genuinely so funny that the first time Henry trains with Captain Bernard, Hans nonchalantly strolls by and says “ah don’t mind me, I was just passing through on my way to practice archery.” the combat arena is a good few minutes’ walk out of the way of the archery range. instead of cutting straight across from the castle courtyard to the range, Hans trudged UP the hill to take the path OPPOSITE the courtyard to loop back around past the arena** and say “oh hi Henry, I didn’t see you there.”
like Hans don’t try to pretend Henry isn’t the giant teddy bear you saw in the store window and came back the next day to stare at through the glass
…
**I’m editing the original post to add that it’s actually so much worse than this. Hans starts out in the tavern NEXT TO the archery range. then goes COMPLETELY out of his way to pass by the combat arena.
video evidence
what flavor of mental illness is this. Hans you fascinating creature
Okay, gonna dump my discord art to get over this *too scared to post anything* hang up, I've been going through, hopefully as I start to relearn my art process I'll get back to posting more frequently.
Art trade with @jinro1368 ,featuring their take on Wenceslaus IV and Sigismund 😄
This is before they grew into their respective seats of power...
Their dynamic is very interesting… the favored heir and the spare (there is no familial love between these two I'm sure) ⚔️
When I finally made it to the Trosky region, I just couldn’t resist doing this :D
Our hero Henry - slightly out of place but looking right at home.
Turns out, fast travel works across centuries, too.
Hiii, will you maybe also make kcd 1 and kcd 2 fics?
Im literally obsessed with the game and i was hoping you could maybe make a fix with Henry x Bandit!reader (gn reader) or Hans x Bandit!reader (gn)
I hope thats alr with you and i hope im not asking for too much
Rattle
Henry of Skalitz x gn!bandit!reader
summary: Henry doesn’t try to cross shady people’s paths on purpose – well, usually. Unfortunately, he has the questionable luck of stumbling over a certain outlaw and recognizes that they aren’t much of a danger due to their condition. He’s a good christian, though, so why not offer a helping hand even to those who steal from your pocket?
word count: 2.9k+
a/n: thank you for the request, @stargirl432 ! never in my dreams would I imagine getting a kcd fic request and it's such a great feeling 🥲 I hope you're still into the game (I mean can you ever be over something so great?) and that the fic will be to your liking. I'm a wreck of a person currently, but in the future I might write a hans x bandit!reader fic too.
“Archers, get ready!”
Henry relaxed his jaw and squinted his eyes, yet once again he heard an eerie sound just behind him. He tried to focus on preparing his bow and directing the arrow properly, but he was growing more and more irritated.
He knew that none of the onlookers really cared about this competition, but in The Lord’s name, did they really have to be so loud?
But it was not the crowd that truly annoyed him. Just a certain hustle that he at first took for a sound of another bow, probably an old one, that let out a scratching rattle. It was unnerving to think that someone stood behind him with a weapon – his senses and precaution were sharpened from all he’s been through – but he remained quiet.
Beating his opponents was the main goal now. He couldn’t get hurt here anyway, right under Trosky, on Lord von Bergow’s land.
Then he actually started worrying about whoever was there behind his back. It was as if someone was choking, and huffing from suffocation. It quickly blended in the cheers and curses of the crowd when his last arrow hit the center of the target. Most of the people set their bets on him; he made his name a bit known around here, after all. Only those who put their money on a local guard were bold enough to grumble and even spit on the ground when they thought he didn’t look.
He shot a quick glare at the other archers, and an immediate smile creeped onto his face. Just then he felt a bump, someone must have tripped and hit him in the back. He couldn’t really see who it was. When he looked back he was met only by an indulgent smile of a woman from the village and a nasty provoking face from one of the guard’s friends.
It took him a moment to calm down from the burst of happiness caused by the win. His expression morphed into sudden disappointment when he touched the pouch where he kept all his groschen. He did that instinctively, like he already knew about the void that he would find.
“Sakra...”
It wasn’t exactly empty, but it certainly weighed less than it did when he checked last time. Not even the money won in the competition could cover that.
Only now did he realize what the bump was for. Looking around, he allowed his eyes to move to the road near the main gate – the only way out of the quarry.
It took him just a moment to see a suspicious figure walking away with a hood pulled over their head. They moved at a quick pace – just like a pickpocketter would – but with a limp. A bit of a pathetic sight, if Henry was to be honest. He looked at the remains in his pockets and realized that for whatever reason they didn’t take much. Probably thinking it was harder to notice that way. But Henry wasn’t just some first fool that didn’t count the money he carried around. Not in those times, and not here. If he was a dreamer visionary, rich painter like Voyta, or even a noble like sir Hans, he probably wouldn’t care, but a blacksmith’s son? No matter how rich and famous he would turn he would always respect his coin…
Yet, it was a sum small enough for him to let it slip. It could also be curiosity that made him set back any reaction just for now and learn more first.
He almost smiled when he caught Bohumir, the archery contest keeper, looking in the same direction. The man turned his head immediately when he noticed Henry staring and muttered something under his breath. Henry would swear it was a curse.
“Who’s that?” He asked straightforwardly when he approached him.
He had another card in his sleeve if Bohumir didn’t want to speak. They both remember the money he owed Henry after some of the previous competitions. A rather nice number that Henry doubted he had to his name just like that.
“I—Uhm… None of your business, feller.”
“Come one,” Henry pried with a suggestive face. He didn’t even have to say that the groschen could be forgotten if he told the truth, because Bohumir knew.
He rolled his eyes in annoyance and waved his hand incoherently, somewhere in the direction where the strange person disappeared. “They are my source of fletchings,” he muttered under his breath.
Henry frowned.
“Fletchings?”
“Feathers?” Bohumir said like he was talking to a complete idiot. “For the arrows?”
“Oh. So a poacher then!”
The man’s face grew red almost at once and if he could, he would probably slap the younger man right away, shushing him to be quiet.
“How dare you—No! I am allowed to hunt the birds. I have a permit from the lord,” he argued.
“You do,” Henry pointed out. “What about them?”
Bohumir scratched the skin on the nape of his neck and sighed.
“They hunt… on my behalf?”
Oh, if only it was that easy. It was Henry’s turn to roll his eyes. Obviously, he wasn’t very interested in prying into something that wasn’t his business, but he wanted to know more about the strange person.
“And they live off of selling feathers. It’s illegal even if they sell it to you. Yet I doubt that they only hunt birds,” he started enumerating, and the other man was turning more and more red. “There’s also the matter of robbing people, from what I've noticed. Did you know about that?”
“It's not my thing what they live off!” He snapped which made Henry smile cunningly.
“Is that so? Or do you split what they steal during the competitions that you organize?”
Bohumir threw his hands in the air while dropping a bow that he was working on. He faced Henry fully and looked around in case anyone was watching them.
“What do you want from me, boy? I know nothing about that! Anyway what are you, a snitch?”
The Skalitz’s man played it off, just enjoying how annoyed the archer was. “Eh, it’s nothing. Do you know their name, though, master archer?”
“I don’t ask for the names of shady people,” he muttered. “I like to avoid them outside the necessity.”
Henry hummed. “It would be a shame if I had to whisper a word to Lord Otto...”
“You wouldn’t dare… Oh, alright! They go by Y/n. That’s what they told me, but I don’t know anything else! Just… Just go now.”
“Oh, I will, believe me.”
“And Henry?” He stopped him. “If you cause me any trouble, you can forget about your money, got me?”
What an audacious man he was.
“We’ll see about that.”
During that time Henry wasn’t exactly loved by the innkeeper in Troskowitz. He tried his best to repay Betty for every problem he was a reason for, but that didn’t help much. The woman simply couldn’t stand him. Well, for now. Surely she had to get over it one day, right?
For how long was he bit to sleeping in abandoned huts and on hay? He could almost hear his parents’ voices in his head. His mama’s scowl and a shake of her head at the idea that her son was camping in the middle of nowhere alone, and Martin’s approving nod. He certainly did worse things than that, anyway. Still, now, when he had enough coin, he longed for a night spent in a real bed… or at least in the village, in safety.
The wilderness didn’t scare him, but sometimes he found staying awake and alert a more sensible option than sleeping. He suffered through the day later and cursed out his damned choice, but on some nights he just couldn’t lay his head on the ground and close his eyes. No matter how weary he was.
Tonight was one of those moments. It was nearly impossible that the fact he was robbed so easily shook him that much – again, he has been through much worse – but he stayed awake almost since dawn. Usually he was the hunter, hiding in the bushes, waiting for a good moment to strike, use somebody’s weaknesses, and now he felt like one of his prey. Perhaps he realized he was too reckless, and felt too sure of himself lately…
It was an odd and unusual feeling, but he was grateful when the first sparks of sunlight appeared on the blackened sky. The darkness turned into overwhelming gray. It was about to be an ugly day, and apparently the early morning was the only part of it free from rain.
Henry stood up to stretch his limbs after hours of sleepless rest. He looked into the kettle that he kept over the fire, and while ignoring the grumble of his stomach he strolled through the meadow, down towards a road. He moved slowly, without fear or fret. He kept most of the valuable things he owned in a sac that he carried over his neck under the shirt, so he only crouched to discreetly pick up a small dagger.
He wasn’t a fool nor an inexperienced lad anymore. He could feel when somebody’s eyes were on him.
A decision to leave his camp unguarded wasn’t perfect, but there was nothing of much value to be stolen. If someone was to take his food, Henry wouldn’t even feel that bad. He could buy more for himself, and he had seen all of those faces marked by starvation. It even appeared to him as a right thing to do – some people were too proud to ask for help, so they turned to crime.
What he knew was that whoever was watching him, they wouldn't approach while he was sitting there. If they were after his riches, then they would follow him instead of rummaging in his camp.
He called at Mutt to set the dog free, and let him chase some game for his own amusement. With a turn to a path nearby a graveyard, he stopped looking over his shoulder. It was as if he was tempting good luck. Perhaps he truly was.
The temple of the dead was empty. It shouldn’t be strange at this hour, but Henry knew Ignatius’ habits – the gravedigger liked to start his work early. Today he couldn’t be seen nearby. Maybe it was the weather that made him stay inside longer.
And yes, the weather… It truly turned disgusting. A drizzle started coming from the dark clouds, and the wind howled like it wanted to rip Henry’s head off. He looked around in front of him, watching the disturbing sight of mist slowly creeping between the gravestones. Was such conditions even possible at the same time?
The tension was almost visible in the air, like some dark shroud fell over the cemetery, brought by an unwanted presence. Henry knew that it wasn’t him, who was the intruder. He slowly walked between the graves, almost making his way to the chapel, when he heard a shuffle behind him.
A shuffle and the terrible rattle that he heard the day before. The choking, awful sound, like a soul wanting to escape its sinister body. Well, it was probably turning dramatic only in his head now… It couldn’t be that bad anyway – he had his blade and his dog nearby to come to his every call.
He turned without a rush and instead of a devil in black armor and red spark coming from its eyes, he saw a figure dressed in black that bent their back and suffered from a fit of cough. A bandit that he saw under Trosky, the same person that robbed him.
And damn, you would prefer to be a hellish presence, a devil’s spawn themselves – all if you could be free from the sickness that clung to you for a few days.
“Oh, fuck,” you wheezed, word breaking out of your throat almost on their own. “God be good to me.”
Now Henry was sure. Whoever said the name of The Lord certainly wasn’t from the underground.
It made him smile a bit, suddenly feeling safe and guarded.
“First steal then call for God?” He teased, letting you know that he recognized you.
You straightened your back with a scoff, and pulled at the band that covered your face with annoyance. It was a lost cause anyway… You could only hope that the man won’t cause you a hanging. The blade of a pickaxe torched to your belt sparked even without sun or light, but you were now certainly too tired to use it properly.
And Henry… Perhaps he didn’t look like a real knight, but he also didn’t look like someone who was miserable when it came to a fight. You saw the broad shoulders and ease that he carried himself with. Not to mention the dagger he hid so well that you would miss it if you weren’t so used to spotting such things.
“Just,” you spat out, struggling to take a proper breath and reaching into your pocket to pick what you stole from him, “just take your money back and don't mock me.”
You threw the groschen to his feet, knowing he wouldn’t be stupid enough to come closer if you offered it on your hand. Hopefully he would be merciful, since you gave back what’s his…
It would be a lie to say you cared about any of that now. You were completely overwhelmed by the fact that your eyes refused to work and were covered by a black cloud, your breath turning rugged again. You coughed again, praying to not fall to your knees.
“Almost as if you were punished for your crimes already,” Henry said, picking up his money and taking a step closer.
He was there just in time to offer you his shoulder when you tripped.
“I said don’t mock me,” you muttered.
You knew you were in no position to make demands, but who could get behind a bandit’s pride, aye?
It made Henry laugh. “Do you want some help or not?” He asked as if to know if you would continue to complain.
“Help?” You frowned.
“That’s what I offered.”
“I steal from you, and you want to ‘help’ me?” You repeated, almost smiling from amusement.
Yeah, that was pretty much what he was doing, and he knew at least a dozen people that would call him a fool for that. Perhaps everyone who had some common sense. Everyone but his Ma. She certainly would be proud… Well, if you won’t stab him to death, of course.
“And now you’re choking right in front of me,” he pointed out. “You know the saying don’t repay bad with something even worse?”
“Lord, I robbed a poet,” you said sarcastically, and finally cave in to support yourself on him. “I’m supposed to believe that you do it out of what? Altruism?”
Henry shrugged. “Something like that.”
“I don’t–”
“You have to hand me your weapon, nonetheless,” he ordered, and you blinked at him like the words made you mute. “I’m not a fool,” he explained.
You had no choice anyway, did you?
“Fine.”
He accepted it without much more teasing. You must have appeared in his eyes like a truly pathetic banding.
“I might have a few potions in my camp that would make you feel better.”
“So you’re not only a poet, but also a doctor and an alchemist as well? I almost see why you’re not scared of me. I should be scared of you.” You certainly weren't, considering your indifferent voice.
A voice of someone too sick to care.
Henry didn’t react at the small provocation.
“The archer from Trosky said you call yourself Y/n.”
“That’s my name. What else am I supposed to be called?”
He ignored it again. “I’m Henry.”
You hummed in acknowledgment.
“For how long have you been sick?”
“A few days, doc. It only turned bad tonight.”
“You sat in the bushes watching me the whole night, didn’t you? No surprise it made you feel worse.
Smartass, you thought. “Maybe,” you mumbled, not willing to say he was right.
You made your way back to his camp, and he told you to have a seat. Your senses sharpened immediately at the smell of food in the kettle.
“Want some?” He asked, noticing your hungry stare.
“Damn, of course I want some. What are you eating?”
“Stew.”
He looked too cheerful to your liking, so you decided to roll your eyes. “Eww. It’s a day of fasting today, actually.”
“I know. It's a beaver,” he said, nodding to the meal, like you just accused him of a murder.
“How is it supposed to help? It’s meat.”
“It’s fish,” he argued.
“Beaver is a fish, Henry?”
“Well… It swims,” he tried to reason. “Anyway, that’s what monks eat.”
You raised your brow. “How do you know?”
“I visited a monastery once. In Sassau.”
It seemed like you were in the presence of a jack of all trades… You weren’t sure yet if you liked it or not.
“Monks are stupid,” you said under your breath and coughed into your sleeve.
“That would be blasphemy.”
Ugh, what an annoying man. And at worse an annoying man that just handed you his food and offered help, probably saving your life with that.
“No, it’s not. I’m not speaking against holy men, I just… rate them,” you stated surely.
“… Fine,” he eventually agreed.
Against your opinion, you weren’t the most pathetic bandit Henry ever encountered, but certainly the most stubborn one.
And interesting, but he wouldn’t admit that even to himself just yet.
“[They cannot see you, they cannot catch you, you hear me?]” Capon’s eyes were wide and buggy, his face grey in the dim light as he leaned closer to Adder.
“Fuck, I know, relax! You act like I’ve never done this before,” Adder pushed the lordling back. “You’d better be right, I don’t want to miss out on the fun.”
“[Yes of course, wherever would we be without some fun.]” Capon said it bitterly, but Adder brightened to hear his own life motto parroted back to him.
“That’s the spirit,” Adder chuckled, then pressed the roll of tools into the man’s hand.
[teaser 573 words][chapter 4,024 words]
Warning, the below bit is spoiler heavy.
Welcome to Hans is so freaked out we get him in present tense instead of past.
Brabant’s eyes are on him and Hans knows, he knows he must be careful about this. He cannot make it even seem that he has spoken to someone, though he has not, though no one can be trusted with this.
Sweat trickles down his back, it wraps around his neck, he feels his skin prickling, itching. He wishes he could rip off his clothes and scratch at his arms but he must wait.
Henry’s eyes watch as well—Hans has sensed him checking and waiting and checking him again since the moment in the bedroom, and Hans cannot bring himself to look. If he does he may give the entire thing away, the panic will surely show in his face, and Henry has always read him so easily, and so Hans waits.
Thus, Hans watches Adder, the smiling Pole with his arm slung back on his chair, flirting shamelessly with the cook, his fingers playing a beat on the tabletop. Of them all Adder is at ease, and Hans tries to absorb some of it, praying that he can find a way to circumvent what is surely inevitable: the collapse of his life and the loss of his one thing, just one thing, he’s allowed himself to care for. Despite everything his hand trembles with the want to reach for Henry’s, and he bites his tongue until it bleeds to hold himself still while they wait.
Servants come and go; they bustle into the kitchen for more food and wine. They complain about that damned legate and his hungry companion.
“Seems like Godwin’s playing his role rather well,” Henry observes, and Hans dares the briefest glance to see him cracking a smile, eyes sad and inquisitive.
Hans wrenches his gaze away so he does not break. He takes a deep inhale. “Alright. Listen up. I’ll take care of the east gate and the guards around it.”
His eyes move to the Frenchman, and the sight of him makes his skin crawl. He’s selected the most meager task for this man, for giving him nothing to do would surely raise suspicion. “Vauquelin will get rid of the guard at the west gate.”
Brabant’s eyes flick to Henry, then back to Hans. He smiles, gloating. “You may count on me.” He nods his head in a subtle gesture and Hans has not missed its second meaning. I will not hesitate to drive that point to the hilt, monsieur.
Hans swallows and turns his eyes to Adder.
“Adder will get us some tools from the smithy so we can make a hole through the wall into the corridor.”
“[For sure,]” Adder waves his hand as a matter of course. His charming grin slips back to the cook.
“And you, Henry,” Hans tilts his head to Henry once more, feels the tension rise in him. He stares at the table where Henry’s hands are placed, he cannot look up. “—will take care of the patrols in the courtyard and on the inner walls.” It is a steep task for one man, but he knows that in this regard he can trust Henry far beyond the others. Bittersweet as that may be to him right now.
“Aye.”
Henry’s fingers move in restless agitation.
Hans’ fingers are trembling.
He moves them to his lap. “Make sure the guards don’t see you too soon, and keep it quiet.” Affirmative nods.
For Your Sake
Erik meets The Man for the first time. The beginning of it all. Psychological horror, torment, uncomfortable and innapropriate dynamics - the lot.
Excerpt :
"The smell finally hit him – rancid, even worse than Ma’s salve – rotten, like the dung piles where they dumped the cattle carcasses after they had stripped them of their meat and offal.
Did the thousand corpses the man had left in his wake smell like that, too? He wondered. Maybe his own insides were just as rotten – maybe the man would cut him from navel to neck with his great big sword; he would plunge his soft gloves inside Erik’s innards and dig, and he would find poppy seeds, bile, and marigolds."
Read it on AO3.
Art by Vladimir Milijkovic
