Artist|Graphic desig|Somewhat of a writer|27|Houston>San Antonio|Wicca|Libra| I love my cat, video games & anime. Supernatural, anime, video games & drawing are my life. I have no idea what this blog is about. Welcome to my disaster!!. I share a lot of shit so enjoy the shitshow! BISEXUAL AF
I work closely with @mrspaigeomega. I am planning on doing commissions, probably within the next several months when I get my shit together 😂😂😂. 90% of these are WIPs 😅😅, I'm improving!
Characters: Jacob Frye. Katherine Winchester (OC). Theodore Winchester (OC). Wendy Winchester (OC). Nathaniel Winchester (OC). Samuel Frye (OC). James Frye (OC).
Word count: 3k
Warnings: Flashback chapter. Nathaniel being a prick.
Previous chapters: [previous chapter]
Authors note: I like writing, but I HATE editing
[Flashback to Christmas time 1874]
Katherine and Jacob prepare to go to her family's house for a Christmas party, taking their 1 year old twin sons with them. She stares at her reflection in the window, adjusting her dress. "How do I look?". She looks over her shoulder at Jacob—who's trying to get their sons in their new party clothes.
He is struggling—one twin squirming in his arms while the other giggles, trying to crawl away across the floor. "Like a woman who enjoys watching me suffer," he mutters, wrestling a tiny shoe back onto a kicking foot.
Then he glances up—and freezes, “Bloody hell," he breathes. Katherine raises an eyebrow, “That bad?". He scoops up both boys—one under each arm—and crosses the room in two strides. "No," he says, voice rough, "You look…". He exhales, shaking his head. ‘Like the reason I stopped running.". Then one of the twins yanks his cravat, "OI—!"
She laughs—bright, unguarded—as their son cackles, tiny fingers victorious. "Come on," she says, smoothing Jacob's ruined collar. "Before your in-laws decide we're not coming."
He groans, “Worse than Templars, the lot of them.". But he’s smiling as he says it. And for a moment?. No shadows. No knives in the dark. Just them. Just home. James continues to struggle in Jacob's arm while Samuel giggles in his other. "I can take him." She says grabbing James from him.
He immediately stops squirming the second she lifts him—little arms wrapping around her neck, face pressed into her shoulder with a huff. Jacob stares. "How," he demands,* "Is that fair?"
Samuel—still in his arms—grins and pats his father’s cheek, "Da," he declares, like it explains everything.
She smirks, "Because he knows which one of us actually wins fights.”. He groans—but there’s no real heat in it. Just warmth. Just love. Then Samuel tugs his ear. "Right," Jacob mutters, Let’s go before they stage a mutiny."
And as they step out into the snowy London streets—Katherine holding James close, Jacob adjusting Samuel in his arms—the world feels… Quiet. Whole. For now. A carriage pulls up in front of their home. Katherine's mother had sent a carriage to pick them up and their infants to take them to the party. The carriage is ornate—far fancier than anything Jacob would normally be caught dead in—but her mother has always had a taste for showing off. The Winchester crest is painted boldly on the door. James peers out from Katherine’s arms, wide-eyed at the horses.
"Da," Samuel says solemnly, pointing at the driver’s top hat. He sighs, "Yes, mate. Very fancy. Try not to steal it."
Katherine elbows him as she climbs in—careful not to jostle James, "Behave.". Jacob grins—sharp and mischievous—as he follows, settling Samuel on his lap, "When do I ever?"
The carriage starts moving. Somewhere in the distance, church bells ring. And for tonight?
No assassins. No knives. No blood. Just snow. Just family. Just Christmas.
After about 15 minutes of riding in the carriage, they pull up to Winchester manor.
The home is decorated with Christmas lights, ornaments and other decorations. The driver opens the door for them. The manor is alive with light—candles glowing in every window, wreaths on the doors, garlands winding up the stone pillars. Snow dusts the walkway, crunching underfoot as Katherine steps out first, James bundled securely against her.
He follows—Samuel balanced on his hip—and immediately grimaces at the sound of voices drifting from inside. "Katherine,"* he mutters, "if your brother starts another debate about whether my cane-sword counts as ‘proper gentleman’s attire’—"
She cuts him off with a laugh, reaching back to squeeze his hand, "Then I’ll tell him to shut his mouth before I do it for him.". He blinks, "...Marry me again."
Samuel giggles, reaching for the nearest Christmas ornament as they step inside—into warmth, into laughter, into family. And for once? No shadows follow. They enter the manor, the warmth from the fireplace hitting them. The smell of pine and cinnamon fill the room.
"Katherine. Jacob!." Her mother Wendy greets them with joy in her voice, "So glad for you two to come." She greets her two grandsons, "Oh, my sweet grandsons."
Jacob bows—Samuel copying him, albeit with less grace—as Wendy pulls Katherine into a hug.
"Mother," she says, warm and bright. "It's good to see you. You look lovely."
Wendy shakes her head, "You look lovely. Come, come, I'd like to introduce you all to everyone.". She glances past them—taking in the boys in their party clothes. "And your sons look like perfect gentlemen," she says, "just like their father."
Katherine chuckles, "They take a lot after their father.”. Jacob smiles—sharp, proud, just a little self-conscious. "And it's a good thing they do."
Wendy squeezes his arm. "Yes it is. Come, your brothers are in the drawing room with your father.". She leads them down the hall—past the library, the kitchen, a hall of portraits. James is looking around wide-eyed, head whipping back and forth—everything seems new and exciting to his little eyes. Samuel is still reaching for the nearest ornament.
Jacob catches his hand before he can pluck another one. They step into the room with several guests, a mixture of family, politicians and other aristocrats. A string quartet playing in the corner. She sees her father talking to one of his associates. She knows he still doesn't like Jacob, or that she's married to him and has two kids with him.
Katherine feels her father's gaze before she sees it—heavy, cold, disapproving. But she's always been her mother's daughter, and when she meets his eyes it's with a smile.*
"Father," she says politely. "We're so glad we could make it.". Her father's lips thin. "Yes. How lovely. You and your children." His gaze slides to Jacob—and his smile turns to a sneer. "And you. You're still here? How..unexpected." Wendy grabs his arm, and says in a low voice "Can you behave.”. Her father flushes red—but nods, gritting his teeth. "Of course," he says quietly. "Of course. Anything for my daughter."
Katherine sighs, the tension in her shoulders easing a little, "Thank you, Father.". He nods tightly. "Enjoy the party," he says, before turning back to his colleagues. Not exactly a warm welcome. Wendy gives them an apologetic look before following behind him, probably to scold him.
He lets out a slow breath, watching Wendy disappear into the crowd with her husband.
“Well," he mutters, "I still think he’d like me more if I wore a top hat and carried a parasol."
She snorts. "He'd prefer you didn’t exist. But we can't have everything."
She shifts James in her arms—her smile fading just slightly as she watches her father’s retreating back. Then Samuel pats Jacob’s face with both hands, babbling, “Da! Da!”
Jacob grins—wide and bright—and turns his full attention to his son. “That's right, mate," he says, "I’m the da. The infamous one."
She rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile. And somewhere behind them?. The string quartet plays on. Family chaos continues. But for now—right here, warm between candlelight and laughter—it’s enough. A nanny takes the twins to a separate room with the other family's children, leaving Jacob and Katherine to interact with her family.
The moment the nanny carries James and Samuel away—little hands reaching back, giggling as they go—she feels it. The shift. Like stepping onto a battlefield without armor. Jacob links his fingers through hers.
"Alone at last," he murmurs, voice low and playful. She gives him a sideways glance. "Don't make me regret bringing you."
"Too late for that," he grins, then nods toward her brother Philip—who’s already halfway through a glass of brandy and leering at a diplomat’s wife. "Heard he once tried to duel an Ottoman consul over a courtesan in Cairo.”
She groans, "God help us all.”
Then her eldest brother Theodore spots Jacob—and raises his glass in mock salute. Jacob lifts his own hand—in the form of flipping him off with cheerful precision. Katherine bursts out laughing. And just like that?. They’re not the quiet couple hiding in the corner anymore. They’re Katherine Winchester-Frye, and Jacob Frye. In-laws be damned.
As the party carries on, the whole night Jacob and Katherine were talking to Theodore and his wife Elizabeth. Philip was drinking more than he should. Oliver, Katherine's 3rd brother was entertaining Queen Victoria's first two kids Prince Edward VII and Princess Victoria. Her younger brother, Charles, was with other older kids in a different room.
It's a typical Winchester night—loud, chaotic, a little bit ridiculous. Philip is flirting with anything that moves and has tits. Oliver is entertaining the royal family. Theodore is already into his second drink, eyes fixed on his wife, while Charles whispers with a gaggle of young men in the other room.
Katherine and Jacob are standing together against the wall, talking with Elizabeth—when Charles comes up to them, eyes wide.
"Father wants to see you," he tells Katherine. "In the study. Alone."
She looks at him confused, "He didn't say why?". He's never asked to speak to her alone.
Charles shrugs, “"No idea. He just told me to find you and tell you the second he noticed you in the room. Something about 'having a word.'.”
She feels the blood draining out of her face, "Okay, fine" She tells him, and walks down the hall to his study. The Winchester study is a large room lined with books, stuffed, taxidermy animals and ancient weapons.
The fire is warm. The curtains closed. Her father is standing in front of the window. When he hears her enter, he turns. “Close the door," he tells her. "We need to talk. About something important."
She does, feeling something like dread settling in her stomach. "If this is about my marriage to Jacob, I don't want to hear it." Katherine tells him, "If this is about something else, then I'll listen."
She knows her father will never like Jacob, even with two kids and being married for 5 years. Her father doesn't move. He doesn't blink.
"It's not about Jacob,"* he says quietly. A beat. "Not entirely."
He turns to face her fully—eyes sharp, voice low like thunder before the storm. "It's about what you are. What your sons will become."
She freezes, “You don't know what I am," she snaps—but her voice wavers, "I do," he says. "I was there when your mother first cut open a vampire’s throat with that silver locket you wear now. I’ve seen the way you watch shadows in doorways.”
He steps closer, “And now—married to an Assassin, no less—you think your boys will grow up normal? Hunting monsters one day, chasing Templars the next?"
His jaw tightens, "They’re already trained. You can see it—their eyes when they look at knives, at movement. They’re yours and Jacob’s children... whether we like it or not."
Silence hangs heavy between them—then Katherine lifts her chin. "They're babies, they don't understand violence or hunting or being assassins" She tells him, "They will be raised like normal children, not hunting monsters or Templars."
“You can't protect them forever, Katherine!"* her father snaps, "You think you can keep them safe in a house, playing toys, with a normal life? When you hunt monsters? When your husband hunts Templars?"
He points at her like a teacher reprimanding a disobedient child. "You're being naive."
"You never let me hunt in the first place." She tells him, "You always said it was a man's job, no place for a lady. Theodore was the one who taught me now to shoot a gun, not you."
"Because it IS no place for a lady!" her father shouts, hands closing to fists. "You think I enjoy the thought of you and your sons hunting some supernatural being in the night, covered in blood and god knows what else?! You have no idea what I sacrificed to keep you safe!"
She feels her jaw tighten, "Then why did you call me in here?. To lecture me about my children? To tell me how to raise them?.”
“Because you should've thought about those things BEFORE you decided to bring children into the world.". His words are cold, harsh, “Before you decided to marry an Assassin. Before you decided to get involved in hunting Templars at all!"
She takes a moment, she takes a breath, "I didn't even know Jacob was an assassin when i met him, and even if I did, it wouldn't make a difference. I know I can and will protect my children, Templars, monsters. I will protect him whether they're babies, or fourteen or adults."
“And how can you promise that?!" her father snaps. "How can you guarantee that they will be safe? They will never have a normal life, surrounded by monsters and Assassins and Templars?! How can you promise you're not risking everything—your family, your life—for no reason?! You could die on some mission, leaving them with no mother, just your damn fool husband—!" He stops himself, voice choked, face red.
The insult about Jacob seals it. She always, always knew her father hated him. Knowing he thinks Jacob won't be able to raise their sons if she wasn't around.
"You think if I married Crawford Starrick that would make a difference?." She asks, "He was nothing, compared to Jacob.”
She pauses, “Starrick was a fool," she says, voice low now—dangerous. "And you think Jacob isn't good enough? That he wouldn’t raise our boys right?"
She steps forward, eyes blazing, “Jacob fights for the people. He doesn’t hide behind titles or money or fear. He stands in the fire—and walks through it. You wanted a son-in-law who sits at tea parties and votes in Parliament?" She shakes her head. "Then you don’t know me at all. And if that’s what you wanted—then I’m glad I didn’t marry him."
Silence falls heavily in the room. Outside, laughter echoes from the party. Inside? A daughter has drawn her line. With that said she leaves the room and walks down the hall to the party. Her eyes scan for her husband in the crowd of people. Jacob's standing against the wall, talking to a group of wealthy gentlemen—all of them older, all of them richer. He looks up as she approaches, eyes scanning her face. "Katherine...?"
"I wanna go home" She tells him, "I'll get the boys.”. He doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t push. He sees it—the tightness in her jaw, the storm behind her eyes.
“Right," he says, excusing himself from the conversation with a sharp grin and muttering, "Gentlemen."
He catches up to her mid-stride, hand slipping into hers.
“The boys are probably plotting world domination by now, he mutters, "but let’s get ‘em anyway."
They find James and Samuel in the nursery—both half-asleep on a plush rug, tiny fists curled around toy daggers made of wood because of course Charles gave them weapons. She picks up James without a word. Jacob lifts Samuel—who mumbles sleepily, “Da… sword…”
“Later, mate,” Jacob whispers. “Mum’s had enough family for one night.”. And as they step out into the cold December air—back toward their carriage—the weight of her father’s words lingers. But so does something stronger. Home isn’t where you’re born. It’s who waits for you when you leave the noise behind.
The ride home was silent, aside from the boys squirming in their sleep in their parents arms and the sound of the carriage being pulled over the cobblestones. He rubs Samuel's back absently, watching the street lamps flicker by. He notices the way Katherine's head leaned against the side of the carriage, the way she's staring straight ahead.
"You all right, love?" he asks quietly. "You were gone longer than I thought.". She knows she has to tell him, "Its just... my father... he... being his usual self is all."
He exhales, adjusting Samuel against his chest. "Did he give you an earful?". She gives him a look that says “Yes, and more.”
“I'm surprised you didn’t just stab him.". She smiles ruefully. “Tempting as it was, I managed to control myself.". Silence falls between them again.
"Katherine..." his voice is soft, "What did he say to you?". "The usual stuff," she mutters. "How he disapproves of our marriage… you. The boys."
She rubs the side of James's hair. "And that I should've married a politician instead of an Assassin." Jacob lets out a long breath. “He’s never going to give up on that, is he."
“No." she says quietly, "He won’t."
"He could be on his deathbed and his final words would be disapproving of our marriage" She tells him. Jacob rubs a hand over his face. He's quiet for a moment.
"Maybe you should’ve married a politician after all.". She swats him with her free hand. "Don't even joke about that."
"I said to him 'You think if i married Crawford Starrick that it would make a difference?'. That man was a fool." She tells him, "He thinks any man that has money and title would make me happy, he doesn't know me at all."
“I could’ve told you that," Jacob murmurs.
She shakes her head, "Sometimes I have no idea what my father wants from me." When they arrive home, the streets are quiet. Snow falls gently from the sky. Their home is dark and quiet. The flowers in front are covered with light snowflakes. Jacob kicks the door shut behind them with his heel—Samuel still asleep in his arms, head lolling against his shoulder. Katherine cradles James close, her breath fogging in the cold air as they step into the darkened house.
"Home, finally.” she whispers. He looks around—the quiet rooms, the mantle with its scattered letters and weapons, a child’s wooden sword on the floor. He smiles, “Ours," He corrects softly.
They move together like they’ve done this a hundred times—up the stairs, down the hall. Tucking Samuel in first—he curls into the blankets without waking. James follows soon after, tiny fingers twitching as Katherine pulls the covers up. She kisses both their foreheads before stepping back. Then Jacob takes her hand—lacing their fingers together—and leads her to their room without a word. Outside?. Snow keeps falling. Silent. Still. But inside? Warmth. Life. And something no disapproving father or Templar or monster can touch.
I'm still alive, I've been extremely busy with life. (Finally got out working at Target after nearly 8/9 years).
A LOT has happened.
I was able to get a better job at teaching art/graphic design which pays better than Target. Currently engaged to my long time boyfriend (11 years together!!) getting married in July.
