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[http://archiveofourown.org/works/461563] - - public:opalsong
creator:ChibiRHM, extra:comingout, extra:queer, fandom:Hockey, fanwork, Length:LongShot, pairing:Carter/Richards, pairing:Eberle/Hall, pairing:Sid/Geno, pairing:Tazer/Kaner, quality:sunfish, rating:r, site:AO3, type:prose - 14 | id:1530494 -

Sidney Crosby has known a few things for most of his life: he knows that he loves hockey more than anything, he knows that 87 is his lucky number, and he knows that he’s gay.

[https://archiveofourown.org/works/14929325] - - public:opalsong
creator:StormDancer, extra:gettingtogether, Extra:Kid!Fic, extra:pining, fandom:Hockey, fanwork, Length:LongShot, pairing:Sid/Geno, quality:sunfish, rating:r, site:AO3, type:prose - 12 | id:1525727 -

Crosby’s Biggest Secret! For years, Crosby has been famously quiet about his personal life. But now sources close to Crosby have confirmed that the secretive star has been keeping an even bigger secret than we thought! Meet the heir to his hockey throne—a son! Geno almost drops his phone.

[https://archiveofourown.org/works/3141128] - - public:opalsong
creator:oflights, extra:bond, extra:gettingtogether, Extra:Telepathy, Extra:Voyeurism, fandom:Hockey, fanwork, Length:LongShot, pairing:Sid/Geno, quality:sunfish, rating:r, site:AO3, type:prose - 13 | id:1525695 -

Geno keeps the mental door closed to his teammates in the summer, at least when he can help it; he doesn’t always check in like Sid does. They have other ways of doing that, text and email and social media, and now is the time when they’re supposed to have a break from each other. Geno likes having his head to himself. It’s good for him to get it in order for the next season.

[https://archiveofourown.org/works/16416923] - - public:opalsong
creator:sevenfists, extra:ghost, extra:magicalrealism, Extra:TimeTravel, extra:worldbuilding, fandom:Hockey, fanwork, Length:LongShot, pairing:Sid/Geno, quality:sunfish, rating:r, site:AO3, type:prose - 13 | id:1525634 -

The locker room chatter started up almost at once, providing a screen of background noise. Zhenya sat down beside the ghost. “I’m captain. Evgeni Malkin.” “Sidney Crosby,” the ghost said. He didn’t offer his hand, which made Zhenya think he had been dead for a while, long enough to shed the ingrained habits of the living. “I’m, uh. Is it really 2018?”

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