit, though. Theoretical knowledge and hockey sense doesn’t mean he can skate. Geno’ll have to show him up a little there.
///
Crosby bats the puck in out of the air, and Geno gapes, and Crosby laughs delightedly, the sound ringing through the empty rink.
“Why you just a suit?” Geno demands, taking the puck back from him. “Why you not play?”
Crosby shrugs. “I got hurt, as a kid. I can’t stay on the ice for a full game.” Then he looks at the goal, and Geno knows the longing in that look. The way it’s his whole world. It’s been Geno’s whole world too, for so long. “That didn’t mean I couldn’t be the best at something, though.” He says it like a fact. Geno likes it, his confidence. It’s not even arrogance, in his mouth; it’s just true. Or he’ll make it true.
///
Geno likes a lot of things about Crosby. Likes how he moves on the ice. Likes how he pushes back against Geno. Likes how he works Geno until he gets it, unrelenting. Likes how he smiles. How he laughs. How he talks about hockey.
“Geno was on fire tonight, wasn’t he?” Sid asks his friend, as Geno wanders through the front halls, tying to tell himself he isn’t going to find Sid. “His hockey’s gorgeous.”
“His hockey?” his friends asks, pointed.
“Did you see his edgework?” Sid asks, like he didn’t get the innuendo, and Geno rounds the corner to see them talking, Sid’s hands waving as he illustrates, bright and lit up and praising and critiquing Geno’s hockey in turn, and there’s a part of him–small, he thinks, but getting bigger–that wonders if he can get Sid to look like that outside of hockey.
Eep! 5. one night stand and falling pregnant au or 43. falling in love with their best friend’s partner au for Sid/Geno, please please please!!
Geno honestly doesn’t mean to find it.
He’s not going through Sid’s garbage, or anything. He just is using her upstairs bathroom, because the one downstairs is crowded and he’s one of the few people with run of the house, then he uses a tissue, and goes to throw it away, and–well, he’s had scares before. He recognizes a pregnancy test when he sees one.
So what, he tells himself, as he washes his hands. So what. So Sid had to take a pregnancy test. Maybe it wasn’t even her–Sid lives alone, sure, but TV has taught him that sometimes women do that in groups, for support. Maybe one of Sid’s girl friends came over. He thinks she has those. To be honest, he’s not entirely sure of what Sid’s social circle consists of, outside of hockey, but he’s pretty sure she and Catherine and Malin and some of the other female players go out sometimes. Maybe it was one of the rookie’s girlfriends’. That would make sense. Sid adopts people like breathing, and that means rookies and their significant others both.
That must be it, he decides, and finishes washing his hand to go back downstairs, to the party. That must be it, because Sid–because Sid is the most careful person he knows, and he assumes she must be as careful with shit like this as she is with everything else in her life, and–he would know if Sid was dating someone. Probably. No, he would definitely know. She’s private, but not with him.
Still, he finds Tanger when he gets downstairs, even before finding Sid. He’s in the kitchen, getting more beers, which means it’s easy for Geno to corner him.
“So,” Geno starts, then realizes he doesn’t really have a subtle way to finish that.
“So?” Tanger asks. He has three beers in his hands. If one’s for Sid, it can’t be hers.
Geno takes a second to consider being subtle, but he thinks that ship’s probably sailed a while ago. “Is Sid dating anyone?”
Tanger’s eyebrows go up, but then he starts to smile. “Not as far as I know,” he says, and then grabs Geno’s shoulders and pulls him in so he can kiss both cheeks, fast and bright. “Finally! Bon chance, bro, it’s about time.”
“Wait, what–” Geno starts, but then Tanger’s just laughing and zipping his lips.
“No, I promise, I won’t say anything,” he says, still grinning. “Just know the whole team is behind you. But if you, say, were to wait three days until the first game of the season, I would be very grateful.”
“What?” Geno says again, but Tanger’s gone, shaking his head and laughing to himself. Geno’s pretty suer he’s gotten weirder since Flower left. Maybe there was some sort of French-Canadian weirdness quota, and Brass is pretty normal so Tanger had to take more of it on.
Anyway, it answered one question. Even if Geno didn’t know, Tanger would definitely know if Sid was dating someone. So Sid wasn’t dating anyone, and so the test couldn’t have been hers.
That decided, Geno grabs his own beer, and goes out into the yard.
He has to smile, to look at it. The pre-season party’s been a staple for years, and it’s always nice–a good way for him to reorient to English, to the team. And for all Sid bitches about hosting, she loves it too, Geno knows–loves having her team back, loves the tingling anticipation of the season about to start. He doesn’t even have to look for her–he knows where she is, standing at the deck chatting with some of the rookies. She looks like she has for years too, in the best way–all dark curls and big eyes and curves in her jeans and simple t-shirt, probably too muscular and stocky for conventional beauty but who can care about that when it’s so her. Geno knows very well that lots of guys don’t care that she’s bruised most of her life, that she could crush them with her thighs–he’s seen her at bars, even in places that don’t care about hockey.
She gestures with her beer, laughs too loud like she does off-camera, and fuck, Geno’s missed her. It’s only been a few months, but it’s longer than he’s gone without seeing her for the last few years–fuck short playoff runs for any number of reasons–and somehow it feels longer.
“Hey, G,” Sid grins up at him when he settles in next to her, throwing a casual arm over her shoulders because it’s what he does. “Tell Zach he’s wrong about the Steelers’ chances.”
“Zach, you’re wrong about Steelers’ chances,” Geno recites, and Sid elbows him.
“Real convincing.”
“Well, is not hockey, can’t trust you right away,” Geno retorts, and Sid grins and rolls her eyes all at once. Geno manages to look away from her, at the other rookies–and if the test is one of theirs or their girlfriends, well, he’s an A. He can help.
“Sid,” he murmurs, leaning down as Zach starts to argue with Jarry about football. “I’m not snoop, but upstairs, I see test–is something I need to do?”
Sid’s eyes go wide, and her whole body freezes for a second before her media training kicks in, and fuck. It’s hers. It’s hers, and she wouldn’t be reacting like this if it was negative.
“No,” she replies, all post-loss calm. “It’s fine, Geno. Nothing you need to do.” Then, slowly, she pulls away from Geno. “I need to go check on the grill,” she says, and then she’s gone. To the grill, where Cath is, probably mocking her husband for his opinions on grilling, and Sid says something to her then Cath looks up, gives Geno her flintiest glare, and then they both disappear inside.
Geno’s frozen, too shocked even to swear.
///
He stays, as everyone else leaves. He gets odd looks for that–maybe he generally skips out early to escape clean up duty–but Tanger winks as he goes, even as his wife glares a clear threat. Sid doesn’t say anything, even if it’s clear what he’s doing. She just bids everyone else goodbye, until it’s just the two of them left.
Geno thinks he’s waited admirably long before he bursts out “Sid! You–”
“No,” Sid answers, calm. She walks into the kitchen, pours herself a glass of water. Geno follows.
“I see test, Sid, is yours. Who is father? Why he not here? Why–”
“I never got his last name,” Sid says, still so calm in that way that she is when she’s getting mad.
Geno swallows. Okay. Sid does that, and she’s allowed to do that, he reminds himself, like he always does. Sid can do what she wants with her body, she beat that into his head the first few times he tried to–in her words–slut shame her. He can’t judge her any more than he’d judge any single guy. He didn’t have the words when he was twenty and he still doesn’t really, to explain that that isn’t the reason his throat closes up when he thinks about it.
But now–Geno’s mind whirrs. Okay. Sid doesn’t know the father. There’s only one response to that. “You want get married?” he asks, and Sid chokes.
“What the fuck, Geno?”
“You pregnant.”
“I could raise a kid on my own, I don’t need to get fucking married–”
“But don’t have to,” Geno replies, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m there, always. Whatever you need.”
“I don’t need you to propose to me out of guilt for a kid that isn’t even yours,” Sid retorts, and she’s definitely getting angry now, her chin up and her body set like she’s taking a face off.
But–well, now that image is there. A kid that’s his, a kid that’s theirs. The secret thing Geno’s never let himself think about, because that crosses some sort of line. Even if they’d be so good at hockey.
“Well, what you need, then?” Geno demands. “Anyone know? How far along? Have–”
“I’m not.”
“Have doctor?” Geno keeps going, trying to think what other friends who have gotten pregnant think of. “Can’t see team doctors for this, I can ask Ksenia–”
“Geno, I’m not.”
“Will have to tell media some time, but I can take more interviews, can make Tanger do more, if you start show–”
“Geno!” Sid yells, and Geno goes quiet. Sid doesn’t really yell, off the ice. But now she does, and Geno focuses back on her, on her glare and how her arms are crossed over her chest and the stubborn set of her jaw. “Geno, I’m not pregnant.”
No, Geno knows Sid. “That test yours, Sid, and if negative you not make such big deal.”
“Yeah,” Sid agrees, and watches him with cool, hard eyes that Geno can see past, into something that looks like worry beneath it. She’s never looked small in her life, even if she’s rarely the tallest person on the ice. And now she’s filling the room, filling everything. “But I’m not pregnant. Not anymore.”
Oh. “Oh.” Geno takes a second, to make sure he’s translated that right. “Is–on purpose?” He doesn’t know the word for miscarriage.
“Yes.” She’s still that same fierce calm, held so tight but so proud.
“Oh.” Geno swallows. Processes. “You okay?” he asks, because that seems right.
“I’m perfectly healthy,” Sid replies. She turns back to the sink, refills her glass with water. The lines of her back are tense under her Pens t-shirt.
“And–feel okay?” Geno asks. Sid’s religion’s always been quiet, and it’s sort of unclear to Geno how much of it is superstition and how much of it is actual belief, but Geno’s heard that it’s not easy any way.
Sid shrugs, still not looking at Geno. “I am, really. I mean, it wasn’t much of a choice. I can’t have a kid now.“
“Could–”
“Not and play hockey,” Sid says, like it’s as simple as that, and it probably is–another one of the things she’s given up for hockey. “After, maybe, if I’m still young enough.” She knocks on wood reflexively. “But hockey’s more important right now.”
“And that okay with you?” Geno presses, just a little. He’s seen Sid with kids–with the Little Penguins, with her hockey school kids, with teammates’ children. She lights up with them.
Sid shrugs. “It is what it is,” she says, and then she turns, and her chin is still up but she’s looking at Geno like a demand. “And if you have a problem with that–”
“No!” Geno holds up his hands. “No, I’m know, is your choice, your body. Just–” It takes him a second to find the words, and another to carefully translate it to English. “I just want you be happy. If with kid, good, I help. If not–I here too, however you need.”
For a second, Sid just looks at him–then she smiles, that slow half-smile that’s drawn Geno in since they were barely more than kids. “Thanks,” she mutters, and looks down. “I really am okay, though. I mean, maybe it could have been hard in a different situation, but not like this.”
“Could have told me. Would have gone with you, or–”
Sid chuckles. “Sorry, G, but this was not something I needed you for. Cath went with me, and I called Taylor. It was fine.”
“I could help,” Geno mutters. “Would have.”
“I know.” Sid says, with a quick glance up at him, a smile. “You were ready to do more interviews for me. That’s real–I mean, if anything shows how ready you are to sacrifice for me…”
“Probably would have made Tanger and Phil do more instead,” Geno admits, shameless now that he can, and Sid shakes her head and sets down her glass on the counter.
“Oh I know.” Her smile is softer now, the kind of smile that the team gets, that her family does. Something deep in Geno thrills at that smile. “Thanks, Geno.”
“Always,” Geno promises, and really he has to tug her into a hug. She comes easily, and after so long they know how they fit together so well, how Sid is so warm against him.
“Even if your proposal sucked,” she adds, and Geno makes an affronted sound.
“Hey! You not give me time for prepare!”
“Yeah, because your first instinct when hearing someone is pregnant is to propose,” Sid teases, and she tilts her head back to grin at him, that smirk she gets when she thinks she’s chirping someone well even if it is, inevitably, a horrible chirp.
“Not everyone,” Geno protests. “Just you.”
“Oh.” The smug smile goes shocked, then soft again. Maybe considering. “Thanks. Even if I wouldn’t have needed it.” She pauses, then her head tilts, like it does when she watches game tape and plays are forming. “Would you have actually gone through with it?”
“Of course.” Geno’s a little offended she has to ask. “Mean it, Sid. I’m always here for you.”
Sid hums, still looking at him consideringly. “I’m glad,” she says at last, and drops her head again, so it rests against Geno’s chest. Geno looks down at her, at the dark curls and the way she leans into him. He can’t help it, how he brushes a kiss to that dark hair.
@sevenfists not for one second will I believe that was the brand his mom used when he was growing up! Seriously, was the note about him always needing the one brand a fandom thing? I swear there’s a documentary that mentions he always has to use the same brands!
Let’s get to the bottom of this. When did the PB&J routine develop? Did this happen pre-NHL or post-NHL? If the former, how did Sid transition to new brands? Was this a long and painstaking process? Is he less superstitious than we all think he is? Is Geno secretly the most superstitious person on the team and Sid has agreed to take the heat to cover for him? It’s been suggested to me that the jelly might be sugar free, which has shaken me to my very core.
