Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this fic, nor the pirate AU.

Inspired by andythelemon's pirate AU on Tumblr, and particularly the art of their tattoos.

Please excuse any nautical and/or tattoo-related errors.

"I'm not sure doing this on the ship is the best idea," Rapunzel says, looking at the gentle sway of the deck.

The captain merely grins. "I've every confidence in those hands of yours, love." And to forestall any further argument she grips her shirt at the neckline and pulls it over her head. Despite all the time she's spent on the seas her skin is still pale, though with a warm golden glow that contrasts with the pale linen band wrapped around her breasts. That soon joins the shirt, both garments beneath her as she lies on her stomach on the deck.

Rapunzel sweeps the wild plait aside, tugs Merida's breeches down to bare the small of her back, and stares at the canvas before her. "A bear," she murmurs, already seeing it in the contours of the other woman's muscles and curves. No matter what she's said, she knows her hands are steady enough for the work ahead. She picks up the needle and a pot of ink, and pauses to warn the captain, "This will hurt."

She turns her head on her folded arms and grins. "Everything worthwhile does," she says, and closes her eyes.

If it bothers her, she doesn't show it—doesn't flinch or make a sound. Rapunzel hums under her breath as she works, and that and the swoosh of the waves and the creak of ropes is all the captain hears. They'd unloaded their cargo the night before and divided up the shares; most of the crew was ashore now, drinking and whoring or finding other ways to spend their loot, with only a few still aboard on watch. The others will come straggling back in a day or two, hungover and significantly lighter of purse. It ought to be enough time for her back to heal and the captain of the Crimson Claw to be in fighting trim again.

In spite of the pricking she's just about to doze off when a cheerful voice remarks, "That looks terrible. Is it supposed to be all bloody and messy like that?"

"It's not done yet," Rapunzel says distantly, but patiently. Merida's content to let the more even-tempered woman deal with Frost, who has a way of getting on her nerves. She nearly hisses as the needle moves higher, toward her shoulder blade, but she'll be dead and damned before she lets him see her vulnerable (in her experience, just being topless does not mean she's vulnerable).

"Is that a Yeti?" he asks, and though neither of them know what he's talking about, she does know that the question is more to dig at her than to criticize Rapunzel's skills. Merida cracks one eye and peers up to where the lad is crouched in the rigging, his toes wrapped around the lines; he leans perilously forward, his slim arms stretched behind him, fingers twined around hemp. Anyone else she'd warn not to fall on them, but she's never seen him anything less than perfectly balanced.

"You know it's a bear, Jack," Rapunzel reproves mildly. "And you'd best be nice to me, unless you want to end up with something you didn't ask for on your back for all time."

"Have you got naught else to do?" Merida demands, though without heat.

He salutes smartly, swinging around when one hand releases its grip on the line. "I'm guarding the ship, Captain."

To head off any argument, Rapunzel asks, "Do you have any idea what you're going to get, Jack?" She takes a moment to sit back, stretching her arms above her head, then spreading her fingers wide. The captain wiggles a little, too; she isn't used to staying still for so long. Luckily she remembers in time not to arch her back and lift her chest off of the deck the way she wants to—she'd never hear the end of it if she let Jack Frost of all people get an eyeful.

He bends his knees and hangs upside down, arms crossed over his chest. It's a wonder he never burns in the sun, as he's the palest on the crew; when they dock in the Caribbean he tends to attract attention, from women and men alike, on account of the shock of white hair that he swears is natural. "I have an idea or two," he says easily, "or I might just let Punz use me however she wants."

Merida rolls her eyes, and hopes Rapunzel's doing the same. It took a while for her to realize that he doesn't mean anything by his flirting; it's just how he talks, to everyone. She'd nearly had him flogged more than once in his first week aboard for his casual attitude, and she's heard about a few near-misses he's had in port because of it. As much as she'd sometimes dearly love for someone to teach him a lesson, he's always managed to talk his way out of trouble, with the help of that charming smile. "You've too much faith in him if you expect him to've thought about anything beforehand," she tells Rapunzel, settling back into her position as the needle falls again.

"I don't hear you interrogating Hiccup."

Neither of them is surprised when Rapunzel says, "He already knows what he wants. We've talked about it and sketched the design." Her small hand brushes something off of Merida's side and whether she means it to or not it calms the captain, grounds her in what the women are doing. Above her Rapunzel is focused on her art. She'd only asked for a bear, but the woman knows her well enough to know what she means. Despite her ship's name (the suggestion of her younger brothers), she doesn't want a gruesome scene, a bloodied maw, gore dripping from teeth and claws; she wants evidence of the courage and ferocity that carried her up the ranks to captain her own vessel, and a reminder of her home far away, of the family she'd left but never forgot and the strength they instilled in her. That's what Rapunzel will use all her skill to give her.

Jack groans, as if someone else's forethought is a personal affront. "Of course he does."

"Nothing wrong with being prepared," the other man's voice says as he climbs to the forecastle deck.

"It's boring."

Merida smiles at the dryness of Hiccup's tone as he says, "Please forgive me for wanting to plan ahead. I didn't really have that option the last time I made an irrevocable change to my body." He's mastered the art of walking so that his fake leg makes no more noise against the deck than the other. He settles against the railing in front of them, eyes scanning horizon and town alike.

Put that way, even Jack can't blame him for his deliberation. She'd never call him boring, though; Hiccup is clever and methodical, yes, but she wouldn't vouch for his complete sanity. Before a fight he gets a certain look in his eye, a looseness in his expression, and it's like seeing all of his careful calculations disappear, leaving a man unpredictable and all the more dangerous for it. And some of his tinkering is the work of either a genius or a madman.

"You could always just let her play connect-the-dots with your freckles," Jack suggests. He's swung himself right side up again and sits leaning forward on crossed arms; he tilts his head and looks Hiccup up and down. "I'm sure there are some interesting designs hidden in there. Like a mermaid, or a big, bearded Viking woman. They do have beards, don't they?"

He ignores the jibe. "What do you think for our Mr. Frost, Captain?" Hiccup asks. "A snowman?"

"The man in the moon," she decides, knowing he'll stick out his tongue childishly.

"The North Star," Rapunzel says peaceably, "he's the finest navigator I've ever sailed with."

"He's the only navigator you've ever sailed with," Hiccup points out, his voice reasonable but warm.

"That doesn't mean I'm not still the best," Jack shoots back, and she closes her eyes as the two men squabble familiarly. The rest of the Claw's sailors are seaworthy, as upright and honorable a lot as was ever found under the black flag, and she does her best by them. But these three, these fellow misfits and rogues, these are the ones she would fight to the death for, the ones she would give her own life to save, and she knows they'd do the same for her. The others are her men; this is her crew.

It's a few days before her tattoo is healed enough to inspect properly, and she strips off her shirt in her cabin, turning her back to the full-length mirror (spoils from a Spanish ship that she hasn't had the heart to sell off yet) and holding a smaller one in front of her. She pulls the hair over her shoulder and takes in the result. The beast is everything she wanted, strong yet graceful, coming to life as she shrugs one shoulder.

"It's perfect," she says, beaming at where Rapunzel lazes in a hammock, one leg swinging idly over the side.

"Good. I'd hate to be keelhauled if you didn't like it."

She chuckles, still admiring the tattoo, turning this way and that to see all of it. "How soon can you do the lads'?"

"I need more ink. And the leisure time to do them."

"We'll make port soon," she promises, eager for the others to get their marks. "Get them, will you? I want to show it off." Rapunzel swings out of the hammock gracefully and all but dances toward the door, footsteps light and sure against the ship's roll. Her hand is on the latch when Merida calls, "Wait!" She rummages in her desk for a pouch, filled with more gold than necessary, and pitches it across the cabin.

She catches it deftly and tosses it right back. "Don't be silly," she says, somewhere between fond and scoffing. Merida starts to protest, but it's cut off by Rapunzel continuing softly, "For you—for us—it's my pleasure." She smiles, too sweet by far in the setting sun, and lifts the latch; then she looks back with an eyebrow raised. "Anyone else will have to pay, though. I am a pirate, after all."

The captain's laughter follows her out of the cabin.