#lmda fanfiction

[bearofohu]

The Story of Tonight  - Professor Layton LMDA Fanfiction

Rating: K+ (Mentions of birth, newborn babies, panic attacks.)

Summary: Luke and his wife Marina have been anxiously waiting for the arrival of their son for months. After a difficult night of his wife in labor, Luke is faced with his newborn son, a child of his own. Luke is overtaken by panic as he accepts his failure as a father before their life together even begins. Hershel sheds some light on what it means to become a true father to a child.

Author’s Notes: I’ve written so many edgy fanfictions, here’s a wholesome one for once! This is a one-shot and pretty vague without context so make sure you read the summary! If you read my text post before I posted this, you’ll know why I wrote this. My Evil!Luke AU fanfiction is coming out soon for all you guys who love my overbearing angst. The story is actually a lot longer than it was supposed to be. My emotions are a wreck. Also, see if you can catch the shameless Hamilton references.

NOTE: This takes place during the timeline of LMDA, however in an alternate scenario in which the relic stone mystery is never pursued and everyone lives happily ever after as a big ‘ol puzzle family. Hino and his bad writing have no power here.

Luke’s delicate heart seized and ached as the little pink and red bundle in his arms gave a meek whimper of the tiniest discontent as the nurse accelerated the heart machine, so the steady and healthy heartbeat of Marina would be more audible for her inspection. Marina’s pale violet eyes slowly opened and in spite of her exhaustion, she beamed sympathetically and passionately at her sensitive husband as he slowly succumbed to the tears, mirroring the anxious sorrows of his confused newborn son.

“Luke, lovebug,” she said dotingly, sitting up a little straighter in the bed. “It’s alright. Our little boy is okay.”

Luke lowered his head, and his shoulders heaved, overcome with a foreign anxiety, a kind of sympathy pain he had never felt before. The crying of his son was almost unbearable. It made him feel like he was failing as a new father. Already failing.

He remembered Kamilia as her body seized and convulsed with unmedicated labor. He remembered her piercing cries as he clutched her hand and worked on the baby girl that was slowly entering the world.

Luke averted his eyes from his son from just a moment to look up at the six-year-old Katrielle as she sat beside Alfendi on the couch in their room. She was watching him, her eyes shining with passion; she looked rather mystified by this whole ordeal. Young Alfendi was hunched beside her, leaning a little bit over his father’s lap, absolutely dead to the emotional scene around him in exchange for getting consumed by an intense, loud game of Pokemon Red on the Gameboy.

And Hershel sat at the very end of the hospital couch, his eyes trained on Luke, his apprentice. He looked incredibly somber, but the shining sympathy and the threatening mistiness of his eyes allowed the private notion of understanding to pass through the two of them. Hershel knew. How could he not?

Luke knew he would be lying to himself if he said he never ever thought about how life would be different if she had been his daughter.

Kamilia had told him he would make an excellent father as he held Katrielle at her shoulder. How could he make her proud, how could he be all she thought he was if his son was already sobbing in his arms mere hours after birth?

There was a heavy silence in the air as Luke silently sobbed, in spite of the fact the baby boy’s whimpers had long since ceased as their nurse awkwardly excused herself on regards that Marina was in full health. The nurse seemed to be getting pretty sick of being their nurse all day and into three o’clock in the morning, or more specifically, maybe she was getting sick of Luke’s overbearing worry.

“Luke, darling,” Flora said a little flatly, a bemused smile on her face as she rubbed Marina’s back, as the labored woman slowly began to flutter back into sleep, “you do know that newborns cry no matter what, right? You’re not doing anything wrong.” She smiled a little broader at her childhood friend. “Goodness, do you ever stop being a worrywart?”

Luke’s moistened lips parted as the tears that never stopped coming dripped down past them onto his chin, “I-I, I just-- I don’t know w-what to do. Does he w-want me? Did I m-make him cry?”

Kat spoke up a bit meekly, though the emotion in the voice was loud and clear, “Of course he wants you, Uncle Luke!” She said confidently. “He loves you, I know he does!” She turned to her father and nudged him in the shoulder rigorously. The sorrow emitting from her surrogate uncle was obviously making her upset. “Right, papa? You tell him!”

Hershel was completely silent for a few more heartbeats, watching Luke’s shoulders tremble and heave as he lowered his head to rest it lightly on the small and fragile body of his son, who was now peacefully asleep, taking the small and whispering breaths newborns usually take. Then, Luke’s mentor put his hands firmly on his knees and stood up with a bit of aging effort, and came over to his apprentice’s side very slowly. He stood with his shoulder pressed against Luke’s, and then raised a hand to put it down on his apprentice’s shoulder, the grip firm and confident, the aura of Hershel Layton’s assurance and support falling over him once again, like it had when he was a boy, a gesture that soothed his panic and told him to think a bit clearer.

“My boy,” Hershel spoke very softly, and gently, his eyes hard into Luke’s own, forcing them to make eye contact. “You are having a panic attack, and you look very pale. Come to sit with me.”

Katrielle made a huff of displeasure, obviously, this was not the assurance she was expecting. However, Luke was beginning to feel the lightness of his head, his physical health succumbing to the mental strain of his panic. He nodded very slowly, tears falling from his chin.

Flora abruptly stood up from Marina’a sleeping side and was briskly there in an instant, almost eager to get a chance to hold her surrogate nephew a second time. “You sit, Luke.” She said firmly. “I’ve got your little dork.”

Luke couldn’t stop a weak but genuine smile from entering his features. Taking one more hard, affectionate look at his son, he passed him over into the arms of Flora as gently and gingerly as possible. He found himself beginning to lean against his mentor’s shoulder as the faintness of his head got worse and worse. Sensing this, Hershel began to slowly lead him towards another small couch near the back exit of the room, supporting nearly all of his weight until he slowly settled the younger man down into a sitting position, and then sat beside him.

Everyone watched the pair as Hershel put a comforting hand on Luke’s knee after a long silence. Luke was slowly feigning nausea by putting his eyes in his hands and breathing deeply.

“Luke.” Hershel said slowly and clearly, rubbing the knee of his apprentice just a little bit, “Do you remember when you helped deliver?” He prompted quietly. Luke quickly picked up on the vagueness of the question, as to not make Katrielle uncomfortable by making it obvious they were recounting her difficult birth. She simply watched them, oblivious, but intent.

“Y-yes.” Luke rasped, shaking vigorously only one more time before his trembling began to die down.

“She cried, did she not? As you held her, did she cry?” Hershel pressed, refusing to break eye contact despite Luke’s face being held in his own hands.

“She cried,” Luke breathed, slowly removing his humiliated, tearful face from his hands.

“Luke.” Hershel said very softly, almost too quiet for everyone else to hear as he touched Luke’s chin and lifted it up with his two fingers to where they were looking each other straight on, “when babies come into the world, it is entirely foreign to them. They weep to convey things they do not understand. They do not cry because they are not happy with who is holding them. Your little son is only three hours old. My boy, look at him.”

Luke followed his mentor’s gaze. Flora stared back at him as she sat at Marina’s side, his newborn son sleeping softly in her arms.

“Your boy fell asleep in your arms, even though he cried at first. It was because he was confused. He does not understand the world around him. But your presence soothed him into sleep.”

“That’s a pretty stupid baby,” Alfendi muttered under his breath from where he sat next to his sister, obviously simply upset because his Gameboy had just lost battery. His words were not made from spite or hatred for his uncle’s newborn… his Gameboy was just dead, and he was hungry, and he didn’t want to go to school tomorrow. Katrielle elbowed him in the ribs from where she was sitting, causing him to yelp.

Luke was oblivious to exchange happening to Hershel’s two children, as was Hershel. They were simply staring deeply at each other, two souls afflicted with similar losses, one had watched the other grow up, and now he sat with the honor of watching the boy he practically raised receive his own son.

Hershel’s eyes fell downcast for just a moment as if he was deep in thought before he turned back to look Luke straight in the eye.

“I remember when Claire and I held you, in a room just like this. When you were only a few hours old. Your mother was exhausted. Your father was overwhelmed with emotions I had never seen from him.”

A stricken silence fell on the room.

“I will never forget how you cried and cried, Luke. Nonstop. You were just like your baby that is with us now. I handed you back to Claire over and over again because I was terrified I was hurting you.”

Luke began to give quiet, strained sobs as he lowered his head and pressed it against his mentor and dear friend’s chest.

“Listen to me. Do not accept failure before your journey even starts.” Hershel said firmly.

“Your son will love you and Marina as much as I did. He will dote upon you both.”

“I know he will.”

[bearofohu]

Opinion on level 5 terminating releases outside of Japan?

It’s extremely unfortunate, but with their many localized failures in the recent years, I saw it coming. I left the Layton fandom due to the fact that there is simply nothing going on anymore, and my interest dwindled in favor of other fandoms, but it's still very disheartening to know there will never be another officially localized Layton game, assuming LEVEL-5 releases another one in Japan when they’re done chugging Yokai Watch fuel. Even though I don’t take part in the Layton fandom anymore, I am very grateful for the community and everyone I met during that time, and I’m so very sorry to everyone affected by this.  While I’m no longer interested in translations of Japan-only Layton projects, I’m confident there're many others out there who would be willing to do so, as I’ve known many. And if those projects arise, let’s hope you can get Christopher Robin Miller to lend his ethereal vocal cords to your project.  And anyway, honestly, I’ve seen fanworks and fanfictions and artists do a much better job at continuing the legacy of Professor Layton story in their own ways. Never let canon hold you back from crafting the story or interpretation and writing the characters and their futures however you wish. You will always be valid in creating your own canon (and let’s be real, all the fanworks I’ve seen have all been better than current-era Layton and the trashfire that was LMDA). I guess my main takeaway from this was to not let this news destroy your passion for these characters, and to always feel valid in writing your own canon, and continuing the story however you wish. YOU create that Unwound Future sequel; YOU make Luke Triton gay; you make werewolf Layton; YOU bring back Descole; YOU give Don Paolo a husband; YOU continue the stories or change them however you please. The puzzles never die as long as there are those out there to solve them. 

[bearofohu]

Luke Triton and the Lycan Curse - Prologue

PROLOGUE - The Moon Rises

Plot Summary: After leaving Britain, Luke finds himself stuck in a hermit town in rural America, surrounded by dense forests. Life seems to get worse as his father grows distant. Luke learns of the Lycan Curse, an ancient disease that turns men to savage beasts. Driven by a desire to prove himself, Luke sets off to discover the truth, only to end up with a festering bite wound, and a mystery he cannot solve without Professor Hershel Layton, and companions from his past.

Chapter Summary: Taking place mid-story, the prologue shines a light on an event that is not shown otherwise, the murder of the Prime Minister Bill Hawks at the claws of a savage, silver-furred lycan with blue eyes.

Rating: T+ (swearing, heavy gore, drugs, illness, murder, vomiting, animal horror, descriptive body horror)

Word Count: 5,073

Alt Links: fanfiction.net

A/N: Okay, so, I decided I really wanna try writing again. This time, I’m going to try to commit to a series. To be completely honest, I kind of hate the LMJ - LMDA story arc, and since the anime is ending, I’ve decided I’m going to write my own take on the events after Unwound Future. This is my own AU, alternative canon thing that is from Luke’s perspective. It’s about werewolves, corrupt politicians, Layton and Luke being father/son, crying, and blood. I also wrote a Werewolf Luke fanfiction when I was eleven, and I always thought if I was in charge of the Layton series, I’d write a story/game like this. Please enjoy and lemme know your thoughts! Hopefully, I can commit to this!

Don’t fight me.

Luke crouched, his chest heaving in a desperate effort to breathe. His knuckles were growing a strained white as he gripped them against the door of the vehicle he was taking refuge behind. Cold sweat was profusely dripping down from his forehead, and he twitched in agony as he observed the scene before him that he remained concealed from.

His vivid blue eyes could see the scene from miles away. The man in the dark trench-coat, the ever-familiar top-hat, the silk shining like some kind of beacon in the darkness. The sight of the man used to bring him a strong sense of stability, and seeing him there had always calmed his childish fits of rage down.

But that felt like centuries ago. He was not the boy he once was. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t even sure if he could be considered a boy at all… not anymore. Another twitched seized Luke’s body, and a snarl audible only to his sickened mind sounded in his pounding ears.

Don’t ignore me, pup. I will not go away.

Luke squeezed his eyes shut, and shivered with cold. The voice made his ears begin to be heightened enough to catch the confrontation happened before him.

“You cannot do this, Mr. Hawks.” The man in the top-hat said evenly, holding up a careful hand. In spite of the man’s even, experienced and strong voice, Luke could scent anxiety, nerves and worry all over him. He wondered vaguely if that scent had always been on him during their adventures, but Luke could only detect it now. As a boy, he was blind to how this man felt. He was an expert at staying calm, hiding his true emotions. After witnessing his farewell to his mate… Claire, he changed. Luke always viewed him as the greatest mystery of all, his unreadable mentor, a truly stoic man. But now, he was an open book of anxiety and sorrow. Was it Luke’s powerful canid senses, or was this truly how he had become?

Say his name, Luke begged himself, in the safety of his own mind. Hershel Layton. My mentor. He’s my friend. You remember, right? I remember him, I do...

Another hallucinogenic snarl invaded his brain, It’s worthless to you now, runt! You know what you must do.

Luke’s hand found his hair, and the teenager clawed at it with all his strength, tearing several chunks violently outwards, and a choked sob of agonized mental pain leaving him as he practically grovelled into the earth. He just then recognized his aching, twitching muscle pains were beginning to turn, from vague flicks in his skin, to a contorting mess of muscles exceeding their regular size. A coat of thick hair was crawling up both arms like a fungus.

Give into the hunt. It is all you know now.

Another man, standing just a few yards from Layton, suddenly stepped forwards with a sneer. His disgusting scent of disdain and greed was like poison in Luke’s nostrils. As the older man stepped into the moonlight glistening in the rainy sky, a contorted snarl, barely audible yet not at all human, involuntarily left Luke’s mouth. His teeth were in absolute agony, and there was something wrong with his jaw…

“I can do whatever I wish, Layton.” Hawks scoffed, seeming to parade himself with his assured superiority in front of the hopeless citizens of the town, his own hitmen… everyone gathered. “By order of the British Parliament treasury, this American town is now my executive property. We will uncover the secrets here, and contain them, by all means necessary. That means the people of this accursed town,” he gestured to the people, all whom in another life, another world, Luke had lived among in some way, “are now under arrest. We will take any medical examination needed to uproot this curse… including your apprentice.”

The townsfolk began to cluster together as a few men, armed to the teeth began herding them into a knot… like sheep. With just a single gesture of Hawks’ hand.

Layton opened his mouth to speak, but from behind him, a woman in a yellow shirt was flailing and jerking against the might of three men holding her down into the mud. Clearly, the task of detaining her was proving laborious. The woman was fierce, and her scent showed a passionate protective aura. Luke would have recognized her… but not now. Now, he watched the scene while his body contorted and changed, the pain so great, yet so familiar, it was dulling in his mind that was slipping with every millisecond.

“You FUCKING coward!” The woman howled, her voice high-pitched with rage, “You’re a piece of SHIT! DO something, Chelmey!”

A broad-shouldered man standing beside Layton looked at the woman with eyes that were wide, ashamed, and panicked. His scent was riddled with confliction. Luke knew that in his humanity, he knew this man. He was a friend, he was a man of authority… but he was bound by the evil man’s toxic authority.

“Emmy,” Layton rasped, holding up a hand to her. “It’s alright.”

Emmy snarled at him, “HOW could you SAY THAT? This clowny fuck is going to torture all these innocent people! You know that, Professor! YOU know that, Chelmey! I--” Before the woman could finish, a man took a baton and shoved her into the mud face-first. Luke tensed up on his haunches as a sense of rage gripped him. Her body wracked against the hitman who had hit her, before she abruptly surged upwards from the mud, knocking him in the face with the back of her head and muddy brown hair. He staggered backwards.

Emmy looked at Layton once more, and her voice was uncharacteristically thick, eyes glistened, as she cried, “Think of Luke, Professor! They’re going to kill him!”

Layton looked at her, genuine pain on his face. His body was trembling, and his fear scent was all over Luke’s nostrils. Luke’s body tensed upwards once more, and a snarl left him. He was prepared. He was ready to hunt… he knew his targets.

Wait for your weakness to melt away. The canid voice rumbled, and then, leap into the flock, and claim those you wish to hunt.

Another terrifying clap of thunder struck the sky, and Luke’s muscles seized. He bared something that were very clearly not omnivorous teeth. His mouth, which no longer felt attached to his face, was salivating onto the mud. He felt a presence on his tailbone, and a ragged, matty tail that had previously not existed curled around his contorting form. The blood from his torn skin and ligaments were staining and splattering onto the clothes that had been rendered from his body, which no longer had an inch of bare skin left. The pain was familiar. The blood loss could not kill him. It was all apart of him, now. It was his gift.

Hawks then smiled at Layton, showing pearly, flat teeth, “Your assistant is delusional in her anger. I only wish to care for these diseased people. The ferry is ready to detain the citizens here, and bring them to our medical examiners. Chelmey, is Scotland Yard ready for their escort?” The man’s eyes landed expectantly on the face of the police inspector.

Chelmey hung his head. “I-I… Yes…”

“Coward!” The woman, Emmy, spat out a chunk of blood as she spoke. Her eyes were trained back on her boss, the top-hat man, “Professor! HERSHEL!”

Layton was breathing a bit laboriously. “Prime Minister, please…” He murmured, taking a step forwards, “let me find a solution. Give me a few more days... I--” the man suddenly narrowed his brown eyes, “if you do this, you will not get away with it like you have…” his voice broke, “previously.”

Hawks smiled broadly at Layton. “It worked before, Professor.” He sneered, his voice nearly a taunting whisper, “who is to say it won’t work now?”

“I’m not giving up on these people,” Layton breathed, adjusting his hat. “They are innocent. If you take them away now, I’ll-”

“Right.” Hawks chuckled, “You’ll go and play detective, and then when I drop your apprentice’s wolfy corpse at your doorstep, we’ll be just a step away to stick a bullet in your brain before you even get a chance to recognize who he is.”

Luke knew what was happening, his mind was screaming to leap, to sink his teeth inward, begin the hunt, but his brain was still fighting with the savagery of a thousand wolf packs, begging him to come back to humanity. It was in vain. Luke felt himself beginning to lose it. The moon was glistening onto his pelt, soaked with sweat, and as his muscles continued to tear through and spike upwards into large shoulder-blades, legs and arms abled for leaping and running. his trembling hands found the door to the car he hid behind, and his fingernails, now twisted and sharp into ivory claws with a size beyond belief, dug into the metal, nearly puncturing it right though.

A few more heartbeats, the voice in his head growled, and then, you must claim your prey.

Luke dropped onto his haunches, and then stood up on all fours, his tail swaying from behind him, maw parting and salivating, anticipating flesh. The spiked mane of fur upon his spine spiked upwards. His mind was a blank, void of humanity, and as the moon shone on his silver pelt, his amber eyes were fixed upon nothing but that man… That man paraded himself as if a mortal god, the fates of the people in his hands.

But to Luke, to his pack, he was prey, just another hunk of flesh to drag to the den, drop to the pile, and to feed his packmates for moons. A hungry snarl left his mouth, and he hooked his giant paws upon the vehicle’s roof, raising up to his hind legs, glowing amber eyes peering beyond.

A man that stood to Hawks’ side turned his head towards the vehicle, sensing a presence… a snarl in the night. He was nothing without his gun, without his master’s orders, and his fear scent was delicious. He was a lackey of his main prey. A weaker elk to pick off.

His eyesight, bordered with a vignette of reddened bloodlust, took just a few more heartbeats to render the scene before him.

Upon hearing Hawks’ remark, Chelmey tensed, visibly appalled. Layton’s scent suddenly took a tang of anger, mournful anger.

“Don’t speak to me like that.” Layton said, voice thick, “Don’t you dare threaten me again, Bill.”

Hawks took a single step towards Layton, and from his belt, he took out a shiny, twenty-two caliber pistol. “Scared of death all of a sudden, are we?” The prime minister laughed, “I don’t see why.” He took another step, until he was just inches from Layton. He held the gun up to the man’s head. “After all, the faster you leave this world, the faster you get to see that dirty bitch Claire.”

The gun gave a click, a noise so insignificant, but to Luke, it was as loud as a nuclear bomb scoring into the Earth’s surface. Chelmey leapt forwards to defend the Professor…

But Luke was simply faster.

NOW! The hunt begins!

A terrifying, ear-splitting howl struck the air, and Hawks’ arm seized, finger trembling on the trigger that had not been pressured through. Fear struck him still, and before anyone could register the direction of the howl, a wolfish beast with silver fur and sharp amber eyes leapt from the vehicle, directly over it, and pounded with the speed of a cheetah towards the crowd, the wet grass and mud flying all about his long, matted fur, roaring and snarling all the way.

“LYCAN!” A man screamed, dropping his gun with panic. Hawks’ hitmen, his lesser elk, staggered away from him, but the silver beast had eyes on the first one to pick off. The lycan leapt forwards, and with a single swipe of his paws, his claws caught the man’s throat. Before the man could even scream, a sickening crack split the air, following by a stream of projectiling blood. The man’s body crumpled onto his discarded gun, his head and neck angled backwards. He was dead from the trauma before he could even move, before he even hit the ground. Screams began splitting the air, and the crowd gathered scattered.

The silver lycan landed upon the man’s corpse, and rapidly sank his fangs into the dead man’s arm, and twisted it, effortlessly tearing the ligaments and bones from their sockets, freeing the arm from its weak human restraints. He wouldn’t need it anymore. The wolf sank his teeth deep into the detached arm, allowing the blood to run through his incisors. The first blood… it was not his primarily meal, but it was a way to alight his power for the hunt. His jaw-strength easily snapped the limb in half like a piece of wood.

“Kill it!” Hawks’ voice cried over the crowd, his newfound fear scent intoxicatingly welcoming, “KILL IT!”

The lycan suddenly felt a pain score his pelt, near his shoulder and back. A twisted, surprised yelp left him, and the impact caused him to stumble on all fours, narrowly stabilizing himself before falling over.

“NO!” Layton borderline screamed over the crowd, the unnaturally panicked voice seizing the small piece remaining of Luke, “DON’T SHOOT!”

The beast shook his pelt. Human bullets, unless silver, could not easily harm a pelt as durable as one of a lycan, even one of his meager size. And none of these foolish prey had been expecting him, had they? Their interference only fueled him, and he stood on his hind legs and gave a roar of rage. He then pounded forwards. No more games… the main event had to begin, the main prey had to fall… or the hunt would become complicated. With the leader gone, the lesser prey will scatter in panic. That was the rule of the hunt.

Hawks was scrambling to find a vehicle to escape in, screaming at his henchmen to aid him. Layton seemed to be running in the direction of the lycan, which momentarily confused the beast. Did this creature wish to become prey? Had he a death sentence? The lycan licked his bloodied maw, and with a swift leap, he slammed his paws into the chest of the top-hat man. They fell to the ground together, with the beast pinning the human down, sniffing him all over with his leathery nose. He did not smell like prey… but he acted as if he was trying to be killed by the beast. It was all very confusing, prey was prey, those the lycans knew to hunt… and those the lycans had no reason to hunt. The lycan snarled into the human’s face, an instinctual warning to stay away, or risk being labeled as a threat, or prey itself. The man was unaffected by the threatening growl, though he trembled as he sprawled upon the ground, the top hat discarded in the mud a few feet away. The hair on his head was recognizable, and the lycan’s tail lashed uncomfortably.

He shifted his paws, giving the human a chance to flee. Instead, he was reaching forwards with a trembling hand, and put it on the muzzle of the lycan. His amber eyes blinked in confusion, and gave another, more vicious snarl. He shoved his muzzle to the side, but the human just began running his trembling hand into his matted fur.

“Luke,” the man managed, his voice a gasping, pathetic whimper. His voice was familiar, but the tone… the tone was foreign. The scent of mourning, and pain, and loss, was foreign. The beast found himself simply entranced by it all.

“Luke,” the man repeated, placing his hand once again on the lycan’s maw, stroking his fur in spite of the sheer amount of blood, “can you hear me?”

The lycan twitched his ears, his eyes dulling. His muscles suddenly felt weaker than they had before, and a twitch overtook him. He felt relaxed, he felt calm… tranquil, almost. The lycan panted, and began sniffing the human’s face, and gave him a cautious lick on the chin. His tail involuntarily wagged, in spite of the former desire for the hunt that overtook him. He was suddenly overcome with euphoria… in the midst of scattering prey… he had found a packmate. A friend, a teacher, a father of sorts. But he did not smell like lycan, or packmate, or family… and a human? The thoughts stirring in his brain were overwhelming, but a conscious, innocently humane thought was crawling into his brain.

I know you. I know you. I know you! Hello, hello!

While looking relieved to see the wolf relax, the immediate panicked scent fading, the human did not look any less sorrowful. He took the silver lycan’s face in his trembling hands, and looked directly into his amber eyes. Normally, this would be a threat to a lycan’s authority, punishable by a ripped throat, but he was enthralled in the human’s chocolate gaze.

“Stop this.” The man breathed, his voice breaking and trembling, “come back to me, Luke. Stop this, please…”

The lycan twitched his ears, and gave another sniff of the human’s face. He did not understand. Stop what? The hunt? He couldn't! Did packmates not crave the hunt as much as any other lycan? Why stop? Was this a retreat? Was this man the Alpha? But he did not smell anything like Alpha! Alpha had disappeared, even! What was going on? The lycan gave the human a more submissive lick on the chin, beginning to lay down on the human’s chest, and giving a thin whimper.

I know you, but I don’t understand. What’s going on? Help me, help me! I’m scared.

Before neither man nor wolf could respond to each other, the lycan felt a searing pain in his chest. A shocked how of agony left him, and he staggered backwards. His chest, his fur, and his blood, it all began boiling with searing pain. His vision blurred with both agony, and a newfound rage. It was silver! A silver bullet! Who dared attack them like this? Rage overtook the lycan’s passive thoughts, but a whimper of pain left him. It hurt, and the blood was pouring, burning… the world was getting dark, suddenly.

“NO!” Layton wailed, and threw himself at the lycan. The human threw his arms around the lycan’s runty body, bracing the wolf with his own body, which embarrassingly enough, was almost as large as his own.

The lycan snarled in pain, but his eyes softened as he looked at his packmate, who was putting pressure on the wound the silver bullet left with his human hands. He felt humbled that this… human packmate alpha creature would defend him in the midst of a hunt. Any other lycan would’ve left him to die. The hunt waits for no one, after all. He whimpered, pushing at the human with his muzzle.

Run away! We are being attacked! I live and die by the hunt, but you are human!

There was a sudden presence in the grass, the sound of a heavy footfall, and a familiar scent caught the lycan’s nostrils. The instincts of the hunt seized him once again, and his soft eyes went harder than sleets of ice. A terrifying, bloody snarl gurgled in his throat, and the man turned, but was still shielding the wolf’s body with his own. Hawks stepped into the moonlit clearing of grass, sided by two hechmen stupid enough to have not fled in a chaos.

“Ah,” Bill Hawks purred, “so this is Luke. Finally show your ugly maw, Triton boy?”

The lycan snarled, and his hackles rose, large tufted ears pinning back threateningly.

“It’s him.” Layton rasped, his voice broken, “it’s him. I’ve been protecting him. I-I told him to flee town. I told him, Bill. I told you not to come here, too. I-I knew he wouldn’t listen. I-I…”

“Listen to yourself, Hershel.” Bill chuckled. “Pathetic. Losing Claire for a second time has turned you into a total wreck, a pile of spinless waste. I mean to eliminate this awful town, these cursed people… and find the truth of the disease. How to control it… for the good of the Parliament, the world.” His gun, filled with silver bullets, twirled in his hands.

“And you, once an affable man, now groveling in front of a savage dog, whom he swears up and down is his sweet little apprentice. Do you ever learn to let go of lost causes? These people are savages, and their death will bring us all peace. How many times do I have to try to kill you for the greater good?”

“The greater good?” A humorless, broken laugh left Layton, “is that what you call it? I’m not a fool, Bill. You don’t seek to help these people. You seek to use Lycanthropy as a weapon. Fear-mongering, elimination of those you hate, mass-hysteria… it is ALL you’ve EVER achieved. You are no leader. You’re a man who spreads terror, and grief wherever he walks. The death of others, tearing apart families, it is just a small obstacle in your poisonous dream.”

Hawks gave a careless shrug, and stepped closer to Layton and the silver lycan. He chuckled, “I pity you, Layton. If you had just agreed to work with me when we both arrived, this wouldn’t have happened. I would’ve been much more peaceful… I would’ve even given the courtesy of mailing you Luke’s pelt in the mail, give you and your friends something to bury,” he smiled, “maybe put on your office floor.”

Layton hung his head, and gave a shuddering sigh. He backed further into Luke’s lycan body, shielding him entirely. “You’re a monster. A truly evil man, Mr. Hawks. If I pay for your cruelty with my life, then I will pay.”

Hawks smiled, a toothy nasty grin, and gave a coarse laugh. “The hapless Professor makes his first sane decision! Now… close your eyes, let me see if I can get you and the dog in one bullet.”

Hawks held the gun upwards, and it made a second click, the sound splitting the air. Before the gun could fire, Layton suddenly sprang forwards, his fist meeting Hawks’ face. The man gave a startled cry, and rolled into the mud on his back, struggling to find his feet like a flipped turtle. Layton then used the blunt end of his elbow to hit both henchmen on the face, and then swung them both into the mud with a swift punch to the gut.   

He then whirled around, and fell to the mud on his knees, then threw his arms around the lycan’s neck, who lay on the ground now, bleeding profusely, panting, yet looking at the human, his amber eyes glowing with amazement, and remembrance. Layton pulled the wolf’s head into his lap, and looked him in the eyes once again.

“Live for me, Luke,” he choked, his eyes looking liquified with tears, “You must live for me, my boy. Run and find Desmond. Find him, he’ll help return you to your own body. Then you go back to London, alright? Find my office, find Flora and Emmy, solve this for me. Bring these people a cure, and stop this man…”

The lycan looked at the human in total bewilderment. His shaking hands let go of Luke’s bloody fur, and he stood up, tears running down his face. His fear scent was decreasing… replaced by regret, and sorrow… and anticipation.

“Be good. Live well. I’m proud of you, my boy.” He swiped his sleeve across his face, wiping away tears. “Be the greatest gentleman the world has ever seen, alright?”

The lycan gave a broken whimper, the thoughts and memories overwhelming him. He pushed himself up through the pain, on all fours, and stared at the human, eyes wide, the amber fading to a shade of hazy blue.

Professor?

 “DIE, LAYTON!” Hawks bellowed, dragging himself out of the mud, holding his broken, bloody nose. His eyes were alight with rage. He threw the gun upwards in his hands, “DIE, GODDAMMIT!”

Layton faced him head-on, and looked at Luke one more time.

“Go, Luke!”

Luke blinked at the Professor, stunned. Another whine left him, and his tail wagged feebly.

I can’t. You’re my mentor. You’re the only father I have now. If we die, we die together.

Layton squeezed his eyes shut, and then looked pleadingly at his lycan apprentice. “LUKE!”

Luke turned his wolfish blue eyes upon the prime minister. The man was seconds away from firing the trigger, and then… the bullet would not misfire. It would land in the Professor’s cranium, killing him… Luke had every opportunity to run, to flee, but…

A hollow, snarling voice suddenly reappeared in the depths of his brain, and his instincts reawakened almost instantly,

Be the hunter, or you are the prey.

The hunt was not over. All fights, all disputes, end when the hunt ends. When a wolf claims his kill, it is his by right. No other wolf nor human would take his kill. Wolves kill to survive. Wolves kill to protect their pack. Wolves kill, because they must.

With that in mind, a snarl ripped through Luke’s throat, and before the Professor could even react, his lycan apprentice threw himself in a savage leap over his mentor. The silver bullet struck him head-on, once again in the chest, but the rage, the power of the hunt was enough to not stop him from lunging forwards, in spite of the two deadly wounds upon his chest.

Layton screamed his name, but the desire of the hunt’s conclusion drowned out his wail of protest. The lycan’s claws tore into Hawks’ sides, instantly piercing his ribcage. The prime minister gave a gurgling cry, a surge of sticky blood spewing from his lips as the lycan tossed him to the ground, his impaled body flying from the lycan’s giant claws. He then turned on the two henchmen as they struggled to rise. He tore their throats out with one swift bite, and for the other, a slash of his hind claws. He gave a triumphant howl as their corpses fell, and then he leapt onto Hawks’ exposed belly. He was a large human… a piece of prey with much to feed his packmates with! The silver hycan gave another triumphant, howling cry, to signify he was about to end the hunt.

With that, the silver, bloodied lycan surged his claws forwards, and ripped Hawks from the neck down to the waist, tearing his stomach into a neat split, blood pouring out like a raging river, intestines flopping wetly onto the muddy grass. Hawks’ body gave a dreadful, gurgling gasp, before his head dropped to the floor, and his eyes grew empty and still. No more breathing, no more of the panicked scent… only blood and gore staining his pelt.

He was well, and truly dead.

The hunt is forever. We are the Lycan people!

The lycan’s amber eyes fixed wildly on the human, his packmate, that was on his knees, sobbing in utter defeat at the horrific scene before him. Behind them, the lycan could hear yells, screams of terror.

In spite of his pain, his wounds, and the exhaustion of his body being in such a strainful position of lycan form, the beast stood up on his hind legs and gave a victorious howl.

Do not despair! I won! I won for you all! This is who I am! I am the alpha! I won!

The lycan’s delusional thoughts of grandeur suddenly dramatically spiked downwards as a wave of nausea seized him. He staggered backwards onto his haunches. Layton got up from his knees, and rushed to the lycan, gripping him, almost slipping on the former prime minister’s dreadful blood splatters, and began holding the wolf steady.

“It’s about to be over,” Layton choked, trembling as he held the wolf tightly in a restraining position, “it’s almost over, Luke. The moon is gone.”

The beasts’ brain was too sickly nauseated, his mind too muddled, to show aggression any longer. He felt his body began to contort and retract, searing muscle pain gripping him once more as his amplified body regressed. Waves of exhaustion overtook him, and he gave a twisted moan of immense pain as his mouth seemed to shove inward. His body wracked and flinched, yet the Professor held him close, letting the blood of the transformation drip into his trench-coat, keeping him steady during the regression. The fur on the beasts’ body began to dramatically shed, falling onto the grass in droves, and his wolfish orb eyes faded away to the familiar, glazed pupils of a human. His reddened skin paled over, only a few patches of undetached fur remaining, which Layton gently brushed from his skin.

The lycan gave one more terrifying twitch, until he was lycan no more. His mind was a blank, exhaustion overtaken him, and darkness consuming him before he could even register his humanity returning.

And with that, Luke collapsed into his mentor’s arms, completely unconscious, and the people ran to them, the police lights and cars blazing sirens in the air. Layton gently held his human apprentice to his chest, awaiting whatever came next for them both.

Beside them, Hawks’ bloodied corpse was glistening in the fading moonlight.

[verdantmeadows]

aa i... really love this!!!

The Story of Tonight  - Professor Layton LMDA Fanfiction

Rating: K+ (Mentions of birth, newborn babies, panic attacks.)

Summary: Luke and his wife Marina have been anxiously waiting for the arrival of their son for months. After a difficult night of his wife in labor, Luke is faced with his newborn son, a child of his own. Luke is overtaken by panic as he accepts his failure as a father before their life together even begins. Hershel sheds some light on what it means to become a true father to a child.

Author’s Notes: I’ve written so many edgy fanfictions, here’s a wholesome one for once! This is a one-shot and pretty vague without context so make sure you read the summary! If you read my text post before I posted this, you’ll know why I wrote this. My Evil!Luke AU fanfiction is coming out soon for all you guys who love my overbearing angst. The story is actually a lot longer than it was supposed to be. My emotions are a wreck. Also, see if you can catch the shameless Hamilton references.

NOTE: This takes place during the timeline of LMDA, however in an alternate scenario in which the relic stone mystery is never pursued and everyone lives happily ever after as a big ‘ol puzzle family. Hino and his bad writing have no power here.

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