female kestrel


Finished up this piece on Tara of an American kestrel, English roses and wild roses. Black healed, color in bird healed, color in botanicals fresh. Thanks so much, lady! 

We met at the tattoo convention in Nantes, France but we both live here! How about that for serendipity. So excited to complete this one.

anonymous asked:

"I thought you died." Kiss. Fenris thought she had died. Anywhere in the timeline.

Another one that ran away from me. I have no idea. Holy shit, Anders fans, please don’t hurt me.

Fenris x Kestrel Hawke

Panic rose in Fenris’ gut like bile.

The sensation of cold fingers drawing up his spine, wrapping around him as he neared Kestrel’s body lying still on the floor of the Keep.

The Viscounts head lay not far away, coated in the blood of those who had fallen.

He choked on the smells around him. Acrid and tangy, over whelming. He was used to the smell of blood, the sight of it. But it smothered him. Suffocated him. His rising fear too stuck in his throat making Fenris feel as though it was closing over.

Kestrel had not moved and Fenris’ terror was growing at the thought that the Arishok had killed her.

The battle had been fiercely fought. The Qunari with his axe and blade and Kestrel armed only with her staff, her magic and her wits. He had witnessed it, they all had. A mage defeating the Arishok but at what cost? That of her own life?

The Arishok had died, but Kestrel had not come away unharmed.

Fenris had been forced to watch, helpless and held back by Aveline and Varric as the Arishok had carved into her again and again. His blades had sliced through her armour and skin and muscle, attacking the delicate organs within.

There was no telling the extent of her injuries, not yet. Though everyone had seen the Arishok impale her on his blade and lift her body up limp for all to see. If she lived it would be a miracle. And she had to live.

“Blondie!” Varric shouted, pushing past Fenris with Aveline now the nobles had been ushered out. The dwarf knelt at Kestrel’s head, his skin almost grey. Aveline too, looked stricken with concern.

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mythtakenforastory  asked:

Fenris x kestrel, expressive elf ears!

Fenris x Kestrel Hawke

Kestrel loved Fenris’ ears.

She loved watching them. Was fascinated by their movement.

She loved being able to read his emotions through them. That through the subtle twitch or wriggle of his ears she got an idea of what he was thinking or feeling.

It was an ability she had learned over time. The movements of his ears had been hard to notice at first. Like everything about the elf, the movement of his ears had been controlled and slight to begin with.

Every gesture measured and never giving too much away.

Over time, as Fenris had begun to trust her and those she surrounded herself with, he had loosened up. Started to relax more.

Little by little, he began to move more freely. His expressions were more open, his tone less clipped. In the same vein, he had become less careful about expressing himself. His ears were the first thing that changed.

Kestrel spent so much time with him that it was only natural she learned what the different movements and wiggles meant. It was now so easy for her that should could give an educated guess to his mood without talking to him.

“You’re staring.” Fenris’ voice broke her out of her daze of admiration. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye before returning his focus to the pages of his book.

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Favorite Females (2/?): Kestrel Trajan

Kestrel’s cruel calculation appalled her. This was part of what had made her resist the military: the fact that she could make decisions like this, that she did have a mind for strategy, that people could be so easily become pieces in a game she was determined to win.

Another of the prompts sent by the same anon as before:
“Fenris watching Hawke sleep”
All internalized. This might make no sense. .__.

Fenris had never felt for anyone the way he felt for Kestrel. He had never considered that he would be allowed an opportunity to feel for her what he did.

There were days where his dreams and nightmares were so vivid he felt as if he was back in Minrathous. That he was still a slave, chained to Danarius. Abused and beaten, a subject to his master’s whims. They were so real, it was like his escape, the years in Kirkwall had never happened, and he often woke from them yelling with fear, sweaty and scrabbling for the covers.

Kestrel, never a heavy sleeper, could bring him down from the fear with her voice and gentle, soothing touches. She nursed him through the terror, stroking his hair and helped him come through the dull pain of the lyrium in his skin. At times the markings burned with a fury and it took time to get them under control. Other times, Fenris could only feel the steady dull ache of where they had been alight.

The first dozen times, Fenris had been unable to sleep again. He had been ashamed and admonished himself internally, angry at himself for waking Kestrel and showing his weakness. As time drew on, his shame grew less. Kestrel never complained when he woke her. She sat up with him until he was comfortable and calm. Over the weeks and months of them sharing a bed, Fenris learned to fall back to sleep, safely wrapped within her embrace.

There were times when sleep didn’t come so easily, and he found he didn’t mind.

He took those silent opportunities to observe his lover in her most vulnerable state.

When she slept, he noticed her features were fine and delicate.

A high forehead and straight nose, curving brows and a mouth with plump lips, which were only his to kiss. Her cheeks were littered with a smattering of freckles, only visible close up. He observed the sweep of her long, dark eyelashes across her cheeks, watched them flickering when she dreamed. Fenris listened to the steady breaths she took, to the soft murmurs that tumbled past her lips.

Sometimes, he caught a whisper of his name and would find himself smiling to know she dreamed of him.

Fenris followed the contours of her face with a ghost-like touch, his fingertips barely gliding over her skin to trace the curve of her cupid’s bow or the smooth, gradual arc of her brows. He cleared her hair from her face, easing back behind her ear with as much care as he could muster.

There were times he explored further and his hands wandered freely down her neck, tracing the line of her throat. He touched her shoulder, following the outline of the most predominant scars he could reach. All the while Kestrel slept on soundly, her body close to his, drawn by his warmth.

As far as Fenris knew, she was oblivious to this practice. To this private reverie of his where he could observe and enjoy the softness between them without disturbance. If she woke, and she sometimes did, Fenris eased her back to sleep. He nuzzled and kissed her forehead, hushed her questions and relaxed once he heard the familiar rhythm of her sleeping breaths.

For now, she couldn’t know about these moments where she was utterly his and she was left alone by her fears and responsibilities. He would tell her one day, but for now, these times were for him. For him to memorize the curve of her lips and the slope of her nose in case they ever parted. For him to know the sweep of her eyelashes and the pattern her almost invisible freckles fell in across her cheeks.

These times were his, for him to feel safe in admitting how much he adored her and for him to reflect on his life with her in it. What an impact she had had, and how she had changed it.

In these times he could confess how much he loved her to her sleeping form and yet remain safe in the knowledge she could not hear him.

Comments and reblogs gratefully appreciated and encouraged! <3

Made good progress on this floral piece with an American kestrel on Tara, a fellow Oregonian who I met for the first time in France! Stoked to finish this one up soon! Lines healed, color and shading fresh.