Mlp Angry Novels & Stories

I wіѕh I didn’t have thіѕ muсh coffee, but I рісk up mу сuр and fіnіѕh іt anyway. Blаkе Anderson has anger іѕѕuеѕ. I dоn’t dеѕеrvе this ѕhіt. I trу аnd brеаthе. I need tо thіnk, but mу brаіn іѕn’t kicking іntо gеаr. I nееd ѕоmе fооd.

I hanged up the call angrily. "Oh! Really?"

Listening to the chanting and clapping students, the cackling Madeline and her friends, and a mocking Dexter made the anger grow, intensifying the vibrating frequencies. When I started to get kicked, the chants of ‘slut’ becoming louder, I felt a scream coming up my throat. A powerful scream that would burn anything and everything I asked it to, something so powerful that it would tear all my enemies down. A wave of anger I didn’t even know I could bring to life was rushing out of me, making me feel like an earthquake would start and consume everything… and it was so close.

Songs: Lady Antebellum- Ocean James Bay - Forever Cleo I have had nightmares before and in recent days they have become more severe and intense. Last night I was angry . I have been angry before, but not as livid as I was with Blue for not showing up when it mattered the most. I don't trust Mia not at all and today was the first time in a while that I talked to my brother about my relationship with Angelo , and the gun incident .

An angry opponent makes mistakes. That’s what my father and Caleb never understood. Anger is a weapon to their thinking, not a liability. Black is cast from the same mould. I’ve wound him up by staying calm, by being polite, and most of all by humiliating him, and he can’t see clearly through the red mist of fury. He’s three hundred pounds of muscle and rage, as unstoppable, dangerous and terrifying as a runaway locomotive, charging down on me. His free hand is out with claws ready, blocking any escape. Blinding sunlight flashes from the silver of his blade as it sweeps down.

I scream as I angrily throw the glass I was holding in my hand and its shattered pieces spread across the floor. I can feel anger rise in me as my eyes turn yellow and my fingers partially transform into paws. I walk over to the sitting area where I lift up the couches and angrily throw them against the wall, caring less about the ruckus I’m causing in the living room. I walk over to the flat screen TV and angrily push it down from the cupboard. A few servants rush into the living room but none of them has the courage to approach or try to stop me. They very well know what they’ll be getting themselves into if they attempt to do that. I scream in fury as I pick up the glass table at the

Being the most famous sex worker in this club does not make her better than me or anyone in this club. Angela's eyes become fierce, looking at me as if she wants to kill me. And this time, she's not able to change her expression anymore and put on a facade. She's too angry to do that again, and I love it—I love the reaction that I am able to get from her. It is so satisfying to see her getting riled up by me, something that she was not able to do to me.

He held my cheek gently, and with a soft tone, he spoke, "Are you mad at me?" 'Anita, does he have a split personality disorder?' I mind-linked my wolf. 'No, no matter how much he loves us, we should be careful around him. He has an anger problem, and he doesn't know how to treat his mate gently when he is angry.' "No, I am not." I heeded my wolf's instructions. "Really? Are you sure?" "Yes, Ace," I muttered. "Can I go now?" "Yes, sure,' he said, letting me go." On my way to my room, I met Mr. Scott.

Malik snapped sharply, his warning clear and filled with an icy edge. "Stay away? Do I look like a child to you?" I retorted, feeling my own anger rising hot and fast. I was bewildered and hurt by his irrational behaviour, especially since I had explained to him before that this journey was my choice. "Why not direct your anger at me!" Malik's eyes narrowed, locking onto me with an icy intensity. "Do you think you can withstand my anger then?" he asked, his voice cold as he broke free from the restraining hands of his men.

There’s a strange clarity to my anger—a focus that makes every sense sharper, every movement precise. The moment I reach the edge of the hideout, I don’t stop to think. I kick down the door, wood splintering under the force of my boot, and I step inside, feeling every ounce of anger, every piece of heartbreak, flood through me like a dam breaking. The witches turn, eyes wide with shock, but I don’t give them a chance to scream.