#i am not an authority on adoption of any kind so if u clock something iffy here pls lmk

[tarathorntonstan]

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i had dipped back into this VERY old wip recently.....yes it is pacrim and no it does not take uprising into consideration bc i did not see it (no disrespect to my husband but i never will :/ )

just thinkin about how family at the end of the world gets found. then lost. then found again.

thank you for the excuse to yell about these beautiful people again💕💕💕💕

in response to this post🌹 (x)

Stacker can feel the anger in the tears that soak his shirt. When she says no, she tried counting, deep breathing—all of the exercises they both know Dr. Hayworth has asked her to do—he wonders out loud why they do not soothe her in the usual way, especially when she has done them before?

“I need you to protect me.”

He stays with Mako the rest of the night. They look at the map of the stars over the Pacific Ocean that Stacker brought her when she still lived in the orphanage.

Stacker Pentecost has dog-ears the pages in at least four books on the subject of adoption. He hired a lawyer, a friend of the Jessops outside of the PPDC’s legal team, to better investigate laws—South Korea and other countries postponed legislation banning foreign adoption after Trespasser, but there are still hurdles for Western families looking to adopt internationally.

There is a folder on Stacker’s private tablet with articles from different academic journals, bookmarks on his browser from parenting blogs, op-eds about raising children from Asia without naming any specific country or even region. A monthly podcast from The Guardian is utterly useless, mostly concerned with “keeping a healthy balance between East and West.” A Buzzfed roundup of useful infographics on the subject links to several organizations who are working to provide for this new influx of lost or abandoned children in strike zone countries. Donation and volunteer options with very little practical information.

The blogs and feature articles show happy couples. Some have biological children, but here is what he finds in each should-be stock photo: Straight white teeth, conventional trousers and soft pastel cotton shirts, clipped suburban landscapes and Southern Living interior designs. European mutts for fathers, mothers claiming Iriquois origins. 

They found their Arnold or Hannah-Grace in Beijing or Bombay, Lima or Seoul. (In some cases, the child’s ancestral names were too difficult to pronounce and adoptive parents wanted their new family not to feel so “apart” from the landlocked home they’ve been taken to.) Some have other biological children, but assure the relevant news sources that this love has not diminished for the child they saved. They are eager to share humanizing stories about failed IVF and infertility, but more often than not, it is simply their noble character that put them on the path to help these children, these orphans forgotten at the end of the world, these kaiju orphans.

(The term  is first penned by a since-sacked news pundit that makes waves across social media and unfortunately becomes common nomenclature for a world experiencing true chaos for the first time). 

Stacker feels sick when he reads these articles, remembering the orphanage. They had been able to keep the cameras out of the orphanage, but the tight-lipped women who still spoke in a quiet voice over the chatter and shouting of children did little to hide their disapproval. He had tried to remain discreet, but even out of his PPDC dress blues, he was easy to spot in Tokyo. 

During those days, Stacker moved back and forth between Anchorage, Tokyo, and Honolulu with frequency.

After frustrating months of language lessons, the orphanage allowed him to see the girl—not as small as she was on that day in 2016—again, the one who had screamed when they tried to pry her from his arms for decontamination. She was more subdued, the women said, months after Onibaba attacked, and no longer jumping at the sounds of loud banging. 

It was very difficult for her to speak, they said.

The girl was visibly shocked when she was brought into a smaller playroom with Stacker, but she still said nothing, only bowing in greeting, and turning to her caretaker, her brown eyes easily conveying the questions that burned in her throat.

Stacker remembers the press conference—the first of many���after leaving the orphanage for the last time. The disapproving stares of his superiors slicing razor-sharp through his skin, as he dodged questions concerning the girl who was sleeping soundly on a cot in his private quarters in the Shatterdome. It took Representative Taylor’s harsh voice to steer the conversation away from the decommissioned Ranger’s personal life, and after that barrage of questioning, he was more than pleased to explain the prudence of deploying a new team under Coyote Tango. 

But the voice of a notorious tabloid reporter stays in the forefront of Stacker’s mind as he lies in bed that night, listening to Mako’s steady breathing.

Now that you’ve saved Tokyo’s Daughter yet again, what are you planning to do now?