#hockey rambles

[multishippingtrashfire]

honestly, if Geno is on the block for trade, that shows me two things (and I am aware G has NMC):

1. Kyle is stupid

2. The Penguins are going full rebuild and kissing any chance of playoffs, let alone a run, goodbye until after Sid.

Geno was the one quarterbacking the team for that stretch of games where Sid was off, plus he’s kept his drive up in Washington and against the Stars. Whatever someone would send in return of him would still not be enough to pull the team to contenders unless coaching was also changed and more roster (A LOT MORE) pieces moved. Sid alone cannot drag the team to the Playoffs, just like Sid and Geno alone can’t get them there. So why would you get rid of one of the only other producers/scorers? And trade value isn’t a good answer here.

The facts:

- the league has advanced beyond Sully’s system (it makes me think that’s why we SUCK at shootouts)

- Our roster is still overly top heavy in shooting, and we’re still under average for the rest of the league

- Our defense is dead and getting worse (and the anvil is Graves (partial NMC from Dubas btw) and Grzelcyk).

- Our goaltenders are dying out there, because the team in front of them is failing to protect them

Moving Geno will solve maybe the defense piece if you get a top defenseman in return and offload him with someone else but then you also have to realize the trade off is killing the locker room and also killing the fanbase. PPG will absolutely be despondent, especially since trading G is obviously not the answer.

[jimothystu]

This is fucking ridiculous. G’s been in the league for about 15 years now, so he knows what the fuck he’s talking about. People on X saying the team “needs” all this negativity and “needs” to stop whining clearly are not fucking listening to what any of the players are saying. They’re tired of it. They hear it, they understand the fans are frustrated but so! Are! They!!! They’re frustrated! They’re tired! They are trying!!!!

And Brady, a 24 year old, needing to delete the social media apps from his phone because the negativity is so much?? Fucking disgusting.

Harassing the team and staff needs to stop. Get frustrated sure. Be annoyed. But remember these are people too. They have fucking feelings. And at the end of the day IT IS JUST A SPORT. IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE FUN.

[whomeekmanlarsson]

No, because I’m actually starting to beleaf.

I’ve been a leafs fan since I was a child sitting in the living room with my dad, squinting at our shitty brick of a TV watching Dion Phaneuf and Phil Kessel and Morgan fucking Rielly and Nazem Kadri suck. They sucked but I loved them.

I used to get so angry when the kids on my team called them the Toronto Maple Losers. Until the point that I started calling them the Toronto Maple Losers. Because they were losers, but they were my losers.

And for a while there, I lost interest. I stopped following hockey because I just had too much else going on in my life.

Then along came Auston Matthews and Mitch Marner and William Nylander. I remember watching Auston Matthews NHL debut. 1 goal. 2 goals. A hat trick. 4 GOALS, and they still fucking lost. It was the most Leafy thing I’d ever seen, but I felt that spark of hope for the first time in a long time.

And they’ve had their ups and downs (many of which I didn’t see) but there has been an undercurrent of hope that every Leaf fan has felt growing. Something was changing. We’re watching history on our screens.

And then this season. This fucking team, man. They’re something special.

We haven’t had a problem with scoring the last couple years. And now we’ve got one of the deepest forward bench we’ve seen from the Leafs in AGES (the core four, plus Pacioretty (get well soon king), McMann (get well soon king), Domi, KNIES, Lorentz, etc). Plus our call ups from the A? Fraser Minten and Nikita Grebenkin are absolute JOYS to watch out on the ice. (I know Grebs is pointless so far, but he’s making an impact and I love him.)

And I’m just going to take a moment to highlight Mitch Marner. I know Tumblr likes to sing his praise…

AND HE FUCKING DESERVES IT. He is one of the most consistent players we have. Him and Matthews are constantly flipping back and forth on the all time Leafs list. Do you know how many multi point games he’s had this year? Do you know how many Leafs goals he’s been involved in? Do you realize he scored his 200TH GOAL this season? That he’s played SIX HUNDRED games? He is one of the most versatile players in the LEAGUE. He can pass, he can score, he can defend. He’s on BOTH special teams. He’s the perfect winger, he’s got centre experience, HE PLAYED DEFENCE. Genuinely, what can’t he do? WHAT CANT HE DO? Maybe he had an off year last year, but every superstar does. But the fact that the media and OUR FUCKING FANS dragged his name through the mud last year is disgusting. The fact that they’re still whining and complaining and begging Treliving to get rid of him is APPALLING. Y’all want to play AGAINST this man?? Unbelievable. We don’t deserve Mitch Marner; he deserves better than us. I love you Mitchy <3

Anyways, back to the rest of my Losers

Defensively, the Leafs have been pretty terrible for as long as I’ve known them (Mo is an amazing offensive defence man, and I’m so glad we have him, but he couldn’t do it alone). But this year?? OEL, McCabe, Timmins, Chris “tertiary goalie” Tanev?? LOVE LOVE LOVE

And our goalies. Our beautiful, beautiful goalies. 6’6 Anthony Stolarz; Holy Stolie what a Goalie; can’t find our hearts because Anthony Stolarz. And Joseph “Brick” Woll, certified cutie; Mr “Mixes Music in Between Games”. Both of them have been consistently in the top 5 of Save Percentage and Goals Against. Let me say that again: BOTH JOSEPH WOLL AND ANTHONY STOLARZ HAVE CONSISTENTLY BEEN IN THE TOP FIVE OF SV% AND GAA. They’re the only goalie-tandem in the league to do so. They’re the only goalie-tandem period. No one else is doing like them and that is beautiful.

And lastly, Craig motherfucking Berube. I’ve never cared about a coach the way I care about Berube. He is genuinely the PERFECT coach for this team. And I don’t need to say anything else because just look at the fucking standings.

We are THE hottest teams in the league rn. 9-2-0 in our last 11 games. 9 of those games without Auston Matthews!!! Not to mention how many players are STILL on the IR right now! We’re the top of our division. WITH A GAME IN HAND. We are 4 (four!) points out of first OVERALL.

Cheering for the Leafs always felt pointless. It got to the point where, when people asked who my favourite team was I’d always start with “I know they suck, but–” and I was embarrassed to wear my Leafs paraphernalia out and about lest someone see me. I was confident that it would never happen.

But this year… I don’t know. I hate to say it, but I think I’m starting to believe in these Losers.

These are my Toronto Maple Leafs <3

These are my Leafs. These are THE Leafs. I’m gonna be old and grey and this team, THIS TEAM, is the team I’m gonna think about in the nursing home

“The Leafs back in my day—”

“Gramps, shut UP”

And I never will <3

[united-under-skyfall]

leverage is so fucking funny. man manages to find the most mentally ill and neurodivergent group of thieves on the market + an even more mentally ill guy whose literal job description was trying to chase all of them, and forces them into a found family speed-run by trying to blow them all up. they lowkey stage a full fucking country wide coup and are like eh 🤷 just another wednesday. this might be a fun place to vacation tho i guess. sophie shows up to her own funeral twice. they're so good at convincing people of their shit that they make a guy's body start reacting to an illness he doesn't have because it isn't real. go completely out on a limb and basically hand this one guy a new password for his computer so they can get into it and he goes with it. parker and hardison have straight up just "fake it 'till you make it"d into the fbi without even attempting to cover their tracks beyond just These Two Guys. half their clients never asked to be their clients and don't know they're their clients, and the other half are random people who find them who fuckin knows how, meanwhile no government agency can track them down without selling their soul to sterling. they make a point to have a dramatic scene w a Big Bad Shadowy Government Guy who doesn't actually get caught or brought to justice or anything telling them he's going to hunt them all down, and in any other show this would probably earn at least a minor arc later on but he literally never shows up again. an entire season finale hinged on a cake and a bunch of clams. they accidentally made eliot a celebrity not once, not twice, but three times. parker blew up her foster parents' house when she was like. nine. and it's hardly a footnote. hardison is just casually an artistic prodigy but it's only ever brought up for the most background of background gags. eliot's biggest beef with parker and hardison for like two and a half seasons is that they won't stop making weird food with lasers and refuse to realize they can't make a decent beer to save their lives. sophie's immediate response to being shot is to call her shooter a wanker. there's a character who has literally killed a man with a mop and they had the audacity to only put her in one episode.

[thedevilrisen]

Cradle Me

Father!Quinn x Son & Wife!Reader. Word Count: 1,1k Authorial Note: My next voted WIP! I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I did while writing it! Don’t know if it’s my best piece then. Warnings: Swearing, mentions of birth.

Elliot Samuel Hughes came screaming into the world at 4:12 p.m., Quinn only knew his son for a matter of awed, breathless moments before the world sharpened—and chaos erupted.

Nurses swarmed you, dabbing and cleaning with sodden warm towels. A warm, slimy bundle of swaddle-blanket and baby reached your chest as the obstetrician stepped back from your glistening body. Quinn's reddened hand slipped from your grip, instinctively cradling the baby to your chest. His other hand, shaking slightly, gripped the bed's plastic rail. Leaning forward, he rested his right arm limply across your shoulder, his forehead gently touching yours as the two of you gazed down at your son.

"How’re you doing, Dad?" the obstetrician asked from the sink as he scrubbed his hands clean.

Quinn blinked, a goofy grin spreading across his face. "I feel sick... but in a good way." He laughed softly, joy plastered permanently on his face. "We created a human... that's fucking scary but awesome at the same time."

Even in your post-birth haze, a smile graced your lips. It was an awesome thing indeed. This was your person now, a culmination of Quinn and your love. Despite this baby being considered a gift, he clearly was sent to test you and Quinn’s love for each other. No parenting class could have prepared you for the unfolding chaos that was leaving the hospital and heading home. The first day at the hospital was incredible, the nurses gently guided you and Quinn in the ways of parenting. But once you left and arrived home, the learning curve turned into an aggressive crash course.

Emotions ran high for every family member. Every nap missed, messy feed, spit-up, or nappy mess that needed cleaning up frayed the string further. Quinn and you had been remarkably naïve to think that this journey would be easy, even though you’d been dreaming collectively of this moment for years.

Quinn, along with self-proclaimed uncles Elias, Brock, and JT, spent hours working on the perfect nursery for baby boy Hughes. From wall decorations to the crib and changing table—which you insisted had to be powder blue with clouds and a grassy field with cows in it—the boys poured their hearts into it. Once they had finished assembling the room and you'd let it air out due to your hatred of the smell of fresh paint, you added the final details: books, blankets, nappies, and wipes, along with baby clothes hanging neatly on tiny coat hangers.

The first night home from the hospital was powered purely by adrenaline. You and Quinn took shifts with baby boy—changing, feeding, and sometimes just comforting him to sleep. By the second and third nights, the exhaustion set in. Leaving the warmth of the bed became a Herculean effort, especially for you. The physical toll of birth weighed heavily on your body, and sustaining new life felt overwhelming.

Quinn tried his hardest to take the load off, seeing how hard you were working to make the transition smooth, though it felt futile. His patience held up remarkably well for the first four days, but by the fourth night, tension crept in. Snappish words replaced your usual playful banter, and the distance between you felt like a growing chasm. Quinn’s touch, once so comforting, now felt foreign. Exhaustion tangled both your nerves, and intimacy between the two of you became a distant memory.

That night, an abrupt “goodnight” was shared, accompanied by a peck on the cheek. You both lay there in the dark, separated by a wall of fatigue, each praying for sleep that never came, as baby boy woke again at distasteful hours of the night.

Night five was the killer. Some ungodly hour like 1:03 a.m. glared back at you from the microwave as you ambled around the kitchen for the second time that night. You’d fed him twice now, but much of the milk had come back up in spit-up. Quinn had changed baby once and had checked on him again 45 minutes earlier.

There was one distinct problem: the baby only slept when he was held. You could do as many laps around the kitchen as you wanted, Quinn could rock him for hours, but as soon as baby landed on the bassinet’s mattress, it was like laying him on lava.

"Still no luck, darlin’?" Quinn’s voice came quietly from the doorway, his tired form silhouetted by the dim light of the stairs. He met you halfway, his brow furrowed with concern.

You let out a soft, frustrated sigh. "Every time I put him down, he cries," you whispered, blinking back tears. "I’m so tired, Quinn."

He stepped closer, reaching for your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "C’mon, let’s go back to bed," he murmured, leading you gently up the stairs. Exhaustion had blurred the edges of your world, and you forced a tired smile as he kissed your hand again.

"He’s just going to cry when I put him down, Quinn," you stated tiredly as he threw back the covers for you. The softness of the bed felt like heaven against your aching body, and you settled in without a second thought.

Quinn, now shirtless, pulled baby from your arms and nestled him gently on his chest, holding him snugly as he propped himself up with pillows. He tucked you in under his arm, pulling the blankets over both of you.

"Sleep now, darlin’," he whispered, kissing the top of your head. Baby wriggled slightly in his swaddle but quickly relaxed against Quinn's warmth. "If this is how we have to do it from now on, fine."

Quinn sighed, his grip tightening around both of you. "At least we have good chiros at the rink."

[ruinix]

Just look at him skating back to the lockers.

(Vancouver Canucks @ Ottowa Senators, November 23, 2024)

[multishippingtrashfire]

OMG YES THANK YOU GOD YES THIS IS ITTTTT

Sid: It used to be much more common to have roommates on the road. Today only guys on entry-level contracts have them. In my first two years, my roommate is Colby Armstrong. He’d been called up from Wilkes-Barre, and he’s a great guy. He keeps things really loose.

For whatever reason, he loves the show Ellen. When we get up from our pre-game nap, Ellen is usually starting. She always dances with the audience at the beginning. So, Army always dances with her in front of the TV. That becomes my pre-game routine on the road: watching Colby Armstrong dance to Ellen.

You spend a lot of time together in hotels. We’re in Buffalo, and we always order room-service dessert when we get home from our meal the night before a game. Even if we’ve had dessert at the restaurant. These were slightly different times when it comes to nutrition!

So, we would order this big piece of chocolate cake at the Hyatt in Buffalo. We’re waiting for the cake one night, and for some reason, we decide to get in a full-on wrestling match.

We’re going back and forth, and now he’s on the ground and I come from the other side of the room to jump him. He sticks his knee up and gets me in a… well, a really bad spot, if you know what I mean. I just drop. I’m in a heap in the corner in agony. He thinks I’m joking. I’m not. I have some serious swelling.

So he starts to panic: “You’re gonna be okay— right, Sid? You’re gonna play tomorrow, right?”

But I’m not sure. I can’t move.

We decide we have to tell the trainer. He comes to the room and he’s not happy. He doesn’t want to tell the coach I’m going to be out because we were wrestling.

So, all night, Army is nervous. Every hour, he wakes me up and says, “Sid, are you okay?” He keeps telling me, “You have to play!”

He reminds me over and over it was his dream to play in the NHL, and his career depends on me playing. He thinks he’s going to get sent down to the minors for knocking me out of the lineup in a wrestling match.

So, I grind it out and play. Just for Army.

Army: I was so scared. Full panic. I’m still waiting for him to have a kid, so I can know I didn’t ruin the Crosby genetics forever!

But it was kinda Sid’s fault. He bull-rushed me. And if you mess with the bull, sometimes you get the horn! We tone down the wrestling after that.

Sid’s right about the cake. We love to eat. One night we get into Toronto late, around 11:30 p.m., and we’re off the next day. I’m not sure if we are supposed to go out, but a few of us do, just for a couple of beers. Sid is smart. He stays in and goes to sleep. I’m starving after the bar, so I go to McDonald’s and grab a couple of cheeseburgers. I sneak into our room quietly and go straight into the bathroom to eat. Don’t want to wake up the Kid.

I’m sitting on the edge of the tub, eating my McDonald’s. All of a sudden, the door cracks open a little bit and these tired, squinty eyes peek in. And this little voice says, “Hey, Army, did you get any for me?”

So at 1 o’clock in the morning, I sit on the edge of the tub, the best player in the world sits on the toilet, and we eat cheeseburgers. Life doesn’t get much better.

-Beauties: Hockey’s Greatest Untold Stories by James Duthie (2020)

[ourravenboys]

women’s hockey continues to be the gayest and most entertaining sport

[cooneycrossed]

Cant believe this guy is winning a Stanley cup next season (trust me)

[tojisun]

wdym this isnt hockey player simon

[multishippingtrashfire]

Mike Sullivan and the entire coaching staff right now:

[sophsicle]

the thing is, i do not have any interest in a hockey player who falls in love. i am interested in a hockey player who is utterly destroyed by the boy standing across the ice from him. the boy he met when he was 17 maybe, at juniors. and then 18 at the draft. who he hated because they were competitors. who he hated so much that he couldn't even think about anything else. until he didn't know who he was if he wasn't competing against him. wasn't fighting against him. wasn't thinking about him. wasn't pressing him into the boards. wasn't holding him too long in the handshake line. wasn't sneaking into hotel rooms with him. and having hushed conversations in corners. and less hushed conversations in beds where they were soft and young and childish in a way they could never be on the ice. until the day they stop. because, well, it's not like this can go on forever, right? because we've been playing this sport since we were three and we will keep playing it until our bodies are so broken they have to scrape us off the ice. because this is our life. this is our whole life. this sport. and it has no room for boys who are soft and young and childish. who hold each other a little too tight. so now this hockey player stands on the ice and he looks at this boy and he aches like his whole body is bruised even though the game hasn't started yet, even though no one has touched him. and he wonders "if we had different dreams, in a different world, do you think it would have been us? i know you have kids and a wife now but - but do you think it would have been us?"

later, after the game, a reporter will shove a mic in the boy's face and ask him about the goals he scored and the goals he didn't. about the hockey player who's been his rival since they were 18.

"17" he corrects.

the reporter blinks. "sorry?"

"since we were 17" smiling in a way that feels like a sob. "he's a fierce competitor," hand rubbing against a stubble rough jaw, thinking about something that started long before he could grow a proper beard. "he's my favourite guy to play against, someone you miss when he's not there," another smile that the reporter has to look away from. "he has beautiful hands." he can't say what he wants to, of course. which is that he looks forward to these games more than any other. counts down the days. marks them on the calendar. because there are pieces of himself that he gave away when he was too young to know better. that he asked the hockey player to keep. and he has, because that's the kind of guy he is. because no one ever taught him how to put shit down. so when they go out there on the ice together, the boy gets to be whole again, for a little bit. he gets to be whole.

"Thank you" the reporter says.

And the boy nods. "Of course."

[rowdyluv]

i just randomly woke up at 3am and instantly thought about how this sweet boy broke the franchise record for defenseman assists and will continue to set the record for as long as he is a canuck

quinn hughes is a generational talent. quinn deserves the recognition that mcdavid receives.

[cornerihaunt]

no literally 💀💀💀💀💀

[purinfelix]

omgomgomg desperately need a franco ice hockey fic PLEASEE

[thedevilrisen]

Last-Minute Miracle.

Pairing ~ Hughes Brothers x Reader

Word Count ~ 1.4k words

Authorial Note ~ My very belated HHH fic. I hope you all enjoy and reblogs are so, so appreciated!

TW ~ Nothing! Just heaps of lovely fluff! More of a focus on Quinn, maybe one or two name mix ups!

Lights glow in the windows of small town buildings. A picturesque town preparing, snow blankets the streets and holiday decorations bring a magical glow to the town square. Iridescent string lights hung, illuminating the window of the town's most beloved bakery, Holy & Hearth.

Enclosed inside the brick walls of the century old building Y/N, the owner, a normally calm and joyus young woman was now buried under overwhelming pressure. Y/N, a passionate baker, has always taken pride in creating the perfect Christmas treats for the town's annual holiday festival and festive season. Procuring the delicacies was a lone burden she shouldered, after her father's passing she took the brave step up to run the bakery that was previously his, her grandfather's before that and his grandfather's prior to that. This generational Christmas tradition was enormous for her family, but more specifically, her.

This year, thing were falling apart. Crumbling spectacularly, Y/N's assistant and best friend had recently gotten back from a trip visiting cousins in Michigan, a bustling state with a large city. A far cry from the small snowy town, its glistening lights and joyous atmosphere seemingly freezing everyone in it's bubble in time. When she returned though, it was with a nasty dose of viral tonsillitis.

"I'm sorry Y/N!" She choked out horsely over the phone, and you could tell how remorseful the friend truly was. This was the first year the two would run the event together, months of angst and painstaking late hours sampling recipes was the lead up to tonight.

The festival started tomorrow at ten. Y/N looked at the clock, she had a little under twelve hours. How could she do this alone-

Her friend's voice crackled through the phone, "I think I have some people who can help.."

.`~> <~`.

It had plagued Y/N's mind until three o'clock. Since she put the phone down she hadn't wasted a second, not even to really breathe. All of the recipes had been pinned to the cork board on the wall, sticky notes littered the pages with quantities of each treat needed. Numbers changed as orders came roaring in each one making the situation feel even more unfathomable, specially orders for the preschool, church and hockey team all piled in. Around that time three young men stepped into the shop, shrugging snow off of their jackets as the small bell chimed letting Y/N know of their arrival.

"Hi! I am so sorry.. but we are closed currently." Y/N looked at the three, dusting her flour covered hands onto the already messy front of her apron. She locked eyes with the what appeared to be the oldest, beautiful chocolate eyes and perfect dimples.

The tallest of the three, who was stood slightly behind the others shyly spoke, "Our cousin sent us.. she said she was the assistant."

Recognition crossed Y/N's face, these were the cousins that her friend went to visit. Quite frankly, the first thought across the young bakers mind was how on earth do you win the genetic lottery.. all of them did.

It was outrageous.

"She sent you to help?" Y/N asked skeptically, without causing major offense, "You don't seem the type.. if that makes sense."

Dimples stepped forward, "I can understand why it looks that way but we owe our cousin a favour and she said that you would need all the help you could get."

"Well she certainly is correct in that statement." Y/N sighed, looking down to where her phone was practically buzzing off the desk with orders.

The three men glanced around the bakery, taking in the flurry of activity and the clear signs of Y/N’s exhaustion. Flour dusted every surface, and the warm scent of sugar and spice lingered in the air despite the chaos.

"I'm Quinn.. these are my brothers Jack and Luke." Y/N now vaguely recognized the three from photos she had seen in her friends house. After a quick introduction, the three boys stepped forward further into the bakery. “We’re quick learners, and we’re here for as long as you need. Just tell us what to do.”

The tallest of the group, who Y/N now knew as Luke, nodded. “I’ve worked in a kitchen before. Nothing big, but I can handle a mixer or wash dishes if you need it. I've helped with team dinners."

Team Dinners? Maybe he plays collegiate?

The third, who’d been quietly assessing the situation with sharp blue eyes, gave a small smile. “I’m Jack. I’ll definitely be the most useful."

"My gut is telling me there isn't an ounce of truth in that statement." Y/N smiled back at the blue eyed boy, a cheeky smile adorning his lips.

Y/N stared at them for a moment, her initial skepticism softening. She didn’t have much choice, and at this point, she’d take any help she could get. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.” She gestured toward the corkboard, laden with recipes and sticky notes. “Here’s the game plan. We’ve got to tackle these orders first. Then, we need to prepare for the festival tomorrow morning. Can you handle a crash course in Christmas baking?”

Jack grinned. “Lead the way, boss.”

Y/N turned around and gave him a look that very clearly said, don't start.

.`~> <~`.

For the next few hours, the bakery became a whirlwind of activity. Y/N quickly discovered that Luke had a knack for organization, swiftly sorting ingredients and keeping the workspace tidy. Quinn had steady hands perfect for decorating intricate cookies, and Jack's charm proved invaluable when a few last-minute customers knocked on the locked door, pleading for small orders.

“Alright,” Y/N called out, her voice cutting through the hum of the mixer and the clatter of trays. “How’s the gingerbread station coming along?”

“Almost done,” Luke replied, carefully sliding a tray of perfectly shaped gingerbread men into the oven. “You weren’t kidding about these being popular.”

Quinn, hunched over a tray of cooled cookies, piped delicate snowflake patterns with surprising precision. “Do we have enough frosting? I’m flying through it over here.”

Y/N laughed, the sound light for the first time all night. “You’re doing great. I’ll whip up another batch.”

Jack emerged from the front of the shop, his hands full of empty coffee cups. “I made a deal with the diner across the street. They’ll keep us supplied with coffee if we give them a tray of those chocolate crinkle cookies.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You’re bartering baked goods now?”

“Gotta keep the team caffeinated,” he said with a wink.

"You mean yourself." Quinn glared, "Since when do you do something that doesn't aid you."

Y/N snorted, nose tipped down into her coffee mug as the steam rose around her face. Her eyes danced with humour when she looked back up at Jack who look utterly displeased.

By the time dawn broke, the bakery had transformed. Rows of festive treats filled the display cases, from meticulously decorated sugar cookies to golden loaves of spiced bread. The air buzzed with the scent of cinnamon and peppermint, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride—and relief.

The three men, now dusted in flour and clearly exhausted, leaned against the counter, surveying their work.

“Not bad for a bunch of amateurs,” Y/N said, offering a tired smile.

Jack crossed his arms, dimples flashing. “Does this mean we pass the crash course?”

“You’ve earned extra credit,” she replied, "Only cause you got coffee though."

The festival that day was a resounding success. Holy & Hearth became the heart of the celebration, its booth drawing a steady stream of delighted townsfolk. Children’s eyes widened at the sight of glittering cookies, and parents murmured their appreciation for the bakery’s dedication to tradition.

Y/N stood behind the counter, handing out treats with a genuine smile. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see the trio of cousins. Jack held a cup of hot cocoa, Luke carried a plate of leftover cookies, and Quinn's grin was as warm as ever.

“Thought you might need a break,” Jack said, holding out the cocoa.

Y/N accepted it gratefully. “I couldn’t have done this without you guys.”

“We couldn’t let you face it alone,” Luke said, his voice sincere.

As the town square lit up with the glow of the Christmas tree, Y/N felt a deep sense of gratitude. The festival wasn’t just a continuation of her family’s tradition—it was a reminder of the magic of community and the unexpected ways people could come together.

And as Quinn's dimpled smile lingered in her mind, she realized this Christmas might bring more than just sweet memories.

Reblogs are appreciated!