||Gonna re-bump this one to get this boy more action.

Hot buttered rum, anyone?

OH––Some new customer? Hands the lady a cup of the warm drink.

It's going to cost her.

Wiggles his eyebrows. What does she think it's gonna cost?

Payment received~. Hands her: one steaming hot mug.

Dmitry is: cooking up a storm. And he has prepared about a million rum-balls for the holidays.

Are the holidays over with yet Dmitry is: exhausted

… how does she feel about rum balls again

… how good is she at wrapping tins?

No. He's bad at wrapping. That's why he's asking her for help.

Pretty much everyone they know. Rum balls are the easiest thing that he can make en masse.

Biiiiiiiiiiiig stretch Time to work on breakfast.

They're both here to help, eh? … Why not? Hands them both aprons, kisses his wife's cheek, and ruffles his son's hair. "Okay, all. What are we thinking of making?"

"I think we can do that," Dmitry said, tying up his own apron. Both of them had a hard time saying 'no' to their son. The boy wasn't spoiled, but he was certainly indulged. "I'll get the stove warmed, can you two get the ingredients whipped up?"

Hazard about being a chef? Accidentally slicing his hand with a knife. He is: on his way to find a medic.

Does she mind terribly if he and Pooka come? Their son has been kidnapped by his aunts and it’s thus unavailable.

He doesn’t anticipate they’ll get Nicky back until they pay a hefty ransom. Rum balls ought to do it. But for now, here comes the Duke with their pup in tow. “Hello, Princess~.”

For once, Dmitry isn't covered in flour or batter. He cleaned himself up to go on this walk with his wife and their dog. "Not bad day despite it being mid January, hm?" Paris' weather was thankfully less frigid than Russia's in the winter time.

|| hot damn I’m getting old #MyTwitterAnniversary