Weight Gain Writing Com Novels & Stories

Miss Bandit, did you gain weight? Bang! A loud sound came from the study, and Vermont quickly added, "Did you gain weight? The gym is having a promotion right now. They're giving a buy-one-free-one package for whoever has a body fat of more than twenty-four percent. If you're a little fatter, we could've signed up for it together." The next second, Felicity's voice came fiercely from the study. "You should eat more and gain thirty pounds to sign up for it yourself!" "Sure."

he said. “Why don’t we head to the manor and see if there’s anything we can find in my family library” I suggest. “I guess it’s worth a shot, none the less it will be cool to see” he said. It made me wonder how he was always so calm about everything that was happening. Maybe it was just his way of coping. The family library has grown significantly over the last 20 decades. Most witches maintain a memoir of their achievements and descriptions of their abilities, along with sharing knowledge such as potion recipes, spells, and the uses of stones and crystals.

On the way home, I felt my breathing growing more rapid. My whole body swelled like rising dough, and I felt like my fat cells were multiplying, crowding my organs and filling my limbs. I had entered the same period of rapid weight gain as in my previous life. Unless I found a solution, the disease would destroy my body, and I would die in agony. When I got home, Mom looked deeply disappointed, her eyes wet with tears.

It gave me those sad puppy eyes like, “Hey, don’t forget meeeee...” Fast forward to April 2nd, the day of destiny when I finally dusted off this bad boy and said, “Okay, let’s get weird.” Suddenly, words started flying faster than Juan’s bullets. I was writing like my laptop was on fire, smashing out thousands of words daily, fueled by caffeine, stubbornness, and maybe a little bit of madness. By May? Boom. Over 100,000 words of delicious, messy, mafia madness. (Shakes booty happily).

I follow her to the scale where she weighs me. “One hundred and sixty-five pounds. How tall are you?” “Five foot three,” I tell her. “She nods and writes that down. I seemed to have already gained some weight. I didn’t think I would for another month or so. I mean five pounds doesn’t seem like a lot to most people but for him it’s a ton. I have always struggled with my weight. So, five pounds is easy to gain and hard to lose.

Even though I still have the salary, but if I spend a lot every day, I will only eat boiled eggs. My appetite increased after my body felt crushed. This morning, I also finished the breakfast Eros made. I realized that if my appetite is growing. At this rate of eating would increase my weight, and getting fat would be a possibility. I will stress because I gain weight. Now I’m rolling on the bed, unable to do even light exercise. So, just roll around on the bed. Who knows if I won’t gain weight, but it feels like my body hurts so much, I even feel like my bones are severed.

I noticed his left hand resting under the table, never once reaching for the meal. During this meeting, Fred was still his usual stoic self, but thankfully, he accepted my cake. He didn't eat it, but at least I knew he didn't completely resent me anymore. As we parted, he suddenly looked into my eyes and asked with genuine concern, "Why have you lost so much weight?" My heart raced, and despite being bundled in a thick coat, scarf, hat, and mask, it felt like he could see right through me. I lowered my gaze, tugging my coat up a bit, trying to hide my face.

She typed, fingers flying almost too quickly, the letters blurring beneath the pads of her thumbs. I GOT IN, each capital letter a tiny explosion, a flare she wanted to shoot into the sky. She stared at the words, then deleted them, the message evaporating with a flick of her thumb. It felt too raw, too naked, as if she’d shouted in a cathedral. She tried again, pausing for a heartbeat as she searched for a voice that sounded like her, but more composed. Your daughter is officially a graduate student. Please begin behaving accordingly. The words felt both light and mischievous, a joke to mask the trembling in her hands.

With a deep breath, she composed a message to her editor, the words on the screen a reflection of her mounting worries and internal conflict: "Hi there, it's Bella. I hope you're doing well. I wanted to reach out because I've been thinking about increasing my writing work. I know I haven't published much lately, but with my current circumstances, I could really use some extra income. Is there any way to take on more assignments or increase my pay rate? I'd be more than willing to take on additional work or explore new topics. Please let me know if there's anything I can do. Thank you."

“Clock that sh*t!” The contour was contouring, the lashes were lifting my entire life, and the lip gloss? Please. I could blind someone with how glossy it was. My heels were expensive, painful too, and I had already accepted the fact that I’d have to work my butt off during summer break to earn back the stupid amount I paid for them. If my mom saw the receipt, she’d bury me and resurrect me just to bury me again. But tonight, I shoved that guilt somewhere under the bed.