Goth Novels & Stories

Simon pointed at the girl who sat beside me, "this is Pain. That's her boyfriend, Blood." Can you say Goth? Black hair, black nail polish, black eyeliner and eye shadow so thick it touched the cheekbones, black lipstick, black clothes, black, black and more black. Yes, on both of them. I couldn't tell what either of them looked like under all the gloom. For all I knew, they could have been related. Ick. Pain bobbed her head slowly, once. Blood dug into his food like it wasn't dead yet. Nice.

Jude said. “Why are these people missing? Why are they taking these people?” Dad asked. “They’re only taking young people. Teens and early 20’s. Dad, I think whoever is doing this is creating an army. Those missing people are probably in transition right now.” I said. “To become vampires.” Dad said. “They are definitely making an army.” Jude said.

A woman dressed head to toe in full gothic glory—all black clothes clinging to her body, jet-black hair falling straight like a curtain, heavy dark eyeliner that could cut glass, deep black lipstick, a chunky silver cross necklace, and knuckle rings that looked like something that came from thanos finger. Hell. She looked like she’d stepped out of a Tim Burton movie. The curly-haired girl pulled her phone back with a proud little smirk. “Trust me, it works. Guys like that — cold, distant — they lose their minds over the gothic vibe. It’s the mystery. The whole ‘don’t touch me I’m dangerous’ energy.”

I become fixated on the fact that this hand is suggestively human and wearing a ring on every finger; rings of all gothic themes, particularly a skull, scorpion, talon, jester’s cap and cat’s eye. When the elevator doors reopen, another character steps in wearing a black ankle-length overcoat and a wide-brimmed leather hat that completely hides the face except for a long predatory beak. I instantly recognize the character from my persistent nightmare and chills race each other up and down my spine. For a reason unknown even to my enhanced psychic abilities, this newcomer is carrying a guitar case. His identity, however, is readily clear to me. He’s the muse of

He is so happy because he will finally be able to escape this chaotic world and they will be able to fulfill the simple dream of Akira and his as a normal couple. When he arrived at the condo, he immediately took a shower first to be able to clean and to make sure if he hadn't been scratched before. As the water flows through his body you can see the blood of his victims clinging to him gradually flowing into the sink. Azrael’s body is full of scars from his wounds from his previous missions and on his back is a large tattoo— “Deus Mortis” which in Latin means “God of death” is what the organization called him because of the number of impossible missions he has accomplished.

I already figured that out on my own. “He is much nicer than the other one. The werewolf, Officer Stone.” I tell him. “Ah, yeah. Malachi Stone. People say that's his last name because he has a heart of stone. Me, personally, I just think he's just an asshole.” Grimm tells me, making me laugh. He smiles slightly. “I should intorduce myself. I'm Thanatos Grimm.” “Um, as in the-” I begin. “Yes, as in the Greek God of Death. I added the last name about three hundred years ago when they began to become popular. I went with Grim because in the 15th Century everyone began to call me the Grim Reaper.”

Osric Blackmoor placed a heavy, calloused hand on Michaels’ lower back, projecting a comforting alpha pheromone to support the collapsing younger male. "Forgive me," Michaels whispered, his voice trembling so hard the words felt broken. Every electric pulse hitting his core made his knees weak, and he desperately wanted to drop to the stone floor of the Moon Oath Sanctuary to hide his shame. "I only know that Cedran would have been proud to see this alliance, and I am grateful that Osric is standing in his place to guide me to the altar." The magical vibrations suddenly cranked to maximum intensity, and Michaels covered his mouth, nearly dropping the golden microphone. He wanted to howl, to

And now I'm terrified too. Vincenzo is there. Behind him are my two other big brothers: Terzo and Salvatore. All three are dressed in black: cotton pants, combat boots, and long-sleeved turtlenecks. No jewels, except for the Don's thick signet ring glinting on Vincenzo's finger. All three have pulled back their dark brown hair, the same color as mine. Vincenzo has a tight bun at the nape of his neck. Salvatore has a low ponytail, and Terzo has half a ponytail that he's tied back with pale-pink fucking pom-poms.

A WEREWOLF? Kehlani looked around the pub absent mindedly. She thought of the silly name she would give her new fantasy fiction, Growl? That was too grotesque for a name. Maybe not grotesque but quite not the usual. Kehlani had a weird liking for gothic fantasies. She was the kind of girl who didn't really fancy the pink pattern of most girls. She most times always went the opposite direction instead.

"I'm sorry for the outburst. Noah is like my own son. He is rude, cold, and hotheaded. He misbehaves too. Because we have spoiled him too much. But he is not weak. He is never afraid of anyone. Am sure he would have tried to finish the punishment till end only if he had not lost his strength. SOTUS, means to bring everyone together. The freshmen need to understand the meaning of the activity that it's a symbol of unity. You are scaring them. They need to be punished only if they don't obey the rules. Not if they stand for each other. This way no one will attend SOTUS. It's a tradition passed on to every freshman for decades. You guys are ruining it.