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Jim isn’t sure how they got caught up in this particular whirlwind, but they’re pleased that they did. Wee John is rolling on a white pair of stockings, Izzy has just finished fussing with his pompadour, and Jim is sat,watching; admiring .
In the end, the outfit they choose isn’t much different from every other day. Like Izzy, they opt for their usual attire, but have stolen a lace cravat, and the added flourish makes them feel - something . It’s large, and unnamable, but it feels right . More right than Jim can really describe. It’s like the first time the crew had called them Jim, without the nose and the beard. When they had told everyone they weren’t a woman, or a fucking mermaid, and they all just kind of - went with it. No further questions, no further concerns. Just Jim. Just The Revenge.
Fuck, was it amazing.
But Jim sees Izzy’s eyes painted gold and Wee John bursting with drama all across his face, still bearded, still beautiful, and they realise that there is so much more to explore, so much more waiting for them in this new world they only recently realised they belonged to.
Izzy belongs there, as well. Jim knows that for a fact, has seen the jagged scars across his chest, and although most others might assume they were from a battle (which makes Jim laugh, almost, because in many ways they are . The hardest battle Jim’s ever seen, in fact.), Jim knows better. They want scars that match Izzy’s, one day.
And yet, they want more than that , even. They want to feel comfortable in their own skin, and although they’ve come a long way in that regard since joining Stede’s crew, seeing two men they admire wearing makeup, shucking other people’s expectations of them like a second skin, revealing a vibrant and brilliant truth beneath, they find it’s not a want, but a need .
They’ve been on The Revenge long enough to know that the best way is to ask. To talk it through.
But, shit. It’s difficult.
“Hey, Izzy. Do you reckon you could - do some of that on me?”
Izzy’s hands hover over his hair as his eyes meet Jim’s in the mirror.
“You want me to paint you? I think Calypso other there might be a steadier, and more talented, hand than me.”
Wee John raises his hand in the air and wiggles his wrist in approval, but he’s so focused on shimmying on the last of his outfit that Jim feels bad disturbing him.
“I don’t want all the fancy shit you’ve got, just a little. I don’t know, facial hair? To match the cravat.”
They’re aware it doesn’t make any sense, that those two things have nothing in common, but Izzy doesn’t comment, even when their cheeks start to redden.
“Sure.” Izzy shrugs, selecting a black stick, carved to a point, from the table.
They’re shaking before Izzy’s even touched them, and when he brings a hand to their chin, they jump in his grip.
“Fucking hold still , if you want my help.” He sighs, but Jim has noticed recently how the bite from Izzy has lessened. Now, he just seems tired. They’re not sure which hurts more.
“Sorry.” They purse their lips, close their eyes. Try not to startle when the cool tip of the pencil touches their top lip.
Izzy is surprisingly gentle, his gloved hand barely pressing into Jim’s skin as he tilts them up towards the dim candlelight.
The first few strokes pass in silence, but when Izzy speaks, Jim opens one eye to watch him.
“You don’t have to prove anything, you know. Not to anyone.”
They consider this, for a moment. What this means to them, why they wanted it at all. They clear their throat before they speak, and Izzy’s grip on them tightens slightly with the movement.
“It’s not about that. I just - wanted to express myself. Or my true self, anyway.” They shrug, and Izzy hisses, jerking his hand away and glaring down at Jim.
“Your true self is Jim . Always has been. You don’t need to change to make that any more true, is all I’m saying. You’re already one of the best fucking pirates on this ship. Nobody thinks anything else about you but that.”
And that - that means something. To be seen by someone older than them, but in a similar position. Someone who knows what it’s like to feel othered, the pain and fear and uncertainty which comes along with that. Someone who experienced all of that and still decided to love themself anyway; Jim could just about cry with it.
Izzy leans forward, continues to stroke black over the top of Jim’s lip, and Jim can’t help but smile.
“Thank you, Izzy. I mean that.”
He rolls his eyes, sparking in the low light with glitter and something else, something damp and tender, something Jim wants more of for him.
“Stop fucking smiling, will you. You’re messing my lines up.”
Jim sucks in their lips to hold back a smile, and almost loses it again when their eyes flick up and see that Izzy is doing the same.
“You know, I used to think you were a bit of a dick.” They mutter, careful not to move their mouth too much.
Izzy huffs out a dry laugh.
“Better not be going around telling people I’m fucking nice now, or something. Twat.”
He pulls back, admiring his work, something he was so needlessly careful and gentle with, and Jim reckons Izzy’s always been nice. It’s just that nobody bothered to notice before now.
They crane their neck to see the finished result. It’s a simple moustache, a couple lines curled at the tips, but to Jim it’s everything . Everything they want to be. Everything they already are. Maybe more than that, even.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
They grin at Izzy, and he bites his lip, not meeting Jim’s gaze.
“Go on then, piss off. Think your girlfriend is looking for you.”
Jim laughs, because there's something so deeply endearing about how committed to being a massive twat Izzy is, especially when Jim - and everyone else who sailed under the Kraken - knows how completely untrue that is.
They can’t help but pull Izzy into a hug, and although he stiffens, after a second he returns it with one arm before he’s pushing Jim away, towards the door.
“Don’t breathe a word about us to the others!” He shouts after them, and Wee John makes a grunting noise in response.
“Yeah, can’t have you ruining Calypso's big reveal.” He lifts his arms, showing off the array of jewels and fine fabrics which drip from him like they were gifted by the ocean herself, and Jim nods, offering a mock salute.
“See you up there.”
They rush around the ship, trying to find Oluwande and Archie, desperate to show them Izzy’s work. They know they’re loved anyway, that much has been clear for months, but this feels special, and Jim wants to share it with the people they care for most.
Their reactions don’t disappoint, and when they’ve had the breath kissed from their lungs, with Archie feeling up the fabric of Jim’s thighs and Olu’s fingers resting tentatively in Jim’s hair, they head up to the deck and enjoy a night of community, of complete love and acceptance.
Jim doesn’t know if they’ve ever been happier.