Leomon's Thanksgiving Patch

For our $5 and $10 patrons, Leomon's enjoying Thanksgiving to the fullest! Hope you all have an equally huge holiday, and thanks for another month!

Ryan whistled low as he watched his Leomon charge down the obstacle course. The young man leaned over the rail ringing the arena, cheering on the massive, muscular lion as he leapt into the air, clearing a yawning pit before landing on the other side with an audible impact. The digimon scaled walls, dodged swinging pillars, swung across monkey bars, and finally reached the finish line, before looking to his tamer expectantly, his deep, barrel chest puffing out as he caught his breath.

“There you go, Simba!” Ryan shouted, stopping the watch. “That’s a new personal best. You ran the whole course in two minutes!”

The Leomon suppressed a grin; he still wasn’t certain why his tamer insisted on calling him Simba, but he was a good kid, and he knew how to design a training regimen. The obstacle course he had designed was keeping the digimon in the best shape of his life, molding him into a chiselled pillar of strong, sinewy muscle beneath his golden fur. 

“You may have to find something more challenging for tomorrow,” the Leomon responded, brushing back his luxurious mane. “I think I’m starting to outgrow this course.” He flexed his arm, his bicep swelling up to an impressive size. 

“Oh…!” Ryan looked away, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t remember, buddy? Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving.”

Simba crossed his arms, arching his brow. “Thanksgiving?” he echoed. 

“Oh, you know… it’s a holiday, where you eat a big meal with family.” Ryan looked away out of embarrassment, still tugging at his hair. “We talked about it last week, remember? We’re going to my grandma’s house.”

“Ah, yes,” the lion man nodded, smiling softly. “I suppose we could take a rest for a day, to let my muscles recover. I look forward to finally meeting your grandmother.”

“No, uhm, Simba?” Ryan cleared his throat. “You can’t come with us. Grandma’s really allergic to cats, and if she saw you, she’d like… die.”

The Leomon blinked. “Ah. Ah, I see.”

Ryan reached out to rest a hand on the Leomon’s muscular arm- he had no chance of reaching the nearly eight foot tall lion’s shoulder. But Simba pulled it away suddenly, with the slightest hint of a growl.

“It is of no matter. I’ll train on my own, take care of a few tasks that I’ve left waiting.”

Ryan bit his lip. “Simba… I’m sorry.”

“Just let me know when you’re ready to resume training, Tamer,” Simba replied simply as Ryan recalled him back with his digi-device, the musclebound lion disappearing into lines of code. When he was alone, Ryan blew air out of his cheeks.

“Well… that could have gone better,” he muttered. 

As he headed home, Ryan’s brow furrowed deeper and deeper as he thought about his friend. At first he thought the Leomon was just miffed at missing out of training, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that this Thanksgiving would be the first day he and Simba would be separated since he took the Leomon on. 

“Aw, man…” he sighed. “Poor Simba. Alright, I’m going to make this right.” 

Left in his room, Ryan paced for a while, and then finally inspiration struck him; it was simple. If he couldn’t bring Simba to Thanksgiving, then he’d bring Thanksgiving to Simba. Jumping into his desk chair, Ryan fired up his computer. He checked to make sure his Leomon was active, and then he searched for Simba’s favorite tavern in the digiworld. Ryan began fiddling with the program, introducing one or two mods to Simba’s little corner of the digital world, and left a short and sweet note to finish it off.

“Hope it makes up for today, big guy,” Ryan muttered before logging off for the night. 

Leomon woke up at first light, rolling out of bed with a heavy sigh as he brushed back his thick mane. He went through his morning routine of stretches, calisthenics, and some light exercise before moving out into the sunlight. He was trying not to think about Ryan; he wasn’t quite ready to admit he had grown fond of the boy, and he certainly wasn’t going to admit he missed him. The only thing for it was to throw himself into some work, which, outside of training with Ryan, amounted to some freelance heroics. He fought off wild beasts threatening innocent ‘mons until lunch, when he dragged himself over to the local tavern, the Hungry Veemon. At first glance, he saw he was thankfully the only patron, but he had a double take when he saw the tavern was far from empty.

Every single table was groaning under the weight of a massive feast; huge turkeys, pies still steaming and piping hot, bowls of green beans, corn, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and kegs of cider to wash it all down. 

The Leomon’s jaw practically hit the floor when he saw it all. This was far from the usual fare at the Hungry Veemon, and he treated the food suspiciously at first, ignoring the tempting smells; what good was there in consuming empty data packets, even if it did taste good? 

With narrowed eyes, he picked his way through green bean casseroles, ambrosia, and turkey legs until he found a small card, addressed to him. Well, addressed to “Simba,” but there was only one person who called him that, and lived. 

“Dear Simba, lunch is on me. Hope this makes your Thanksgiving fun!

-Ryan”

“Hmph,” the Leomon rumbled. “If he thinks he can bribe me with a big lunch…” his voice trailed off, as he couldn’t stop sniffing the air. It smelled amazing, but as much as he tried to tell himself it was just so much data and programming… well, that didn’t make it any less pleasant. 

“Alright,” Simba muttered irritatedly, settling down at the head of a table that boasted probably the biggest turkey in the tavern. It was big enough that Leomon figured he would have trouble wrapping his arms around it. “I’ll have a bite, to humor the child.”

He tore off a leg, and took out a huge bite of meat. He almost hated how good it tasted, and soon found himself devouring the turkey down to the bone. He grunted a bit as he realized he was going to be filling up an entire plate, and poured himself a mug of cider to wash it all down. He ended up with a small mountain of food that should have been enough to fill him up, but there was something off about this feast… every bite seemed to taste better than the last, each bite of turkey more juicy and tender, each bite of potato creamier than before. Leomon already felt full, but he drummed his fingers against his taut stomach, gazing over the tantalizing spread. It was all so good… and if he didn’t eat it, who would? 

“Bah,” the Leomon stood up, turning his back on the banquet. “Ryan overdid everything. It’s not my fault if this all goes to waste.” He moved for the door, but then stopped, glancing back at the large array of pies, all lined up in a neat row, and smelling of cinnamon, spice, apple, and pumpkin.

“Just… one slice of pie. I don’t want to seem ungrateful,” he muttered as he was already cutting himself a slice with his claw. He settled down with two different slices, and was already filling up a second plate of turkey. Soon, the taste began to overtake him, and he needed more. Already, he loosened his heavy belt, as his abs swelled up slightly. 

It was late in the afternoon when Leomon regained his senses, and he had made a respectable dent in the banquet. He snorted awake, having slipped into a food coma before looking down.

“Oh… oh dear,” he huffed. The leonine digimon grunted as he sat up, and something furry and round rolled into his lap; his belly. Roughly the size of a beachball, his gut churned as he took both hands and shook it experimentally, grimacing at the sheer heft of it. This would take a fair bit of training to work off… his eyes drifted up to the feast still crowding the tavern, the vast majority of it untouched. Staring at it all, his ears began to droop, and he frowned. He had barely made a dent in it, and he almost felt embarrassed. Not for the spare tire hanging off his frame, but the fact that his appetite could be so easily sated. He was Leomon, after all, not some freshly sprouted Tanemon, and he was certainly not going to let Ryan’s little gift get the better of him. Realization hit him- that was the whole point, wasn’t it? No one knew him like his tamer, and Ryan knew how much he liked a challenge. Well, Leomon couldn’t let him down, now could he? If this was Ryan’s challenge, then he would best it like all the others.

Egged on by a dozen delicious smells and his own pride, Leomon attacked the feast with renewed vigor. His powerful jaws and dagger-like teeth tore through turkeys and casseroles, he swallowed pies whole and downed entire kegs of cider, hefting them up in his strong arms to drain the casks dry. He ignored the tightness around his body, his pants cutting into increasingly fleshy, bulbous thighs and the blossoming love-handles pouring over the top, snapping off his belt with a harsh tug and a growl to give his burgeoning belly room to breath. Ryan’s so-called gift had proven to be a worthy challenge after all, and he couldn’t wait to see his tamer’s face when he saw how unconquerable Leomon was.

The following morning, Ryan logged on as soon as he could. He poked around Simba’s usual places; his den, the gym, the forest, but he couldn’t see him. Frowning slightly, and more than a little worried he was still mad at him, Ryan checked the tavern, and his eyes almost popped out of his skull. 

The digital rendering didn’t quite do Leomon’s new size justice, but Ryan’s imagination filled in the blanks. Where once there was a proud warrior rippling with sinewy muscle, there was a gigantic, golden boulder, filling the tavern’s common room. The tavern was strewn with the bones of dozens of turkeys, all picked clean, pie tins stacked in neat piles, and empty casks of cider all over the place. Leomon was still awake, still savoring the taste of the last turkey leg as one hand groped the side of his enormous, doughy gut. His limbs were reamed with thick blubber, jiggling as he idly rubbed his own belly, globes of fat spilling through the seams of his ruined pants. Licking his lips and making chipmunk cheeks wobble, the Leomon noticed his tamer’s presence. “Ah! Ryan! Good morning to you!”

“Simb- Leomon? What’d you do?” 

“I… enjoyed your Thanksgiving gift!” Leomon replied proudly with a chuckle, thumping his gut and sending tremorous waves across that globular surface. “It was much appreciated, not to worry! All is forgiven.”

“But you weren’t supposed to eat all of it in one go! I thought you’d keep it for leftovers!”

“Ha!” Leomon grinned, polishing off his last morsel and tossing the turkey leg bone over his shoulder. “I didn’t want it to go to waste, or for you to think I couldn’t see through your plan! You gave me a challenge for Thanksgiving, and I am grateful! Now, Ryan… do you think I could have some more? It is time for breakfast, after all.”