"Kitty? Jean? Could you come, please?"
Jean grunted in response and glanced in the mirror. Ever since she woke up like this, she'd felt something odd. Like things were not the way they should be. But they had to be. She was still Jean Grey of the X-Men...
And she needed to get dressed. She lumbered over to her dresser and looked at her clothes. Normally she'd have picked out a nice dress, but she felt that a dress didn't feel right. It was too... girly. She tossed away a drawerful of clothes, grunting in
frustration, before she found a pair of jeans...
No, they weren't jeans, they were overalls. A nice heavy pair of overalls, just her size. They fit just right on her frame, and always had, ever since she worked at the trainyard... That's why she was so muscular under her fat. She paused in refelction.
They had nicknames for her back then. "Mean Jean" was the most popular with the guys, but that was only because she preferred girls...
She didn't realize that she was indeed being affected by Blob's wish. Unfortunately for her, her only experience with the obese was Blob himself! And just like when she was under the influence of Mastermind, reality was reshaping itself to her new outlook.
Only it was permanent, rather than a mere illusion.
Yeah, Jean liked girls. She was a regular at the local lesbian bars. She fished a cigarette out of her overalls as she dressed and lit up, puffing it like a pro. She coughed as her voice turned gravelly from years of smoking.
"Mmmmm, dat's better," she grunted as she sucked down the cigarette and lit another. She buttoned on a flannel shirt and did up her overalls. A pair of steel-toed boots completed the ensemble and she looked into the mirror.
She looked fine. A plain, jowly face, with a pugged, crooked nose (she'd broken it once or twice), hard, flinty eyes beneath a heavy brow and buzz-cut hair. She was still "Mean" Jean Dukes, sister to that no-good criminal Fred Dukes, a.k.a. The Blob. At
least Jean was able to hold down a job and clean up her act by joining this "X-Men" gang. Not like that lazy sponge.
"Better go see what's up 'roro's black ass." She lumbered out of her room.
Madame Fantastic sighed in contentment as Herbie wriggled between her legs and watched Lyja paw at Johnny. The thick, sexy skrull was practically purring with lust. Johnny made a show of resisting, but they all knew he couldn't get enough of her in any
shape. The brawny shapeshifter grew a quartet of tentacles to restrain her husband while she aggressively frenched him.
A plan percolated in Malice's mind. She'd done all this with just a few tweaks to her own thought processes... and now she was probably the richest woman on the planet! She could have a legion of lesbian lovers and super-slaves if she wished, just by nudging
a superheroine's self-image in the right direction. She'd seen what had happened at Avengers Mansion. Ms. Marvel was a lazy couch potato, Photon was a black housekeeper right out of the 1950s, the Wasp was a doting housewife and Tigra was a pampered Persian.
This called for an experiment. Malice snapped her fingers. "Herbie, get me my communicator. I'm going to call..."