#farmhouse in acreage

[thecompany123]

All that You Should Know About Acreage in Victoria

Acreage is a property in Australia that is at least one acre in size and is sometimes much more. An acre is 4000 square metres. An acreage is typically used for agricultural purposes and can be as large as 20,000 square meters as opposed to the average block size of 400-800 square meters. If you want to live in a country town while living in a major city, then The Company’s rural land for sale must be seen to be believed and is an opportunity not to be missed!

[0frizzlefry]

Pictures of the house I grew up in. It’s been destroyed since we moved, but I still visit from time to time

[easyexitgroup]

Rural Retreats: Discovering Farmhouses and Acreage in Lorain County

Escape the hustle and bustle of city life and discover the peaceful attractions of Lorain County. Find your perfect farmhouse and acreage to live, work, and play in the great outdoors. Whether you're a first-time homebuyer or an entrepreneur, explore rural retreats in Lorain County today!

[levitationmagazine]

Houston Traditional Exterior Image of a medium-sized, elegant, one-story, stone-exterior home with a shingle roof.

[bejoga-kitajiko]

Guest Bedroom Houston Mid-sized farmhouse guest carpeted and gray floor bedroom photo with gray walls

[clasesdeperiodismo]

Exterior - Fiberboard Inspiration for a large, two-story, country-white house with a hip roof, a shingle roof, and a brown roof that is being remodeled.

[francophilesuniverse]

Farmhouse Bedroom - Bedroom Inspiration for a mid-sized cottage guest bedroom remodel with white walls, a gray floor, and wainscoting.

[iwillbe-healthy]

Fiberboard Exterior in Houston Hip roof, shingle roof, and brown roof on a large, two-story, country-style house in white with concrete fiberboard siding.

[wanderers-of-sornieth]

Built-In - Contemporary Home Office

[bitten-fruit]

price….. in a.. a.. cowboy hat

girl... you have no idea what you have done to me with this ask. Cowboy Price!?? I had so much fun with this, I might even do a part 2! I'm sorry this took me so long - I really hope you like it!!! ♡

18+ mdni - cw: chasing, spanking - 3.2k words

John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You've got a habit of climbing the fence between them, snooping around Mr Price's property and leaving traces of your misbehaviour behind. This time, he catches you.

Here’s part 2!

Daddy had warned you about wandering onto Mr Price’s property. The lichen-coated fence that separated his land and your father’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of oak and pine trees, over a bumbling shallow creek. It was easy enough to climb over, but there was one little gap in the barrier, where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were more of your own land on the other side.

Mr Price was a reticent man. An arguably shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once or twice, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.

His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, dating back long before you were born. Whatever enmity existed between old men had not quite been passed on to the last remaining son, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.

Thus explained your intrigue. You found yourself strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way, once he had finally come home. Suddenly bearded and jaded, no longer the bright-faced young man you had distantly remembered, he had picked up where his father had left off. He lived alone, as far as you were aware, in his inherited six-bedroom farmhouse, atop a five-thousand-acre piece of natural splendour. Don’t bother the man, daddy would tell you, he’s not our friend.

But you had always been at the mercy of your impish curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college. You’d peek into his empty old shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.

Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.

But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.

He had caught you, once, while your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries. You had heard him yelling;

“Hey! I see you in there, missy!”

Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a rabbit and hopped back over the fence.

“There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady,” he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks, “You hear me?”

It didn’t stop you, of course, whatever threat he threw at you. If anything, it emboldened you. Now you meandered down the rows of cherry trees like they belonged to you, picking the prettiest ones, popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, spitting them into the grass as you moved onto the next.

You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes you’d leave juicy red fingerprints on doorframes, on the planks of the fence, on horse snouts – perfectly incriminating.

Today was no different. You wandered in scuffing sandals along an old dirt road, green sprigs of grass almost covering it entirely. Some old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.

Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked the fruity flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.

One, two, three, four…

At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, red paint faded and matte after a decade or two of proper use and neglect.

There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. Mr Price squinted through the glare of the afternoon sun, crow’s-feet pinching, eyes barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye; the flitter of adrenaline buzzed in your chest, toeing the line between nerves and excitement.

With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, “What’d I tell you about catching you back here?”

Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.

“You said there’d be trouble,” you answered with a simper, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other.

“Mhm,” he grunted in agreement, tapping the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head in gesture for you to make your way around to the passenger side. “Get in.”

A crease pulled between your brows as you frowned at him. “What for?”

“I’m takin’ you back to your daddy,” he barked, irate and impatient, “I’ve got some words for him, too.”

You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. “What words would those be?”

With a snort, he rocked his head to peer out of his windshield, then back to you. “To keep a fuckin’ handle on his daughter.”

“Don’t think there’s anything you could tell him that he hasn’t already tried,” you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.

He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. “I believe that,” he scoffed, “c’mon. In. Don’t make me ask again.”

You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. “Or what?”

Glowering at you for a moment, his nostrils flared in frustration, as he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.

With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. You hadn’t seen him up close in as long as you could remember, and Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the looming shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, so delightfully thrilling. You felt the shiver of gooseflesh tingle down the nape of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach.

“You’ll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,” you spat, with a faint curl in your lips, almost daring.

He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, wearing a snide and thin smirk, curled under his dense beard. But as his gaze raked you up and down, his sneer shifted quickly into a pout of disapproval, eyes caught on your chest.

“Care to explain this?” He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you; you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if it might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream linen of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap - brazenly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.

But, no, he instead curled the fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front of your dress.

Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance.

As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand suddenly moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing glare glued to your lips, his eyes sunk into a defeated ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.

Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat; as he tilted your head up and to the side. He used his other thumb to wipe your bottom lip, pointedly slowly, from the corner to the centre.

“You’re a little thief,” he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. “Aren’t you.”

Were you scared of him? It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heartrate between terror and thrill – perhaps a touch of both. Because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldn’t club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the tingle his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off your dress illuminating them like they glowed from within.

“No I’m not,” you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the low neckline.

“And a liar?” He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists – lifting your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, red drips dried in your palm. “You’re covered in evidence, missy.”

Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. “It’s not stealing if you don’t use it.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” he snapped, hooking his hands onto his hips. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”

“I can walk home,” you grumbled, “you’re not the boss of me.”

Huffing in anger, he leaned forward – looming over you with a domineering lour. “While you’re trespassing on my property – yes I am.”

Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibble at the inside of your lip as you pouted at him. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t go with you. Kidnap me?”

He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some rope in the truck,” he gruffly warned, “you gonna make me use it?”

Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.

He was daring you, wasn’t he? Goading you to challenge him.

So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat – plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.

“Hey!” He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you – but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. “Fuck’s sake.”

Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.

“God dammit, girl, you get back here!” He roared – already closing the distance. You hadn’t expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, charging after you like a grizzly.

You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the tall white oaks that littered his prairies.

“If you get so much as a dent in that hat I’ll fuckin’–”

“You’ll what?” You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.

You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. “You’ll be in big fuckin’ trouble!”

Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property – this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. You’d perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there.

He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, stumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood amongst dust and scattered hay. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.

Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. “Give me the hat,” he ordered, throaty and severely – no longer joking.

But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.

“I like it,” you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. “It probably looks better on me.”

“Even if it does,” he chided through teeth, out of breath, “it’s not yours.”

You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. “Maybe it should be.”

“Give it to me.” He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped in your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.

So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.

But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist, hooking you by the stomach.

“C’mere,” he growled through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, holding your back to his chest with a constricting arm, leaving your feet dangling high off the ground.

You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. “Let go of me!” You squeaked, still giggling.

“No,” he snarled, “I’m taking my fuckin’ hat back, and then I’m taking you back to your daddy so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.”

You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip; nails digging into his bronzed and hairy skin, corded with veins bulged from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them, while he hauled you towards the exit.

“It’s just a hat,” you whined, “you’ve probably got heaps of them.”

Your obstinance was aimless – no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen.

“It was my father’s,” he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.

You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. “Well he won’t be needing it, will he?”

That was a step over the line.

You knew it immediately, quick to bite your tongue after the words spat from your lips.

And his retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against the bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.

He kneeled beside you, with his forearm weighing against your lower back - you were flustered and confused by his haste. Skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack.

“Ah!” You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.

A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly – you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.

He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place; grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You thought he might apologise, might express some remorse, might beg for you not to tell your father what he did. But he was silent. Like he had even surprised himself.

You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.

“For what?” He growled; his glower potently intimidating, a glimmer of voracity in his shadowy eyes, strained like he was suppressing greater hunger.

With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. “For taking your hat.”

Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasn’t there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.

And he must have heard it, took it as encouragement; as you felt the hand of his arm that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm – lifting up the hem even further, you felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin as your ass was entirely exposed.

“Yeah?” He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. “What else?”

[thecompany123]

7 Questions You Need to Ask When Buying Small Acreage

[chilling-seavey]

Daniel Seavey Masterlist

♡ Welcome to my Daniel masterlist...the heart and soul of my blog...where you can travel from modern day Connecticut to WW1 England to 1950s LA and everything in between!! ♡ Comments are always incredibly appreciated and please feel free to send in questions or ideas or asks so I can write some blurbs and help keep these universes thriving! Most of my blurbs can be read as individual stories themselves and still make sense (but it’s more fun if you really immerse yourself into the universe first!) Happy reading!

Daniel's Face Claims ♡ Crossover Mini Series

Series

Anything But Mine - Friends to Lovers AU ↳ Florence DiCaprio finds herself navigating life as a nineteen-year-old mother; trying to find the right balance of friendships, young adulthood, and definitely relationships. Her best friend, Daniel, seems to be learning along with her. They discover the importance of sacrifice in the process.

Passchendaele - WW1 AU ↳ It’s 1915 and The Great War is still ongoing. Men from all over Europe flooded to enlist in a rush of patriotism and dedication to their countries, nineteen-year-old Daniel among them. He’s thrilled to fight for Britain, as most men were, but once in the battlefields of Belgium, he realizes that war is truly not as glorious as he once imagined it was.

Amoureux - Royal AU ↳ Louisa is sixteen and prime age for marriage. Her father, the King of France, has been conversing with the King of England in order to hand over his youngest daughter in marriage, therefore bonding their two nations. Twenty-year-old Christian is a perfect gentleman, and he is absolutely smitten by Louisa the moment they first meet, but the young girl has her eye caught by Christian’s younger brother who can’t seem to keep his hand out of the pastries. 

Heartbreak Hotel - Soulmates AU ↳ It’s 1958 and summer has just begun, sending the teenagers of Los Angeles into warm weather freedoms and part time jobs. Eighteen-year-old Daniel finds himself spending his days trying to find his soulmate and he refuses to give up until he has her.

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit - Murder Mystery AU ↳ ‘He who wants everything, loses everything’ All Daniel knows is that he woke up the day after his honeymoon to his wife dead at his feet and the bloody knife in his hand. He is suddenly propelled on a mission to escape his own persecution while he works to find the true killer and prove his innocence; He is innocent…isn’t he?

Seasons Change - Small Town AU ↳ Everyone knows everything about everyone in this small rural town in east Connecticut and the handsome single father who owns the farm down the main street seems to always be the talk of the town. Balancing the care of his acreage, raising his eight-year-old son, and coaching the local boys’ hockey team keeps Daniel busy; but his mind never strays far from the expansive and vibrant flower gardens planted outside his farmhouse. 

Life and Death Brigade - WDW x OBX Crossover ↳ Life on Figure Eight is ordinary for Daniel. He’s got everything he could ask for: a huge family estate on the water, friends that love to party as much as he does, and a year round membership to the country club. But just when his life is starting to get predictable, Daniel finds himself caught up in a secret society run by none other than JJ Maybank and his group of empty pocket misfits. 

[staticspaces]

The Farmhouse Mansion

Check out the video here!!

Let's move over to the other side of the home and and have a look at what the newest addition looks like!!

The history of this farming property dates back to 1805 when the land was bought by a man named Christian. The acreage would then pass through the ownership of four generations of his descendants. A modern wooden frame house was originally built in 1826 which would serve the families purposes until 1875 when his great-great-grandson David would build the first part part of this modern day farmhouse.

The home is an example of a Victorian Italianate villa including Georgian and Gothic Revival Influences. Some of its striking features include decorative bargeboard, wood shutters with half-round tops and beautiful front entryway within the house. It had two smaller additions over the years mostly keeping with the original architectural style.

The grounds of the property were beautifully landscaped at one time and large garden parties with thousands of guests were held in the late 1800s. The proceeds of these parties were donated for various church related building projects in the area. After 157 years the large parcel of land was eventually sold out of the family in 1962.

The mansion was also featured in a few films near the end of the 20th century. It can be seen in the film Funeral Home from 1980, Buried Secrets from 1996 and it even appeared in an episode of Goosebumps, Night of The Living Dummy 3 in 1997.

The almost 9 acre property was sold in 2019 for millions with the intention of building light industry in its place. The home has since begun the process of being historically designated and has already been incorporated into the the new development's renderings.

[allfrogsmatter]

Sooooo today I splurged and finally got Cottage Living!!

(used up 1.6 Gb of the ~7 Gb of space left on my Mac 😰)

And to celebrate I wanted to share a bit of my current household!

I began this decades challenge for my own enjoyment a few years ago (2?) and have played them sporadically since.

Meet the Smithens Family, living in Brindleton Bay circa 1890-something!

Reginald Smithens was the son of a poor fisherman. Always a gloomy loner, his marriage was one of convenience to a farmgirl of similar status. Over time he saved enough to buy a modest farmhouse, which has been expanded over time as they started a family, which continues to grow.

Anna-Beth Smithens was the demure daughter of a poor farmer. She was married off to Reginald and had a blissful start to married life as she was able to devote her time to her flower garden and caring for her husband. Once children came along she found it much harder to get by and now struggles through her days juggling far too much for one person to handle, even with Reginald’s help.

Reginald “Reggie” Smithens Jr. is the first child of Reginald and Anna-Beth. He enjoyed a pleasant childhood and grew up to be responsible and helpful. He has an excellent talent for the piano and loves to tend to the animals on the farm.

Frances “Francie” Smithens is the second child of Reginald and Anna-Beth. He is a spirited boy who loves to doodle and read and makes friends with almost everyone he meets. He suffers from anemia, which keeps him out of school most of the time, but he enjoys being inside creating masterpieces.

Harriet Smithens is the third child and first daughter born to Reginald and Anna-Beth. She had a difficult upbringing, as she had been an unplanned and unwanted child. Her father bonded with her easily, but her relationship with her mother remains strained. Because of this she grew up to be temperamental and mean, taking out her feelings on others.

Josephine “Josie” Smithens is the fourth child of Reginald and Anna-Beth. She has always been well-mannered and sweet and enjoys reading books, cross-stitching, and playing with the chickens.

Cecil “Ceci” Smithens is the fifth child of Reginald and Anna-Beth. He is a free-spirited and unruly toddler who hates to be told what to do and runs rampant over the acreage with no containment.

And the (current) littlest one is Raymond Smithens, the sixth child! He is an intense baby who throws wild tantrums and has terrific mood swings.

This household has simultaneously been the most fun/most frustrating household ever! I love the challenge of their being self-supporting (they make bank from their crops) and the added strain of a big (and getting bigger) family.

They’ve also given me so much to play with, as they were my guinea pig household for the infants update (i had two infants and a toddler and a newborn all at once and it was actually hell), Lumpinou’s RPO, adeepindigo’s healthcare redux, and now Cottage Living! So I am very excited to dive into this pack with them and I’m glad to finally share a bit of them with you all :)

Also I did NOT build this farmhouse, it is 1890s house unfurnished by holladaytime on the gallery and it is impeccable!!

[haroldhearsawho]

I guess since yes won I should stick to my word and share my Mpreg Nix Winnix rambles then huh 😏😚:

So, my idea is that in a mpreg universe Dick and Nix first get together and sleep together sometime at the end of the war in Germany or Austria and also have reckless unprotected sex in Paris or England on furlough together before Nix ships back home and they won’t see each other for awhile.

Then while he’s back home and Dick is still overseas Nix finds out he’s pregnant, and like they still haven’t really talked about what they are or what their future is together. So Nix decides to wait until Dick gets home to tell him but maybe right before he ships out he gives Nix a call and Nix kinda just blurts it out not meaning to because he hasn’t told anyone and it’s KILLING him. So Dick is asking about details regarding the train schedule and when and where Nix is going to pick him up and Nix interrupts him and just blurts out “I’m pregnant, Dick” and Dick goes silent and is like “What?!?” And Nix is like “From our furlough in (England?), the night before I shipped back home” and Dick is like “It’s mine?” And Nix is like “Jesus Christ Dick what kind of lady do you think I am”

And yeah it evolves from there and Dick can’t get to Nix’s side soon enough because he becomes even more protective and possessive over him now that he’s carrying his child and he starts working for Nix’s dad and they get a place in NJ together to raise the baby. And Dick is so determined to take care of and provide for Nix and their baby even though Nix tries to remind him he already has enough money. And then before the baby is born Dick pops the question and they get married and have a small simple wedding before the baby is born because Dick won’t let Nix have the baby and still be unwed he’s gotta make an honest woman out of him first. (Obviously in this world where mpreg is possible gay marriage was also legal then)

Also in this universe there would be tons of family drama as well because Dick’s family doesn’t approve of Nix and Nix’s family doesn’t approve of Dick and there’s a lot of tension with Dick working for Nix’s dad who doesn’t like him but is also his father in law and grandfather to his kids while also his boss

(I have way more I can share but this is the gist)

*Also I really wanna plan out their future family with multiple kids and their future big farmhouse and acreage they’ll have so if anyone wants to help me or indulge me with that be please my guest!!!