Jun 14
Trying not to laugh.
Loading...
seen from Singapore
seen from Japan
seen from South Korea
seen from Japan
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
Trying not to laugh.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Lost in thought.
"I'm listening."
Shaun
Explore the archives
Dog Ownership Solves Geopolitics (Subversion mod au)
The Commonwealth achieved peace completely by accident.
Nobody was entirely sure how it happened.
Historians would spend decades debating the matter.
The Brotherhood blamed diplomacy.
The Institute blamed economic reform.
The Railroad blamed increased cooperation.
All of them were wrong.
The correct answer was puppies.
It had started, as most disasters did, with Nora.
“Absolutely not.”
Shaun looked up from his terminal.
“Mother.”
“No.”
“I haven’t proposed anything yet.”
“No.”
Across the room, Nick Valentine hid a smile behind a coffee mug.
That was another problem.
Nobody in this family was helpful.
“I merely wished to discuss a new employee retention initiative.”
“No.”
“How do you know it’s a bad idea?”
“Because you’re smiling like your grandfather used to.”
“I never met my grandfather.”
“Trust me.”
Nick snorted into his coffee.
Traitor.
Every single one of them.
Three weeks later, Project Good Boy was approved.
Officially, it was called:
Cross-Divisional Companion Animal Wellness Integration Program.
Unofficially, everyone called it:
The Puppy Program.
Every synth assigned to surface duty received a dog.
Small dogs.
Large dogs.
Fluffy dogs.
Ridiculously energetic dogs.
One unfortunate courser received a puppy that weighed less than a loaf of bread and immediately became emotionally attached.
Institute researchers recorded a dramatic increase in morale.
A dramatic decrease in workplace conflict.
And an equally dramatic decrease in desertion.
The Railroad noticed first.
“This doesn’t make any sense.”
Desdemona stared at the latest report.
Another synth had declined extraction.
Not because they were afraid.
Not because they were loyal.
Not because of Institute surveillance.
Because of a golden retriever named Pickles.
“He said he couldn’t leave.”
Glory looked confused.
“Why?”
Desdemona rubbed her forehead.
“He said Pickles likes the backyard.”
Silence.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Several months later, the Brotherhood encountered similar problems.
“Knight.”
“Yes, Elder?”
Maxson looked down at the report.
Then read it again.
Then a third time.
He still didn’t believe it.
“This says the Institute courier stopped to rescue a stray puppy during an active firefight.”
“Yes, Elder.”
“And both sides temporarily ceased hostilities.”
“…Yes, Elder.”
Maxson stared at the wall.
A synth.
He had become a synth.
The Institute Director had become his occasional diplomatic partner.
And now warfare was being interrupted by puppies.
The wasteland no longer made sense.
Far across the Commonwealth, Nora considered this a tremendous success.
“Look at him.”
Dogmeat sat proudly in the center of the Institute residence.
Around him sat twelve puppies.
Every single one staring at him like he was some kind of furry messiah.
Nick walked into the room and immediately stopped.
“Why are there more?”
“They followed us home.”
“How many times?”
“Several.”
“Define several.”
Nora counted.
Then stopped counting.
Then started again.
“Twenty-three.”
Nick slowly closed his eyes.
“Twenty-three.”
“Twenty-four if you count Pickles.”
“Mother.”
Shaun stood in the doorway.
The Director of the Institute.
Leader of the Commonwealth’s most advanced scientific organization.
Survivor of terminal cancer.
Architect of multiple revolutionary technologies.
Completely defeated by dogs.
“There are puppies in my office.”
“Yes.”
“There are puppies in the laboratory.”
“Yes.”
“There is currently a puppy asleep inside a teleporter.”
“Yes.”
Shaun stared.
Nora smiled.
“Isn’t he cute?”
“That is not the point.”
The puppy yawned.
Then rolled onto its back.
Tiny paws waving in the air.
Silence.
A dangerous silence.
Nick immediately recognized it.
The same silence Shaun always made right before losing an argument.
“Kid.”
“No.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I am not.”
The puppy sneezed.
Shaun lost.
Instantly.
Completely.
Irreversibly.
“…Fine.”
Nora grinned.
Nick laughed.
Dogmeat looked pleased with himself.
As if he had planned all of this from the beginning.
Which, considering Dogmeat, was entirely possible.
Years later, historians would continue arguing about how peace had finally come to the Commonwealth.
Nobody ever believed the truth.
That one woman, one detective, one scientist, one former Elder, and one extraordinarily good dog had somehow created a civilization held together primarily by friendship and puppies.
Dogmeat, naturally, remained humble about the whole thing.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Shaun as companion mod side au story
The Director of the Institute had survived super mutants, synth rebellions, political crises, and terminal cancer.
What finally defeated him was his mother.
“This is unnecessary.”
“It isn’t.”
“I am fully capable of making my own medical decisions.”
“No.”
Shaun stared.
His mother stared back.
Across the room, Dr. Volkert was pretending not to listen.
He was failing.
Badly.
“I am sixty-three years old.”
“Congratulations.”
“Mother.”
“Congratulations.”
“Mother.”
“Do you want a cake?”
Dr. Volkert made a noise suspiciously similar to choking.
Shaun briefly considered firing him.
Unfortunately, his mother was present.
This severely limited his authority.
The problem, Shaun reflected, was that nobody had informed him of the rules.
For sixty years he had been Director.
People listened when he spoke.
Scientists listened.
Department heads listened.
Entire divisions listened.
Then his mother arrived.
Now nobody listened.
Not even him.
Especially not him.
“Have you finished the treatment?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have concerns.”
His mother folded her arms.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Shaun had once watched her charge a deathclaw with a shotgun.
This was somehow more intimidating.
“What concerns?”
“The long-term effects remain unknown.”
“You’re dying.”
“Mother.”
“You’re dying.”
“Mother.”
“You’re dying.”
Dr. Volkert suddenly became extremely interested in a nearby clipboard.
Coward.
“The issue is more complicated than that.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is.”
“No.”
“It is.”
“No.”
For several seconds they stared at each other.
Dr. Volkert quietly began backing toward the exit.
A wise decision.
Then his mother sighed.
Not angrily.
Not dramatically.
Just tired.
And somehow that was worse.
“I spent sixty years looking for you.”
The room became very quiet.
Shaun immediately wished it hadn’t.
There were certain conversations he could navigate.
Scientific debates.
Political conflicts.
Budget disputes.
Emotional honesty was not among them.
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
Her voice remained calm.
Which was somehow even more devastating.
“I lost your father.”
Shaun looked away.
“I lost you.”
The silence stretched.
“I finally found you.”
Another pause.
“And now you’re telling me I should just let you die.”
Shaun opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
For the first time in decades, he found himself without an argument.
Not because he lacked evidence.
Not because he lacked intelligence.
But because he suddenly realized they weren’t discussing medicine.
They weren’t discussing ethics.
They weren’t discussing mortality.
They were discussing loss.
And his mother had already lost enough.
“I don’t like this treatment.”
The words came out quieter than intended.
“I know.”
“I don’t think it’s natural.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know what happens next.”
She smiled.
A little sadly.
“Neither do I.”
That wasn’t how conversations were supposed to work.
People usually argued.
Presented evidence.
Defended positions.
His mother simply acknowledged the fear and kept going.
As if fear wasn’t automatically disqualifying.
As if uncertainty wasn’t failure.
As if not knowing was allowed.
Ridiculous.
Completely ridiculous.
And deeply unfair.
“Mother.”
“Yes?”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
She reached over and squeezed his hand.
A gesture so simple it felt almost alien.
“What if it does?”
For a moment nobody spoke.
Not Shaun.
Not Dr. Volkert.
Not even the ever-present hum of Institute machinery seemed willing to interrupt.
Then his mother stood up.
“Finish the treatment.”
“Mother.”
“Finish the treatment.”
“Mother.”
She leaned down and kissed the top of his head.
Like he was still ten years old.
Like he had never been taken.
Like sixty years had never happened.
Like there was still time.
“That’s an order, Director.”
She walked out before he could respond.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
Dr. Volkert waited exactly three seconds.
Then:
“She’s terrifying.”
Shaun stared at the closed door.
For a very long time.
Finally he sighed.
“Yes.”
Another pause.
Then:
“Prepare the next dose.”
Dr. Volkert blinked.
“You mean it?”
Shaun rubbed a hand over his face.
Somewhere, he suspected, every scientific principle he had ever valued was being violently rearranged.
“Apparently,” he said, “I no longer have voting rights.”
Dr. Volkert laughed.
For the first time in years, Shaun did too.
Contribution of Kellogg
The first family dinner had already gone badly before anyone mentioned Kellogg.
Unfortunately, that only delayed the inevitable.
Shaun should have known.
In hindsight, it was obvious.
His mother had spent sixty years frozen in a vault, survived the collapse of civilization, crossed the Commonwealth, dismantled multiple hostile organizations, overthrown several local power structures, adopted a dog, befriended a robot, and somehow decided that a two-hundred-year-old synth detective was relationship material.
The warning signs had been there.
He had simply chosen to ignore them.
That mistake would haunt him.
Possibly forever.
“More potatoes?”
“No, thank you.”
His mother ignored him and added another spoonful anyway.
Across the table, Nick Valentine watched the exchange with visible amusement.
“Still treating you like a kid, huh?”
“I am sixty-three years old.”
Nick took a sip of coffee.
“Still her kid.”
Shaun hated that he had no response to this.
Curie, unfortunately, found the entire situation delightful.
“It is very sweet.”
“It is not sweet.”
“It is.”
“It is not.”
“It is.”
Shaun looked toward Codsworth for support.
The robot was smiling.
Traitor.
Dogmeat was asleep under the table.
Also a traitor.
The family dinner continued.
For approximately twelve peaceful minutes.
Then disaster struck.
His mother disappeared into another room and returned carrying a photo album.
Shaun immediately felt a sense of dread.
“Mother.”
“Yes?”
“What is that?”
“A photo album.”
“I can see that.”
The dread intensified.
Nick leaned back in his chair.
Far too comfortable.
Far too interested.
Far too pleased with himself.
His mother sat down beside Shaun and opened the first page.
A photograph.
Pre-war.
A smiling couple.
A baby.
For a moment, everything became quiet.
“Oh.”
The word escaped before Shaun could stop it.
His mother smiled softly.
“That’s your father.”
There he was.
The man Shaun had never known.
The man who had died before Shaun could remember him.
The man whose face existed only in fragments and reconstructed stories.
Shaun stared at the photograph for a long moment.
Then nodded.
“He looks happy.”
“He was.”
His mother was quiet for a few seconds.
“He would’ve liked you.”
That one hurt.
Unexpectedly.
Sharply.
Enough that Shaun immediately changed the subject.
A lifetime of Institute training had made him exceptionally good at emotional avoidance.
Unfortunately, his mother was even better at noticing it.
Before he could recover, she turned another page.
Another photograph appeared.
Not pre-war.
Not old.
Not historical.
Recent.
Very recent.
Dangerously recent.
Nick Valentine.
Standing next to his mother.
Both smiling.
Shaun froze.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Like a man watching a train approach from a distance and realizing the tracks are irreversible.
“Mother.”
“Yes?”
“What is this?”
“A photograph.”
“Mother.”
“Yes?”
“What is THIS.”
Nick immediately began laughing.
Curie nearly choked on her drink.
Codsworth looked like he was trying not to laugh.
Even Dogmeat woke up.
Traitor.
Every single one of them.
His mother looked completely innocent.
A performance that fooled absolutely nobody.
“That’s Nick.”
“I know that’s Nick.”
“Good.”
“Mother.”
“Yes?”
“Why is Nick in the family photo section?”
Silence.
The kind of silence that contained terrible things.
Nick covered his face.
Curie looked moments away from falling out of her chair.
Shaun suddenly knew.
The way condemned prisoners know.
The way scientists know when an experiment has gone catastrophically wrong.
The way reasonable people know they should have stayed home.
“Mother.”
“Yes?”
“Why is Nick in the family photo section?”
This time she answered.
“Because he’s family.”
The room exploded.
Curie laughed.
Codsworth laughed.
Nick laughed.
Dogmeat barked.
Shaun briefly considered faking his own death.
Again.
“This is absurd.”
“Oh, come on.”
“It is.”
Nick leaned forward.
A terrible sign.
Every important disaster in Shaun’s life seemed to begin with Nick leaning forward.
“You know, kid—”
“Don’t.”
“If Kellogg hadn’t—”
“Don’t.”
“—pulled that trigger—”
“Nick.”
“—your mother and I probably never would’ve met.”
The room descended into chaos.
Curie was crying from laughter.
Codsworth had completely given up on maintaining composure.
Even his mother was laughing.
Shaun covered his face.
“Why.”
Nobody answered.
Mostly because they were too busy laughing.
Nick continued anyway.
“Think about it.”
“I refuse.”
“Kellogg shoots your father.”
“Nick.”
“Your mother wakes up.”
“Nick.”
“She starts searching for you.”
“Nick.”
“She finds me.”
“Nick.”
“We fall in love.”
“Nick.”
Nick pointed triumphantly across the table.
“Therefore.”
Shaun already knew where this was going.
Nothing could stop it.
Nothing should stop it.
The Commonwealth had suffered enough.
“Therefore,” Nick declared, “Kellogg accidentally created a stepfamily.”
Silence.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three.
Then his mother laughed so hard she nearly fell out of her chair.
Curie disappeared under the table.
Codsworth made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a robotic wheeze.
Dogmeat barked again.
Nick looked extremely proud of himself.
Shaun stared at the ceiling.
Somewhere beyond mortal understanding, he was certain Kellogg was suffering.
Good.
It wasn’t enough.
But it was a start.
After a very long pause, Shaun finally spoke.
“I have reached a conclusion.”
The room became quiet.
Nick grinned.
Dangerous.
Always dangerous.
“What conclusion?”
Shaun folded his hands.
Completely serious.
Completely calm.
The voice of the Director of the Institute.
The voice of a scientist.
The voice of a man who had spent decades analyzing complex systems.
“Kellogg remains responsible for approximately eighty-three percent of my current psychological distress.”
The room exploded again.
And for the first time in years, Shaun found himself laughing too.