Title: Jezebel Bradley

Summary: In which Jet undertakes a dare that isn't much of a dare since he's been doing it anyway.

Prompt: None. Rewrite.

Updated: 8/17/2018

Author's Note: Inspired by Chris Evans' appearance in drag from "[The] Opposite Sex". Basically, I headcanon Jet likes to cross-dress.


There were a lot of things Jet kept to himself as a child well into young adulthood, and eventual adulthood. Playing with his mother's makeup was one of those things. When his parents were away at work or off one their mushy dates, an eight year old Jet would sneak into their room. He'd settle in front of the mirror, and examine his reflection.

Everyone went out of their way to tell him how much he resembled his mother. At the time, he never saw what the adults were clearly seeing in him. He wanted to look like his father. He always thought Alan had the cooler face. Lora was just too "pretty" and "soft". Experimenting with her make-up only seemed to drive that belief of his home. Awkwardly applied cosmetics that were too heavy on one side and too light on the other simply showed him a chubby face that was just "Jet". There wasn't any Lora to be found, let alone his father.

Eventually, what started out as trying to find fallacy in the words of others simply became a force of habit, and one he got better with over time. He looked less like a clown and more like one of those girls in the beauty pageants, which is to say he looked odd. Rummaging through her clothes, however, was a different task altogether. While her wardrobe was more varied than his father's dress-shirt and suits combo, she only owned three classy dresses and one pair of heels (the rest were flats or sneakers). Her heels didn't fit him, not by a long shot, and neither did her party dresses, but could kinda see why she liked wearing them. They were soft and eye-catching.

His mother would eventually begin to wonder why her cosmetics seemed to be disappearing quicker than she used them, but Jet was often careful to put things back exactly where he found them, and scrub his face until there wasn't a trace of blush or lipstick to be found. When she interrogated him with vague questions and hasty reassurances that she wasn't "here to judge", Jet refused to out himself as the culprit. He learned with experience parents often said one thing but did something completely different. In retrospect, maybe she wan't lying to him, but at the time he didn't want to hear a lecture about why what he was doing was "wasn't right", not when he was having fun. (That, and he didn't want any grief with Sam.)

As he got older, going into the retail stores to buy things of his own was easy enough when he worked with the excuse of "I'm looking for something for my mother", and store clerks would help him, none the wiser about the specifications he was making. At least, not all of them. He was careful not to spend too much time in one area, but he also never visited one place one too many times either.

He kept his door locked and his blinds down whenever he decided to test his new wares out, and it was only then, at twenty two years old, when coupled with the makeup he eventually bought on his own, he could finally see what people were saying when they told him he looked like his mother. It'd had been the biggest "holy shit" moment of his life.


When it came to dares, Sam never quite elevated himself into the more creative spheres. So, when he was given the choice of "playing dress up" or streaking naked across the stage as he was handed his diploma, Jet figured the first was better than the latter and wouldn't get him arrested. He was already indulging in it, anyways.

Thus, on the day he had prepare for his graduation, Jet spent the better part of his early morning with his dorm bedroom door locked and rummaging through his chest for what he wanted to wear. He threw an identical set of skirts and blouses onto the bed, and contemplated which color to choose. He applied faux lashes to his eyelashes, pinched his cheeks and made sure his legs were still relatively hairless since his last wax. When he was finished, he took a moment to regard himself in the mirror. Despite his painfully broad shoulders and arms, he thought he looked pretty amazing, or, at least in the neighborhood of "Almost Amazing".

The makeup job was done well enough, lipstick never went over the edges of his lips, blush and eye shadow was evenly placed and the faux lashes made his ensemble pop with the right level of embellishment. Okay, so, maybe the pink skirt and blouse were a bit much, it worked better with his pasty, "ain't seen sun in months" complexion than the red and green ensemble. Making sure his wig was fastened properly on his head and his bra wasn't crooked, he slipped into his robe and departed from the dorm.

Getting through the hall was easy enough, everyone was a might too busy with their own drama to notice "Big Barda" walking among them as he struggled down the stairs, clutching the railing for dear life. When he arrived, he caught a few glimpses of Sam in the crowd, standing on his tip-toes in attempt to figure out where he was. His parents were right alongside him, looking so anxious he almost felt bad for what he was about to. They looked right at him and didn't blink twice, Jet bit back a grin as the line progressed to the stage.

"Jethro Eugene Bradley," Half concentrated on balancing himself and half listening, he automatically grimaced at the sound of his entire name sounded over the speaker and felt his neck burning at the laughs that followed. There was a moment of silence before his name was called again. Eyes wandered about high and low, the people behind him were getting antsy.

Swallowing the last of his fears, he stepped forward and hurried up the stairs as fast as the heels would allow him. There was a collective murmur of confusion, gasps and one obnoxious bark of laughter from Sam as Jet took the paper from the dean's loose grip. The crowd erupted into fits of laughter, applause, and cat-calls. He did his best not to frown in their direction, smiled pleasantly enough and walked past the president of the college.

Casting one glance over his shoulder, he watched his parents watching him. Alan wore a look of uncertainty, Lora appeared to slowly come to realize what was going on, while Sam was taking pictures of him with his camera. Placing the tassel on the other side of his hat, Jet proceeded to climb down the stairs carefully, heart racing in his chest. He was barely across the field when he was jumped by Sam, Jet gagged in surprise at the sensation of Sam's arm locking around his neck and dragging him into a bent position. "Ha-ha! I knew you'd do it! You're way too chicken too streak," Flynn laughed.

"Dude, get off me, I can barely walk in these heels as it is," Jet huffed, struggling to maintain his balance.

"As you wish, Jezebel," Sam released Jet from his headlock. The graduate stumbled into an upright position, his legs wobbled as he pulled his heel free of the dirt. In the corner of his eye he could see his parents approaching them, not a good thing. He shared a look with his friend. "You think they're mad?" He asked.

Sam chortled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Probably, but not as mad the faculty is, I'm betting."

Jet allowed his shoulders to slouch. "Damn it, Flynn, I wanna say this is all your fault, but-" He gestured to himself. "I've been - nevermind, this on me."

"That's right, I didn't do anything," Sam said. "You could've easily done a quickie across the stage and been done with it. But you went with the dress."

For Sam, it was too hilarious to see his friend barking at him with make up on. For Jet, he was seriously considering the ramifications of putting his "alter ego" on display, all in the name of a dare, before actually having a legitimate conversation with his parents about it. They were not gonna be happy with him either way.

"Oh, what the hell, I've been wanting to talk to them about this for a while now," Jet grumbled, folding his arms. "How mad do you think they are?"

"Oh a scale of one to ten, probably an eight," Sam grinned, then stopped just as quickly. "What do you mean you've been wanting to talk about this for a while?"

Jet said nothing. He simply watched the slow realization that hit his mother hit his best friend and swallowed his tongue.


[END]