Year of the Tiger- Part 3 (Patreon)

Terry gets in touch with his roots, and gets a taste of all new experiences! Enjoy~

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Traveling to his family's home country may just have been the best idea Terry ever had. It was like Jungle Town, but it just kept going on and on, as far as he could see. He had cousins to visit, and they were all thrilled to see him- though it did take a few days to clarify he was Terry, not Jerry or Gary. His extended family were quick to ply him with all kinds of homemade dishes- fish vindaloo and masala, curry, samosa, naan bread, and a heavy, fruit-flavored milk drink lassi- Terry was prone to drinking it practically by the gallon, even as it sat in his stomach like a lead weight and left him lethargic for hours.

It was freeing being with his cousins; no regimen to worry about, no training, no tightly wound schedule, and there was so much to see and explore! He always knew that he and his brothers came from a musical people, but dancing in the home country was more elaborate, more stylized, just more than he was used to, with wild, colorful costumes, gigantic set pieces and troupes, and melodramatic storytelling. Honestly, his time abroad could best be described in that one word, more- more food, more to see, more to do, more dancing, and, in an increasingly obvious fashion, more Terry.

The tiger was now heavier than two of his other brothers combined. There was enough to distract him that he didn't think too long about it, until he had a rare quiet moment, usually after sleeping off another giant glass of lassi. In those moments, he realized just how much more tiger there was in the room- his belly alone was a great, sloshing boulder that spilled over the waist of pants that had been refitted and replaced three times already- and after his last big dinner, there was no way he could close the button over his augmented hips, the denim ready to burst over the sheer flesh of his chunky thighs and his bulbous rear. A too-small shirt hung limply against the crest of his gut, the three bottom buttons long since lost, and only barely managed to wrap around his pillowy chest. His toned muscle was long since buried under reams of fat, and his arms were the perfect example- large and thick as ever, he tried not to notice how much they jiggled when he moved too fast.

Terry was trying not to panic- he couldn't help himself around so much new, exotic, tantalizing food, and he wasn't due back in Zootopia for another few weeks. It's true, he missed dancing, but he didn't look forward to facing his brothers again. He could already hear Barry chewing him out and setting up the most brutal exercise and diet regimen he could to get him back in shape… but then he stopped to think. Did Terry even want to go back to that? He hefted up his gut, feeling the sheer weight in his hands, how soft and warm it hung on him- and he started to think, he might be liking it.