This is a Legion fan fic I commissioned over on tumblr from a fan of the cartoon who was familiar enough with and comfortable enough to do something around my headcanons involving fat Lightning Lad. With some tubby Timber Wolf thrown in for good measure.
--
The table was constantly being set with gorgeous, delicious food, and not just by Brin.
Sometimes the others took it upon themselves to supply their fellow heroes with dishes better suited to their own delights, flavors and types; avoiding allergens and disliked tastes as needed.
It wasn't always perfect, but Garth never expected it to be so when there were so many people in the Legion at any given time.
He was just happy that for the longest time, after he'd reached his twenty-fifth year and their corner of the galaxy had been quiet, he could indulge himself on the food stuffs without worry of condescension or snide remarks. He hadn't indulged himself since he was young enough to hold Ayla's hand in school at meals, or sit across from Mekt at the dinner table and be thankful his elder brother provided a buffer from his parents' line of sight when he snuck extra morsels.
When Garth cooked for his friends, it was with the memory of home and his need to give as well as receive the comfort food he'd never be able to capture again, but could come in a close second tier to his nostalgia.
Rich chocolate cakes made in triplicate so everyone could get a taste, layered in brownie batter and white chocolate dipped strawberries; butterfly cakes with specially flavored and crafted icing in the shape of garden blossoms catered to the tastes of those who loved candied fruits; wonderful meats and breads, glazed all around, so soft that they practically melted on contact with the tongue.
Imra encouraged him, because she loved him and he enjoyed it, and so what if he gained weight from something that made him happy? He still went out and fought the evils of the universe when they arrived for a fight. He made it home to her, and she made it home to him, and so she smiled in joy whenever he walked into the kitchen, sometimes pulling her in with him; tied an apron around his soft belly and his wide shoulders, played a little bit of that foreign music from Earth popular in the fifties in the European tourist spots. Cooked or baked or both, her on the stool and him with his hands always occupied.
Really, it would be perfect from one place to another if a certain little green gremlin didn't have to adjust Garth's arm here and there.
(Garth ignored this as often as he was able, and Imra was proud of him. He really was maturing with age.)
*
Calm and quiet, warm in the dark, Imra's arms wrapped around him--he'd never even known there were T-shirts made in the size he was wearing. Or bottoms to go along with it.
He felt a bit like he was just shy of wearing a dress--though if he minded, even in his subconscious, it wasn't something Imra could sense. The first night he wore the shirt, she'd dipped into the bathroom where he was looking at himself in the mirror, spinning back and forth to look at how it creased against his back and hips.
Imra had tucked her hands up under the edge of the shirt, fingers spider light, and pulled the bottom up to rest over his belly easily, setting it to keep from falling.
She found his stretch marks more endearing than he did. They had itched and chafed fiercely the first weeks after they'd spread like dandelions in sidewalk cracks, only cooling down once she'd had the idea to bring him coconut based lotion--with a little Shea butter when he also got a couple small oil burns on his fleshy arm while cooking a kind of grilled cheese that couldn't have been made by someone who was indifferent to food--and then changed from red and pink to ghost white.
She traced every stretched and widening skin break she could find, from front to back, pinching his sides and gripping his arm to drag him into their bedroom. He landed with a bit more of a thud than he ever had when he was what society deemed more pleasing to the eye, but that barely crossed his thought process when his girlfriend pulled the covers over the both of them, skittering up behind him to wrap him in her own firm arms as far as they would go around him from the back.
He hummed low in his throat when she kissed him dead center along his back, palms and fingers kneading soft chest, soft sides, the little cleft between where his belly dipped and his pelvis.
Being the little spoon in this was new and welcome, and they slept like that as often as they could get away with it--when she didn't want to sleep on top of him; a little slip of sunshine on a slick, furless bear.
*
Red velvet cake; strawberries dipped in chocolate with a little cup of honey to dip them in as a touch of extra tender love and care; powdered sugar still clinging to the tip of Garth's nose that Imra refused to call attention to because he had never looked so adorable, and she wasn't going to ruin the moment.
*
"You can't just not go to Brainy, Garth," Imra chided, her disappointment in the Coluan going up a notch as her boyfriend touched his prosthetic; trying to ignore the very obvious weight difference, trying not to think about the new barbs that Brainy was going to throw at him like poison darts, "You've accidentally over-balanced at least ten times in training just today with Bouncy--I can't imagine how many times it's already happened when nobody was there to spar with you.
*
Brainiac 5 would not back down from his stance, arms still crossed and eyes focused on the golden arm, but Chuck wasn't about to back away either; he was still waiting on Brainy's brilliant explanation on why it was perfectly okay for Bouncy to be overweight, but Garth was the subject of ridicule.
He could wait all day. There were no meetings and the sector was quiet. Brainy would have to open his mouth and give an answer--whether he liked it or not.
*
It was astounding that none of Garth's supportive friends had thought of an alternative of the like that was in front of them, but the lightning wielder wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Brainy had not let up with Garth after his talk with Imra, after Chuck and Luornu went over the science and ethics and psychology with him, after they'd stuck him on patrol with Rokk for over a month.
But then Brin gained some weight. He had accepted it much like Garth had--maybe even better than Garth had, because Brin had been eating Tinya's cooking when the princess had taken it upon herself to give her boyfriend a break from the kitchen and feeding everyone else.
Brin and Garth had laughed a good five minutes when they bumped into each other in the halls and realized they matched, giving a little fist-bump in solidarity--their soft bellies touching much like their knuckles and causing even more amusement (and adoration) from Imra and Tinya as they came down the hall, following after their boys' sounds of merriment.
Brainy had been with them. Brainy had seen the display of comradery. Brainy had spoken the words, "Oh, great, another one."
Brainy, in all his steadily increasing stupidity, had forgotten that Tinya was a wonderfully emotional-devotional-protective-terrifying girlfriend when it came to Brin's happiness.
(Not to say that she didn't care about Garth's feelings. She cared about all of her friends' feelings. But Garth had insisted, and Imra had insisted, that they could deal with Brainy's nastiness themselves. So she promised to respect their wishes.)
This was the first time he'd insulted Brin, though.
(And the last.)
*
It would be rather foolish and stupid to describe Clark, pulled from his time by a very angry Phantom Girl without a warning or a word, as the man brought to run the show, or describe Tinya, Imra, and Luornu as his backup (dancers).
It was something more akin to the Fates themselves, those who spun and measured and cut the Thread of Life, calling on a mortal with some basic common sense. Watching him do as he was required in the some great task set before him, not precisely to amuse themselves, but to get things done--for the good of others and all.
Clark's so-called call to action was hearing the tale from both sides of the aisle about weight gain, and happiness, and health, and emotional security; figuring out what to do with the charges brought against Brainy by the women as their mom occupied themselves in the kitchen with finding food a farm boy from Kansas would appreciate as a 'thank you' for his hard work.
Because it absolutely was hard work the Man of Steel was set to do. Made all the more obvious and apparent when Brin picked up the words, "Don't kink shame me," fall from Brainy's mouth in reference to his playing up different fantasies involving Clark in the holo-room (Clark nothing but muscle, Clark built like some waif on a prairie homestead, but most especially, Clark rounded out with thick thighs and a rounder face and sporting all the bits and pieces perfect for snuggling) in a silly, pouty teenager grumbling under his breath fashion.
Brin did not need his sensitive hearing--and neither did Chuck or Garth--when Imra called him, "Hypocrite," and Luornu chimed, "Turn-about's fair play," and Tinya (who he was going to take to their bedroom first thing after this, uh-huh) projected like Patti LuPone in that live-on-Broadway production of Sunset Boulevard Chuck had them watch once on a slow night, "YOU'RE DOING THE EXACT SAME THING TO US, YOU GREEN ASS--"
"How do we feel about cornbread?" Garth cleared his throat, closing the kitchen door with his foot and handing Chuck one of the adorable little paper cards Brin kept in a handheld wooden box Clark had given Brin to keep his recipes on hand rather than on file.
"Mm, love it, but maybe something a little more to make this whole thing worth his while," Chuck hummed, rooting around through the cards himself, "What says 'I'm definitely from the Midwest of a thousand years ago, and I'm delicious' without being condescending?"
Brin snapped his fingers, "Bierocks!"
"...Was that English?"
"Technically? No, it's Russian or German; but Clark showed me how his mom made them and swears it's a popular dish."
"Well, alright then," Garth hesitated, looking for the card, "What is it?"
"Cabbage, beef, and onions stuffed in dough balls and baked to be about a million times better than a Hot-Pocket."
Both Garth and Chuck were not ashamed that their eyes almost glazed over when they found the card and the little picture that was glued to it. They could see the appeal.
*
Garth let Imra cuddle around his belly, one leg over his side and one between his own legs, his new gold fingers weaving through her hair like Arachne before the incident with Athena.
Three days had come and gone since Brainy's behavior had been addressed and corrected as best as Clark was able. Garth knew that the genius Coluan still didn't fully understand, but he seemed to be trying.
Garth wasn't going to make it easy for him, their personalities clashed too hard for that, but Imra knew that after everything, and she didn't hold it against her boyfriend; almost like she appreciated him more for it--with cuddles like this after new arm modifications were made and kissing him until they were both tired.
This time she fell asleep first, and he kept running fingers through her hair as she tucked her head under his chin and held onto his curves like the best teddy bear in the world.
Previous Thread
