Two Worlds, One Soul (part-1)
SUMMARY: This is a one direction fanfiction which follows the base plot of the infernal devices by cassandra clare, but with some addiction added by me. It is a Harry x reader as well as A Louis x reader fic. its also my fist ever series! :)
The boys had just finished a concert. It was loud , colorful and had an amazing audience. The five were now rushing off backstage to change. “Hey lads, check this out” called Liam. The all gathered around to see what Liam was pointing at. It was a large mirror at the corner of the room, its corners emitting sparks of gold. Harry lent closer, without warning, the sparks started spinning and swallowed up all five of them into tumbling darkness.
London, April, 1878
The demon exploded in a shower of demon and guts.
Harry styles Herondale jerked back the dagger he was holding. The ichor eating away at the blade, he tossed it aside. Proud of his attempt at killing the shax demon.
“Louis!” Harry called, turning around. “Where are you? Did you see that? Killed it with one blow! Not bad, eh?”
But his hunting partner did not respond. He turned around to find himself alone in the shadows. Harry was positive his parabatai was right there, guarding his back, but that no longer true- It was much less fun showing of without Louis there to see it.
He went forward, into the shadows, in search of louis. He soon found himself at the Limehouse. Harry liked the Limehouse, the feeling of standing at the edge of the world where ships departed from each day, heading off to far ports. He didn’t even mind the smell of it—smoke and rope and tar, foreign spices mixed with the dirty river-water smell of the Thames.
He walked, still searching, examining his wounds. He’d probably use a healing rune, one of Charlotte’s probably. She was rather good with those. He noticed a figure moving out of the shadows. He moved towards it, only to realise, it wasn’t louis, but rather a police officer. A Mundane police officer. The officer stared at him, actually.. he stared through Harry. It was his glamour at work, Harry would never get used to the effect of it, mundanes not being able to see him.
Harry Edward Styles was suddenly accustomed to a splitting headache. Where was he? It looked like the 1800s of London. Weren’t him and the lads in the greenroom just a while ago? He felt stuck, in some one else’s soul. It was like this life was scripted, something was very wrong, he couldn’t do anything about it. Where were the lads? Where was he? The realisation gone as soon as it came.
With a shrug and a blink, the policeman moved past Harry, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath about swearing off the gin before he truly started seeing things. Harry stepped aside to let the man pass, then raised his voice to a shout: “Louis Tomlinson Carstairs! Lou! Where are you, you disloyal bastard?” This time a faint reply answered him. “Over here. Follow the witchlight.” Harry moved toward the sound of Lou’s voice.
“Did you hear me before? That Shax demon thought it could get me with its bloody great pincers, but I cornered it in an alley—” “Yes, I heard you.” The young man who appeared at the mouth of the alley was pale in the lamplight— paler even than he usually was, which was quite pale indeed. He stepped out into the light, enough for Harry to see him. He had odd bright Silver hair, his eyes had the same silver, however, Harry’s mind was glitching again, he saw glances of the same boy, but brunette , with startling blur eyes. This vision too, was gone as soon as it came. There were dark stains across his white shirtfront, and his hands were thickly smeared with red. Harry tensed. “You’re bleeding. What happened?” Louis waved away Harry’s concern. “It’s not my blood.” He turned his head back toward the alley behind him. “It’s hers.”
Harry looked past him to find a girl, dead.
“A dead woman?” Harry asked. “A mundane?”
“A girl, really. Not more than fourteen.” Replied louis.
At that, Harry cursed with great volume and expression. Louis waited patiently for him to be done. “If we’d only happened along a little earlier,” Harry said finally. “That bloody demon —”
“That’s the peculiar thing. I don’t think this is the demon’s work.” Louis frowned. “Shax demons are parasites, brood parasites. It would have wanted to drag its victim back to its lair to lay eggs in her skin while she was still alive. But this girl—she was stabbed, repeatedly. And I don’t think it was here, either. There simply isn’t enough blood in the alley. I think she was attacked elsewhere, and she dragged herself here to die of her injuries.”
“But the Shax demon—”
“I’m telling you, I don’t think it was the Shax. I think the Shax was pursuing her—hunting her down for something, or someone, else.”
“You didn’t find the weapon, did you?” asked Harry
“Here.” Said Louis, handing him a thin hunting blade. I was covered in dried up blood. Harry wiped it across his sleeve, the blood cleared off to reveal a symbol. “Ouroboros,” Louis said, leaning in close to stare at the knife. “A double one. Now, what do you think that means?”
“The end of the world,” said Harry, still looking at the dagger, a small smile playing about his mouth, “and the beginning.” Harry frowned. “I understand the symbology, Harry. I meant, what do you think its presence on the dagger signifies?”
“It’s an alchemical symbol, not a warlock or Downworlder one. That usually means humans—the foolish mundane sort who think trafficking in magic is the ticket for gaining wealth and fame.” He paused, “The sort who like to lurk about the Downworld parts of our fair city.” After wrapping the handkerchief around the blade carefully, Harry slipped it into his jacket pocket. “D’you think Charlotte will let me handle the investigation?”
“Do you think you can be trusted in Downworld? The gambling hells, the dens of magical vice, the women of loose morals …” asked Louis
Harry smiled the way Lucifer might have smiled, moments before he fell from Heaven. “Would tomorrow be too early to start looking, do you think?”
Louis had given up. He sighed. “Do what you like, Harry. You always do.”
Y/N held the clock angel pendant that was lying at the base of her neck. It was her mother’s before she died. It lay in her mom’s box up until Nathanial, her brother, took it out to see if it worked. She had worn it ever since. She had boarded the Main, that took her from New York to London, where her brother worked, after her last relative, her aunt Harriet died. She was told her brother would pick her up, but he was nowhere to be seen. She instead met two sisters, Mrs.Black and Mrs. Dark, who held with them a letter, apparently from Nate.
They led her into a carriage. One the side of it was inscribed a ouroboros, a double one, below it written : The Pandemonium.
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YALL ARE TALKING ABOUT POLITICAL ALASTAIR AND YOUVE UNLOCKED A PART OF ME LITERALLY I DONT GO A SINGLE DAY WITHOUT THINKING ABOUT POLITICIAN ALASTAIR I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS OKAY SO
we all know he wants to stay out of it and live a normal life despite literally everyone in london wanting him to become a politician bc he’s a genius but he’d still attend the normal clave meetings and stuff where he’s known for just offhandedly spouting the most diplomatic and genius solutions to ridiculously tense problems
we also know how wonderfully well spoken and eloquent he is which 100% translates over to his debating skills. when he sees some problematic political faction becoming too powerful he’ll step in to help argue them and even out the playing field a bit more, obviously charlotte can’t show favouritism to any one political opinion but she’s incredibly grateful to alastair for putting himself in the spotlight and helping out. because he doesn’t particularly care about his political reputation and he and charlotte hold very similar beliefs, he almost becomes her spokesperson when things get bad, he goes off on bigots because fuck them but also he gets to say everything charlotte can’t. she loves him for it, she’s overjoyed to have him in the family, and every day she thanks the angel he’s as good a person as he is because she knows if the bigoted political factions had him on their side,,, well then she and her beliefs would be screwed
one day he ends up debating charles and obviously wins, gideon comes up afterwards to compliment alastair on his politics and will just goes “good politics?!? more like good self restraint, i’ve known that kid since he was born and even i wanted to punch him well done on not assaulting him”
also we all know there’s nothing better than watching someone you love do something they’re passionate about and good at so thomas watching alastair casually verbally destroy bigots with a vocabulary even some of the older adults can’t fully comprehend,,,? man becomes the embodiment of the heart eyes emoji you can literally watch him fall more and more in love and the thieves and co. constantly tease him about it.
his reputation begins to proceed him and people can’t fathom why he doesn’t become a full time politician and he’s just like??? i don’t want to so no lol. he accidentally goes down in history as the one of the most politically influential and genius non politicians in the clave. but of course these things either happen on rare special occasions when they really need his help or when the general shadowhunter population is allowed to speak at clave meetings, he doesn’t go to the politicians only meetings because that’s the life he wanted to avoid so the true activism and political work comes out with his AC writings proposed by the genius people here PLEASE READ THIS AND ALL THE NOTES I ALMOST CRIED IT SO GOOD
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Something I like about the Shadowhunters is that their runes leave scars on their bodies, marks of all their battles. And that is something I connect with.
I've been through three surgeries on my left leg to get it to the same length as my right. At this point it's half scars on the outside and almost half metal on the inside. I have two on my right leg because they had to stop the growth plate from growing, even if it didn't do too much. It was almost done growing by the time that surgery happened. It's been a long road to recovery and these scars show all I've been through. So does my small limp when I walk. Without these surgeries; these scars, I have at least a five inch between my two legs, and that would not be good. I'll take my scars and limp and everything else.
Most people don't consider scars beautiful. They're the imperfect parts of you that you slather with lotion day after day to erase them. You wear long pants and try to act like they're not there; called brave for showing them and silently shunned. You creep people out with them and wish they could to away, yet are still secretly proud they exist.
But the Shadowhunters have scars. Every single one of them has scars from their runes, which give them their powers. The temporary runes always are described as fading into silver, sometimes over the course of hours. The runes aren't really tattoos, as we often call them. They're just scars.
Yet these angelic warriors are still called beautiful. They still have beauty and fight like they are. It's just another part of who they are, something they're used to. These scars are the marks of their battle, something to take pride in.
I think most of us notice whenever Magnus looks at Alec he noticed his scars, and actually really like them. In TLBOW Alec was joking about how Magnus found scars sexy. That gave me a boost of self-esteem there because at least one person out there would be fine with scars.
That's why these runes are important to me. They were their scars with pride and maybe make me more likely to show my scars. Because these scars are still called beautiful, so maybe my scars are beautiful too.
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