Hobo Eren Novels & Stories

Aria asked in a faltering voice, starting to nag. “H-He's Hugo, the Cursed One,” Mr. Baga replied in a voice that was still trembling. For a moment Aria stopped crying and looked at Mr. Baga through the rearview mirror above him. “How do you know that is Hugo the Cursed? I thought you were just a human!” Mr. Baga took a deep breath, his gaze glancing at the side mirror many times, making sure the man didn't follow them. “I am indeed human, miss,” Mr. Baga clarified. “But I know about your world.”

Ethan shouted for the members to hear. "I, Erik Bloodstone, accept Athena Hallow as my mate and Luna. I shall be her partner, her equal, and her defender in every way, shape and form." He repeated. His father handed him the knife, and Erik sliced his palm, letting the blood drip into the goblet.

He made his way through the would-be guards of the establishment and found himself face to face with Vec Tanner, the leader of the Coyotes himself. Vec Tanner Dawkins was a typical no-good self-mutilating, drug-popping, so-called "realist", that seemed to always be in the worst place at the worst time since childhood. Word was he was abused so badly by every foster service that took him in that he ended up killing several of the family members before running away and becoming a Coyote.

Just as I reached the end of the penalty box, I kicked the ball lightly into the goal. Walking up to the goal to receive the ball, I recognized a cripple hobbling up the pathway to the field. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the ball and walked back to the penalty box line furthest away from him. "You know, you chose one of the worst places for a cripple with a busted leg to be. Partially because I don't want to be near a soccer field right now, and because it's on a fucking hill." As I went to kick the ball, I looked up at Connor who had now stopped moving. He was leaning on his one crutch, adjusting his leg's placement. "That was kind of the point."

God sent an angel or what? I give him a suspicious look. “Are you sure?” I say hesitantly. I don’t even know him. How can he be so nice? It’s fishy nowadays. Erden shakes his head. “Certain.” I look around and breathe heavily. I don’t have any choice anyway. “Alright.” I breathe defeatedly. “See you later.” Eren waves a little at our car before we walk down the hill a little to reach that of Erden’s. He got an amazing black Porsche.

“Bogor…? Quite far away… Bogor… Bogor… It seems that one of my acquaintances also held his anniversary party in Bogor yesterday evening… By the way, what’s your friend’s name, Eriwan?” “Pierre… Pierre Zhaopardy… Do you know him, Uncle Hansen?” Erito pretended to frown his forehead. He instantly knew that was one of Mr. Hansen Huang’s tactics to ask him show his photos and prove that he was really at his friends’ anniversary party yesterday evening.

he spits. I squat down to his level. I raise my shirt and there, just above my waistband on my hip, is the Damned Forsaken crest of a raven with a skeletal wing and head sitting atop a skull with a halo leaning against it on one side and a gun on the other. His eyes widen in acknowledgment.

I watched him closely, the tension in his shoulders, the heaviness behind his silence and the way he sighed every two seconds. Something was off. “Eren?” I said gently, interlocking our fingers. “Where were you?” He looked at me. His eyes were haunted and empty. “I went on a rescue mission,we were able to locate the place thanks to Madison,” he said calmly. “At Birmingham docks. There were Hostages,mostly helpless women. It was… bad.” I waited. “But that wasn’t the worst part.” He leaned back, his fingers locking behind his neck, head tilted toward the ceiling.

"Uhm, can I have your ticket?" Kane raised a brow, amusement flickering in his blue eyes. "Ticket?" he repeated, his voice deep, teasing. The redhead—Mona, according to her name tag—bit down on her plump lower lip, her gaze darting everywhere except at him. "Sorry, it's just... you look familiar." That made him chuckle. Oh, really? He tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering to the large poster plastered beside her booth—a giant picture of himself, fists raised, the underground champion.

It was a young man, a junior reporter with a nervous smile and a shaking hand holding the cue cards. Julian stopped dead in his tracks. The godly appearance, the majestic hair, the carefully curated denim style,it all felt suddenly, violently foolish. The junior reporter looked up, his eyes widening as he realized the Ice King was staring directly at him. "M-Mr. Vane!" the boy stammered, thrusting the microphone forward. "A-a word for The Daily Blitz? I'm Toby, I'm filling in for....." "Where is she?" Julian's voice was a low, dangerous rasp that made the champagne flutes on a nearby tray rattle.