This room is our fortress tonight
These four walls contain my whole world
and you are my sun
And if I die tomorrow, my lord
This moment with you
will be the last thing on my mind
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Acquired Stardust

JBB: An Artblog!
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@playpausephoto
This room is our fortress tonight
These four walls contain my whole world
and you are my sun
And if I die tomorrow, my lord
This moment with you
will be the last thing on my mind
"Teach me, eh?" Hans climbed over him, leveraging his weight to press Henry's body further into the ground and planting his lips against Henry's brow as he spoke. He traveled lower, a loving assault that ended just below his chin.
Commission Based on 'amor et virtus' by Nerdybirdnerd on AO3
|01062026 -
You want to see WIPs, exclusive content and artworks earlier? Consider supporting me on Patreon ✨
From Fire – Part VII: The Walls
I like when people make Erik insane in fanfics and hunt Hans and Henry down to the ends of the earth
links
Longing
Fanart of Henry of Skalice (Tom MacKay) from Warhorse's Kingdom Come: Deliverance.
I have been working on this drawing while finishing my second playthrough of KCD 2, and ended up finishing both on the same day. Well, a drawing is never really finished, and I do still have the painter and monastery DLCs to go through (I can't wait, I am starting this afternoon), but I did finish the main story the day I finally put down my pencils on this. I cried again when the parents left him under the linen tree. I never cry. This is insane. Again, good job, Warhorse's writers.
As for the drawing itself, I didn't prepare my colors this time; I just went for it, and it kind of shows on the paper where I corrected multiple times, but I am still glad I just let loose, for once. Sometimes you just have to let go and see what happens. It's okay if you fuck up; at least you might have learned something.
This illustration was actually inspired by the Hansry fanfiction I am currently writing. What was supposed to be a short novel turned into a three-part project, as it always does. I can never just go small; if I am not stopped, I just keep going. Thank god sheets of paper have edges, and I can't just draw in the air, or I would be in trouble. But, as for writing... yeah, it's a problem. Anyway, in this part of the story, Henry leaves on the eve of the wedding without explanation. The readers find him traveling alone accross Bohemia and Moravia, fighting for coin, haunted by nightmares, with no one to wake him by his side, and longing for a presence he is trying to forget. Until he hears troubling news from Rattay.
*cue dramatic pause* Tuduh duh duh.
I used a screenshot by @playpausephoto as a reference, so don't hesitate to check out their account if you like what you see and are looking for high-definition KCD screenshots; they're doing an amazing job.
Time spent on this project: Too long to count, to be honest. I finished Luke Dale's stream on KCD 2, started watching Tom MacKay's stream after, and around part 12, I started Luke's stream on Detroit: Become Human. Pencils take time, is my point.
Tools:
Derwent "Drawing" colour pencils
Clairefontaine "Pastelmat" paper
Conté à Paris Charcoal & pastel fixative
@asyapambouc really took my photo to the next level in this drawing. The reflection of Hans in the water makes my heart melt. It's so lovely 🫠 Now I'm curious about this fiction...
Here's the photo. (And fun fact: the previous social media manager of official KCD used this photo as her wallpaper for quite some time 🤭)
A Walk Through Rotstein IRL
It's hard to describe how strange it was to spend a day in the valley below Rotstein. After everything that happened in Hearth and Kin, it felt like returning somewhere I had always belonged. Walking the paths Henry and Hans rode, through the forests where Lukas and Pavel hunted — I kept expecting them to step out from behind the trees.
But enough of my sentimental nonsense. If you'd like, come with me for a short walk through some of the places from our story, as they exist today.
"He only brushed his hand gently down Henry’s back — and stayed there with him, on the hillside, beneath a golden sky already beginning to pale." - @jandrichov
Feels so empty without him.
The place.
The heart.
But his mind was full of him.
And as evening turned to night and the world outside fell silent, he could hear his voice inside his head clearly -
“Every single day with you, Henry… is a gift.”
Hi Malin! Just want to drop by to say thank you so much for the tutorial it helps me a lot to get some pics that I want! (Although I mostly just keep it for myself for drawing reference lol) I wonder can you share to me the Graphic Card or Advance Graphic Card setting that you use? I always love how they looks so crispy on you zoom in pictures. Also if you use any Reshader can you share to us what did you use and the setting? Thanks in advance!
Hi there!
Glad you found the tutorial helpful. I'll try to make more ones I have more time, if there's interest.
I have a GeForce RTX4090 card, which makes the game look amazing even without any alterations.
I use a variety of different Reshade setups (cudos to @angelwhispersunknown who taught me how to use Reshade lol), but I usually adjust them for each photo. If you're willing to spend some money I can recommend Marty's mods.
❤️
Reading Guide to Our Kingdom Come
It wasn’t supposed to go this far. Not even close. And yet here they are, still riding.
This is everything so far — all four series, the vignettes, the maps. A record of where they've been, and who they've become along the way.
Whether you've been with them since the beginning, or you're only now finding your way in — welcome.
There may still be road ahead.
(ao3)
key vignettes
Things Not Said
Hard and Cold
I Won't Fuck It Up
If I'm Going To Hell
All the Little Things
Just Hope It’s Not In Spite
Audentes. Fortuna. Iuvat.
Godwin Knows
Further (ao3 link)
📸 by @playpausephoto
Part I - The First Step
Part II - Where I Fit
Part III - Of Perfect Days and Where They Come From
Part IV - And the Sky Came Down
Part V - Of What Remains
Part VI - The Shape of Distance
Part VII - Still Here
Part VIII - Your Man
Epilogue
Weight of a Name (ao3 link)
📸 by @playpausephoto
Part I - Of Ash and Blood
Part II - Foxburrow
Part III - The Shape of Closeness
Part IV - Keeping the Game
Part V - Forget-me-nots
Part VI - Of Loving and Hurting
Part VII - Fairy Tale
Part VIII - Now and Forever
Part IX - Lies Ahead
Part X - Amatores
Epilogue
Map
From Fire (ao3 link)
📸 by @playpausephoto
Part I – Lord of Pirkstein
Part II – Master Henry
Part III – Homecoming
Part IV – Of Miracles and Devil’s Doings
Part V – Of Staying True
Part VI – Tearline
Part VII – The Walls
Part VIII – Veils and Mirrors
Part IX – For Whom the Bell Tolls
Part X – Breaking Through
Part XI – Still Ours
Part XII – Of Making Love
Part XIII – Stakes Ascendant
Part XIV – Beating of Heart
Part XV – Henry of Skalitz 1/2 Part XV – Henry of Skalitz 2/2
Epilogue
Hearth and Kin (ao3 link)
📸 by @playpausephoto
Part I – Lords of Rotstein
Part II – Of Iron and Snow
Part III – Where Foxes Say Their Goodnights
Part IV – Of Belonging
Part V – Before the Darkness Yields
Part VI – Nights of Holy, Days of Rise 1/2 Part VI – Nights of Holy, Days of Rise 2/2
Part VII – Of Shepherds and Beasts
Part VIII – A Court In Spring
Part IX – Love Thy Neighbour
Part X – Of Dreams and Betokening
Part XI – The Lady, the Captain and the Page
Part XII – Song of Water
Part XIII – Of Roots and Vows
Part XIV – Forest Folk
Part XV – Chasing Shadows
Part XVI – Of Black Rider
Part XVII – Strawberries, Lavender and Violets 1/2 Part XVII – Strawberries, Lavender and Violets 2/2
Part XVIII – Of Saints and Sinners 1/2 Part XVIII – Of Saints and Sinners 2/2
Part XIX – Kith and Kin 1/2 Part XIX – Kith and Kin 2/2
Part XX – Morning Star 1/3 Part XX – Morning Star 2/3 Part XX – Morning Star 3/3
Epilogue
Map
Hearth and Kin – Epilogue
—
The fire had settled into its work.
Two heavy logs, and the flames moving across them with the patience of something that knows it will have its way — not urgent, not fierce, only steady and certain, the way warmth fills a room not all at once but layer by quiet layer.
Through the window, light. Golden, soft at the edges — still carrying the morning's uncertainty, still blurred by the last of the mist dissolving slowly in the first real warmth of the day. Outside, the world was weighing its options: summer's last generosity against the first cool patience of autumn, and the light itself seemed to belong to neither quite yet, hanging between the two like something not yet spoken.
It moved across the room unhurried. Across the floorboards. The chest. Two swords leaning against it. And then across the bed — and across what the bed held: the smooth curve of bare shoulders, bare back, the firm round of backside, a body half-swallowed by the quilt, warm and still and entirely unconcerned with the morning's indecision.
Quiet. Heat. The slow rise and fall of breath.
Henry leaned down.
The beard of his chin found bare skin — lightly, deliberately — and drew itself downward along the line of the spine. Slowly. With the focused attention of a quill moving across paper that does not yet know what will be written upon it, and the hand that holds it does.
Hans's body answered at once.
Gooseflesh ran from his shoulders all the way to his hips and back — small, helpless candour of skin that cannot pretend indifference when indifference is no longer true. In that shiver, in that instant of giving way, everything was present.
His hand moved without his eyes opening. Found Henry's palm in the blind and certain way of something that has made this journey so many times it no longer needs to see the road. Fingers laced through fingers.
Henry followed with his lips. Slower now. The back. The hollow of the spine. The small of it — skin there finer, warmer, quicker to know, and still faintly salt from their lovemaking, still alive with it — and beneath those lips Hans's breathing changed. Deepened. Confessed itself.
He smiled into the pillow. Eyes still closed.
Then — weight. Careful and warm and certain of its welcome. Henry's body covering his, the way something comes home after a long road and finds the door still open. Hans felt his lips at the soft place beneath his ear. And against the curve of his arse — Henry's wanting. Plain. Unapologetic. Simply and entirely there.
Hans turned his head.
Opened his eyes.
Henry, a few inches away, looking back at him — a smile at the corner of his mouth that was not quite innocent and had given up pretending otherwise.
Henry leaned in and kissed him — slowly, with the full warmth of it — and his hips moved, gently, nearly without intention.
Hans let out a sound that couldn't settle between a laugh and something else entirely, and turned his face toward the pillow.
"We've only just —"
Henry pursed his lips slightly. Considered.
Lifted one shoulder.
"Blame yourself," he murmured against his neck. "Not me."
Hans turned beneath him — one long, unhurried motion, fluid as a river finding a new course — and his arms came up around Henry's neck and drew him down. Chest to chest. Hip against hip. Henry onto Hans.
His mouth found Henry's.
And held. The church door closed behind Godwin with a quiet, hollow sound.
He got three steps.
Then stopped, rubbed his forehead, muttered something private and dissatisfied, and went back. Opened the door. Disappeared for a moment into the cool half-dark that smelled of wax and old wood. Came out again. Closed the door. More carefully this time.
The wind came off the fields and brought with it the smell of straw and stubble and morning dew — the smell of a season turning, of summer releasing its hold field by field without ceremony.
Godwin's gaze stopped.
On the road between the meadows — a horse, a fine courser, moving at an easy pace. And in the saddle, straight-backed, lean and broad across the shoulders, moving with the horse the way a man moves when horse and rider have long since stopped being two things.
Something eased in Godwin's face.
He walked on — passed the inn at a brisk pace, eyes ahead, moving with purpose — and turned toward the manor.
At one of the outside tables a young man sat watching him go. Dark-haired, strongly built. He had the look of someone whose thoughts had gone somewhere his body hadn't followed.
After a moment his eyes dropped to his bowl — empty, with only a thin ghost of soup left on the bottom — and then across the table to the boy, who sat opposite working through his own with the focused, unswerving dedication of someone for whom a meal is a serious undertaking.
Martin looked away from the road. Down to the ditch's edge, where cornflowers moved in the light air — back and forth, back and forth, entirely at ease with themselves.
Blue. The blue of eyes that hold the whole sky in them.
Martin said nothing for a while. His thoughts were somewhere else. Some other time.
He drew a breath.
"Vashek."
His younger brother looked up from the bowl. Questioning. Mildly reluctant.
Martin rose from the bench.
"I'll be back directly."
He walked — straight, no hurry, no hesitation — and Vashek watched him for a moment with the mild curiosity of someone who has learned that his brother's "I'll be back directly" covers considerable ground.
Then lifted a shoulder.
Put his spoon back in the bowl and returned to the only thing that mattered. "And who is this fine little lord?"
Katherine leaned over the child in Jitka's arms — eyebrows up, eyes wide, wearing the expression women wear when something small and round and entirely perfect has been placed within reach — and Heinrich studied her with grave attention.
A moment. Another.
And then his mouth opened slightly and curved to a smile — slowly, with a faint air of surprise, as though he too was discovering for the first time what he was capable of — and from his lips came a small, soft sound. A coo, warm and soft, like something trying out its welcome in the world.
Jitka laughed quietly.
Settled herself more comfortably against the bench.
She looked across the well toward the old tree, heavy with small red apples that caught the soft light and glowed like little lanterns hung there by someone who cared about such things.
Mutt, who had been lying at her feet providing warmth with the dedicated purposefulness of a dog who takes his responsibilities seriously, stirred.
He sat up. Fixed his gaze on the child — eyes intent, ears lifted, every part of him gathered into a single point of absolute importance that demanded his full attention.
Heinrich looked back at him.
For a moment they simply regarded each other — dog and child, each belonging to a world that had not yet found the measure of the other — and then Heinrich extended his hand. Small fingers spreading open, offering themselves to the air.
Mutt tilted his head.
Without taking his eyes off the child.
"Ooo," said Heinrich.
Katherine laughed — a light, clear sound, like a small bell struck once and left to ring.
From the yard came the sound of hooves.
Voices. Then steps — quick, direct.
Thomas appeared in the garden entrance. His eyes wide.
"My lady." He caught his breath. "Sir Hynek."
Jitka looked at him for a moment without speaking.
Then turned to Katherine.
"Would you —"
She settled Heinrich into her arms — a sure, practised motion — rose from the bench, and set off toward the yard at a quick walk.
By the time she passed through the garden gate, she was running.
Dry Devil stood in the middle of the yard.
Road-worn armour, dust on his shoulders. Planted wide, with the easy self-possession of a man who doesn't need to occupy a space because the space arranges itself around him regardless.
When he saw Jitka, something in his eyes softened — quickly, almost imperceptibly, the way a door opens just far enough to let the light in before the hand remembers itself.
Jitka reached him.
For the briefest moment she stopped — only that single hesitation, that single breath — and then held him tight.
Dry Devil's arms came down across her back.
Slowly — the way a man performs a gesture he knows well but has not used in a long time and wants to be sure he still remembers it properly. Then he held her. Drew his hand across her back — once, twice — slowly, carefully, with the gentleness of something that has no precise name but arrives anyway, because it knows where it belongs.
Jitka raised her bright eyes to him.
Smiled.
Then turned.
Katherine was coming from the garden at an easy pace, the child in her arms.
"Uncle," said Jitka, and touched her fingers to her eyes. "Allow me to present Heinrich Capon."
Dry Devil raised an eyebrow.
Drew a breath.
And at that moment — from above, from the stairs — came Hans's voice:
"Except that his mother calls him Hynek, and has done from the start."
Hans was coming down the stairs a step behind Henry, both of them smiling.
Dry Devil looked at them for a moment without speaking. Then at Jitka. Then at the small one.
He cleared his throat loudly. Blinked — as though something had got into his eye.
"That'll be a bloody fine lord." The fingers holding the needle moved with quick, practised ease. In, out, in, out, thread by thread — her eyes down on the work. But her ears. The ears of Johanka's mother were straining, carefully and without any appearance of doing so, like leaves turning toward light, toward the bench outside the cottage.
Pavel shifted a little.
Moved his weight from one side to the other. Let his eyes travel across the old stones by his boots, across the grass pushing up between them, and then, from the corner of his eye, to Johanka.
She was sitting beside him.
Far enough that the gap between them remained visible — that particular gap which is neither distance nor indifference but a performance. A thing displayed for the mother sewing in the shadow and for the neighbours passing on the road.
In the girl's hands — a red kerchief.
New, entirely new — the colour still loud, the cloth yet to soften. Johanka turned it gently in her fingers — folded, refolded, worked quietly between her palms — and looked down into her lap.
"Every week I set something aside — from the wages Lord Hans pays me," Pavel said quietly.
He looked at her.
Johanka dropped her eyes shyly to the kerchief. Drew her thumb across it — once, slowly.
Pavel glanced toward her mother.
The mother was sewing. In, out, in, out.
Wearing the expression of a woman to whom none of this is of the slightest concern.
Pavel looked back at the girl beside him.
At the red kerchief in her hands, which he had bought at the fair a few days past.
He drew a breath.
"When I have saved enough," he said — quietly, but with a steadiness that was not volume but decision — "I will ask your father for your hand."
In the shadow by the wall, the needle paused.
Only for a moment.
Then went on — in, out — as though nothing had happened. Gravel shifted and crunched at the gate.
"Praised be the Lord Jesus Christ."
Hynek let out a short, rattling laugh without turning.
"Of course," he said, "every devil gets his priest eventually, come to save his soul."
He laughed and turned to meet Godwin coming across the yard.
Forearm to forearm.
Godwin looked at him — with the expression of a man somewhere between a smile and a long-suffering acceptance of the world as it is — and nodded.
"Word has reached us even here," he said, "of how Sigismund finally withdrew from Znaim."
"Indeed," said Henry. "That was welcome news."
Hynek grinned.
"Withdrew?" He laughed. "The way I heard it, that ginger cunt shat himself all the way up to his fancy curls."
The rattling laugh rang across the yard.
Hynek crossed to Katherine.
Looked down at Heinrich in her arms.
Turned to Hans.
"What did Hanush say — about the boy?"
Hans lifted a shoulder.
"Nothing yet," he said. "I sent word, but no answer has come."
He shook his head.
Then smiled.
"Though Katherine came."
Katherine, in the act of settling the child back into Jitka's arms, smiled — without turning, the smile of someone who knows they are being spoken of and has no objection to it.
"When the happy news came," she said, "I knew I was needed here more than in Rattay."
Hans spread his arms wide. "I suppose there is nothing for it but to gladden my uncle with a visit in person."
Henry scratched his temple and smiled sideways.
"This time I ride with you."
He turned to Dry Devil and looked at him for a long moment.
"And you, Hynek?" he said. "Where does your road take you now?"
Dry Devil drew his palm slowly across his jaw.
His gaze moved across the yard — across the stone walls, across the castle rock rising above them, across the walkway where the watch paced its eternal back and forth.
Then he looked at Henry.
"Is my chamber still up there in the castle?" A shadow fell across the grain of the wood.
Vashek's finger — which had been travelling the rings of the table without much thought, tracing their arcs back and forth as though looking for a path in them, or simply giving his hand something to do — stopped.
He raised his head.
Looked into his brother's face.
Martin smiled at him, a little. A little sad.
"Finished?"
The boy nodded.
Martin drew a slow breath. He looked around the village — across the cottages, the road, the well in the square, the fence past which someone was walking without raising their eyes — and breathed out.
"Up you get, then," he said. "Time to move on." The wind passed quietly through the apple leaves in the garden.
Through the courtyard.
Stirred the forge door on its hinges.
Crossed the wall.
The meadow.
The roof of the bailiff's cottage.
Lifted the red kerchief and let it fall.
Slipped past the dark clusters of elderberries hanging heavy on the bush by the inn.
Raised the canvas of the wagon standing nearby.
Moved gently through dark, wavy hair.
Turned around the church tower.
Brushed the bunch of cornflowers beneath the iron cross.
Our Kingdom Come
A year. It has been exactly a year since the first chapter of Further came into the world.
A year since I stepped beyond those first uncertain vignettes and committed to something different. Something larger. A series. And though Further seems, in hindsight, such a small and tentative thing – oh, how I hesitated, how I dreaded binding myself to something like that – here we are, a year later. Fifty-two chapters and somewhere around 450,000 words later. And all of it feels at once so distant and so close.
Henry is a lord now. Hans is a father. Jitka is family. We have walked so far with all of them – and not only with them, but with Godwin and Dry Devil, with Pavel, Zizka, Katherine, Lukas (yes, that still hurts), Thomas, and the rest.
It has been a remarkable journey. One along which I have, from a great distance, met many wonderful readers. Some have said their farewells as the story moved on; others joined somewhere along the way. But every single one of them – every single one of you – I have held in great regard and gratitude. The story that grew across this year was for Henry and Hans. For me. For you.
And near the very beginning of that journey, there was one extraordinary encounter – one that has marked not only the story itself, but me as a person. I would never have imagined that this tale would lead me to someone so kindred – in how they see and feel this story, in their humour, in their love of the natural world. In who they are. And someone so remarkably gifted, someone who creates genuine art, who carries real and serious talent – and yet remains so warm, so unassuming. Someone I humbly allow myself to call a friend.
And it was the very @playpausephoto who asked me, some time ago, whether the saga had a name.
Which gave me pause. Because – well. When I began writing Further a year ago, it would never have occurred to me that any of this would grow to such proportions. And yet, in that moment, I understood that the saga does have a name. It always had one.
Our Kingdom Come.
Because if this entire story is about one thing above all others, it is about finding one's own kingdom. That state of simple human happiness. Hans's. Henry's. Jitka's. Perhaps others'. Perhaps even ours.
Thank you for everything, @playpausephoto – for the dozens of beautiful and devastating photographs that have accompanied this story, for helping give shape to the words, for being a steady presence in moments of doubt.
Thank you for who you are.
And thank you to everyone who has walked this long road alongside Henry, Hans, me, and the rest.
As for whether this is the end of the saga – the end of Our Kingdom Come – the short answer is: no, it is not. And I do not mean merely the epilogue to Hearth and Kin, which will arrive soon (as you know, every series has had its epilogue).
What comes after that – that remains to be seen. It will depend on energy, on time, and on whether there is still an appetite among you, the readers, for another journey through this saga.
But something will come. One way or another.
The saga has an ending. A final chapter that has lived in my head for this entire year. One I have spent this entire year trying not to think about too much.
But it must be written.
Because everything must have a beginning. And an end.
I never feel worthy of his praise. After all, I'm just a fan girl...
priorities
Still here. Still them. Witnessed by Morning Star — and the eye and heart of @playpausephoto
Hearth and Kin – Part XX
Morning Star
Part 3/3
(Continued from Part 2 — please read that first if you haven’t yet.)