Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends の小説・ストーリー

Baby Robbie stopped in his tracks and looked back at Monster in his ghastly state. He was lying on the ground, raising his head with much difficulty. Frustration and dejection were written all over his dashing face. Baby Robbie walked toward him and called out to him in a daze, "Foster Father." Monster let out a cold sneer. “You’re still willing to call me your foster father?” Baby Robbie answered with a blank expression, “Once a foster father, forever a foster father. We don’t owe each other anymore.” Monster let out a bitter smile. "I know I don’t have the right to command you to do anything anymore, but Robbie, there’s something you ought to know!”

That itself gives me a fair description of Mrs Foster and her character. I gained information from stella, one cold Monday, as we huddled in a single blanket. I still recall all that she had said. As she eagerly sprouted all that she knew about Mrs fosters and no doubt saw it as story telling. However, I took it as an advanced warning. “She treats everyone below her as pests and never mingles with the poor. As for her son. He’s been studying in the US, with Mrs Foster on his tail ever since he lost his ways.”

His jaw tightened and I could feel that his wolf was uneasy to leave me alone with Foster in this state. "Go," I let my alpha command seep in. He stiffens but he obeys. "Yes alpha," he turns around and enters the house. As soon as the door click shut behind him I take a step forward, but made sure to not go too close. Pickett had been an ordinary human and she killed Giovanni. Foster was a human. Well he was now human. Foster came from a line of warlocks and witches like Pickett did. His parents however died a long time ago. His guardians who he referred to as his parents are ordinary human beings who know about his kind.

“Well men are like that. Adamant. You just have to insist too. Pull out your trumps cards if you know what I mean.” I laughed. I do pull out my trump card but Quinn has become immune to my sex threats. “Are they all your kids?” I picked one up and placed it back on the shelf closed out by a glass door. “No. Some are fosters.” “Fosters? The sheriffs right? I remember seeing that you fostered a 16yr old eleven years ago. That's a bold act. I commend you.” I complemented her sweetly. My back turned to the shelf now

James watched as Evangeline dropped the pretense and decided he would do the same. "Alright, I'll lay it out for you. The name's Foster, as in from the northern Foster Group empire. Evangeline is my niece. "Keep stirring the pot, and I won't hesitate to have you slaving away at a sewing machine for the next few decades. And if you fancy a more 'special' kind of hardship, say, missing a limb or two? I'm your guy."

She rarely left the house except for to get more booze or to sell herself to get enough money for her next fix. Kurt was 13 at the time. He had been in and out of at least 20 foster homes by that point, two of which had physically abused him. He was determined never to go back. That’s when Micky stepped in. At Kurt’s last foster home, the foster father was heavily into boxing and went to Mikey’s gym. Kurt had gone with him and a few of his foster brothers several times and Mickey had taken a liking to Kurt.

Yet, somehow, I could see the destination of my little self. I landed on the white sand on land surface, sobbing and crying a lot from the loss of my friend. “Little girl.” someone called out to me, as I cried. I looked up, only to see a couple. My eyes widened at this. It was my foster parents. What were they doing here? A creepy smile surrounded their face as my foster father bent a little, offering me some candies. “Now, don’t cry…” he said. “Here, this will make you feel better.”

Twelve years ago at The Brayden's Home - Foster Home. "Haha," Kenny laughed, pointing a finger at me. "You are a nobody and were left here. Nobody wants you." I hugged my legs, hiding behind the house of The Brayden, owned by George and Maggie Brayden. They were friendly, but the way they greeted me felt like those weirdo parents who kept their children sanitized from everything they touched. George was no muscle but short and tubby-like a gnome with a Super Mario mustache, and Maggie wore heavy make-up looking like 99 cents cheap doll. They were friendly, but I felt uncomfortable talking to them. Since I arrived without Ares and Athena because they were sent to different homes, I was scared

But we were separated to different foster homes because I was too young to raise my siblings, and Effie couldn't live with our aunt in the Philippines because of her tantrums. I lived with a lovely old couple, John and Addy Ferguson. They are around their seventies, and their children already have their own life. They feel lonely sometimes. So when social services planted me in Ferguson's home, they welcomed me with open arms. I was skeptical at first because the Fergusons are strangers to me, and I learned from too many dramas that living in foster homes can be scary. They tried to open up to me by being kind and gentle, but I still didn't trust them. Over sometimes, while doubting they wer

Emma whispered, "Is my brother going mad?" "Since I was young, I was just a discarded child from my birth parents. I didn't know who I was or what my identity was. My foster mother found me outside the temple. There was nothing else on me when she saw me apart from that gem ornament. My foster mother devised a plan to conceal my background to prevent others from doubting my identity. She officially adopted me and gave me a home. Even though no one in the house likes me, I don't need that. I just wanted a family. What should I do now if even my foster mother is gone?" His voice grew softer.