#ofmdfic

Mary might not know tattooing yet, but she’s got an eye for art and she picks up the mechanics quickly. At her request Alma brings in a bottle of something far nicer than rum—casting an interested look towards the pirate that reminds Mary, with a trickle of worry, that she always was her father’s daughter—and they spend a surprisingly pleasant afternoon with Mary experimenting and Ed commenting on her paintings. Is that flower a vagina, Mary? Yes it is, god, no one else gets that!

Mary tattoos a lighthouse onto Ed’s arm, entwining it with one of his tentacles. It’s nothing fancy, but Ed leaves the Bonnet household pleased as fucking punch.

Which means, of course, that a few months later Stede shows back up (in a terrible disguise) begging her to give him his own lighthouse on the opposite arm.

Stede Bonnet, are you really asking for the symbol of our now defunct marriage after you left me, came back, came out as gay, and then had the gall to fall in love with the most dangerous pirate on the seven seas?

…Yes?

Yeah, alright, fine. Get on the table.

Mary has been practicing since she last saw Ed, discovering that she loves the permanence of tattooing—putting her art on a moving canvas; a part of someone’s very identity, not just their home. Though it’s hardly considered good form in their community, she even managed to find a tutor after promising Doug that she wouldn’t fall in love with this one. Or if she does, she’s not going to throw him over for the new guy. You should really talk to Stede’s friend Lucius, Doug. He has fantastic ideas about the whole thing.

Stede tells Mary all about their lighthouse fuckery while she works and she finds that this story is a damn bit more romantic than their awkward wedding vows. In the end, this lighthouse is far more detailed than Ed’s, with steadier lines and a bit of shading, and Mary can’t help but think that it fits their personalities quite well. Stede is so happy he forgets himself and plants an exuberant kiss on Mary’s cheek. She just laughs.

From there other members of The Revenge show up when it’s safe for them to sneak into town, all of them wanting ink from a member of their Captain’s family. Their family, now. After she’s given Jim a pair of crossed knives and Oluwande a small orange tree on his back; Frenchie a recreation of his lute and the Swede the notes of his favorite song, word starts to spread to other crews. Wherever The Revenge goes they show off their ink. Even when they don’t, Mary’s developing a style that’s noticeable in any tavern or seedy alleyway—far nicer work than what anyone else has got.

The first time an unknown pirate shows up on their doorstep in the dead of night, Mary very nearly stabs him with one of the knives Jim gifted her. She whisper-yells at the poor bastard about manners and coming during business hours, really, what is wrong with you? After a sheepish apology, she brews an obscene amount of coffee and inks a child’s portrait onto the man’s arm. It’s by far the most challenging tat she’s done to date and somewhere around 4:00am, bleary-eyed and energized, Mary thinks that she’ll never want to do anything else again.

More pirates come after that. Doug worries. Mary reassures. As a compromise, she starts taking clients while her widow group meets. The presences of nine or so women who have nothing to lose—alongside Evelyn glaring from the corner—is more than enough to keep even the toughest ruffian in line.

Which isn’t to say that every client is a good experience. Oh no. Mary learns and more importantly, she listens, figuring out which pirates have beef with an ally of The Revenge, or who would sooner sell out their own than part with a single coin. On the truly worrisome visitors, the ones who do nothing to endear themselves during the long session or any of the repeat visits, Mary adds a small flower to their designs. Just her signature, she assures them, but everyone on The Revenge knows that it’s a message: don’t trust this one, watch your back.

Most though are surprisingly pleasant to spend time with. Sweethearts just dealing with a fair bit of trauma, as her ex-husband might say. When they thank her and try to press purses into her hand, Mary just shakes her head. It’s not like she needs the money. Instead, she draws out promises that they’ll do right by The Revenge and its co-captains, should they ever cross paths. When her family visits, Mary hears many tales about the crews that unexpectedly assisted during a tough raid, offered a good deal on supplies, bought them all drinks when they came into port.

Mary is the laughingstock of the town. She’s the woman whose husband ran out on her to become a criminal and then didn’t even have the decency to stay away, instead dying in a thoroughly tactless fashion. She’s the woman who gave up a lucrative painting career to instead take up a lowlife’s art form—if it could even be called such—with all manner of scoundrels calling on her. She’ll end badly, wait and see.

Mary is beloved by the pirate community. She’s the darling of Blackbeard and the Gentleman Pirate, more than capable of holding her own with both. She’s the woman whose ink you want etched into your skin—always safe to visit, always compassionate, and unspeakably talented. She’ll go far, wait and see.

Of course, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Mary teaches Louis how to draw and makes Alma promise that she’ll finish her education before following her father to sea; she takes Doug to bed each night and with his encouragement visits Evelyn many afternoons. She’s happy.

Shockingly, so is everyone else. Mary isn’t entirely sure what to make of the waspish man who shows up on her doorstep one afternoon, but he’s easily recognizable based on Stede and Ed’s descriptions. Israel Hands has just three tattoos: the ace of spades to mark his time in the Navy, the swallow for a well-traveled pirate, and a lopsided cross on his cheek that Mary almost asks about, before thinking better of it.

He wants a fourth tattoo. A lighthouse on the back of his neck.

It’s been a long time since Mary first started tattooing. It’s not that she forgot about her previous lighthouses, of course not, but any additional meaning doesn’t register as she works up a design to show Izzy. After all, he’s a sailor. A pirate. Most of them want something to connect them to the sea and there are only so many objects that do that.

The placement is a bit odd though. Mary warns him that he’ll have to keep his hair short for the tattoo to show, shaving the fine hairs regularly. Izzy just grunts and mutters for her to get to it. Mary doesn’t realize the significance of him allowing her to hold a razor to his neck, in his blind-spot no less. At this point, she’s considered an extension of the only two allowed to do the same.

This lighthouse is perfect. After years of work Mary is easily able to navigate the muscles in Izzy’s neck; the thin scar that—she shivers—is just a little too close to his jugular. Mary knows how to make her art catch the eye when Izzy stands tall and how to keep it from looking absurd whenever he twists his head. She doesn’t know this man well, but Mary senses that this piece should be meticulous and detailed, not a single line out of place. So she pours everything into the image, holding Izzy steady with a grip he doesn’t flinch from.

It's only months later, when the family comes back to visit, that Mary realizes what she’s helped accomplish. Izzy stands between his two captains and from the back she sees that all the lighthouses are balanced, like the top of a nautical star.

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