ABOUT ME: Hello everyone! It's been a while! I'm at university now studying English Literature and Film, which is my excuse for not writing as much as I would like to. I've taken a creative writing module which is currently going TERRIBLY (strike action is not fun) so I've returned to fan fiction to get me out of the slump. I'm on Instagram as - I don't post much but I'm always there and up for a chat, and might post some fan-fic snippets in the near future.
ABOUT THE STORY: So this was inspired by a prompt I saw ages ago that went something like: a group of people accidentally summon a demon by reciting the names of pieces of IKEA furniture. And it turned into this mess. I hope you enjoy it! I had a lot of fun writing it. (Previously posted on AO3)
"we don't go to IKEA because we get lost" - my grandparents
"Jace," Magnus sighed, "for the love of all things that sparkle, put the HJÄLPREDA back."
Jace's eyes were wide as he turned to his companion. "Put back the what now?"
Magnus looked the shadowhunter dead in the eye. "The cheese slicer you currently have in your possession and have been carrying around for the last half an hour," he pointed to the metal instrument lodged in Jace's weapons belt. "Put it back."
"Ohhh," Jace said. "So that's what it is!" He unsheathed the instrument and held it above his head, shaking it.
"IZZY!" he hollered.
Children. He was babysitting children.
"WHAT?" came a bellowed response from somewhere amongst a milieu of desks.
Magnus could just make out a flash of raven hair amongst the various stacks of coloured-plastic desk tidies, lampshades and veneered plywood. Veneered plywood, Magnus thought, resisting the urge to shudder as he examined another label. Fake wood. And it came in different shades. There was more than one type.
It was repulsive.
He didn't know what a DIY flatpack was either, but the establishment seemed to sell a lot of them. To his mind, such a thing sounded positively barbaric.
"IT'S A CHEESE SLICER," Jace yelled, his blonde hair flopping as he jumped, trying to locate his sister.
"A WHAT?" Izzy yelled back.
She now appeared to be amongst a pile of cushions.
"MAGNUS CALLED IT A "CHEESE SLICER". THE MUNDANE WEAPON OF TORTURE THINGY WE FOUND BACK IN THE KITCHEN ROOM." He turned back to Magnus. "What was its demonic name again?"
Magnus looked up to the dim ceiling lights in grievous despair and took a heavy, calming breath through his nose. "You mean HJÄLPREDA?"
Jace nodded.
"That is not a demonic language. It's Swedish. And no, it's not a "mundane weapon of torture thingy", it is a cheese slicer. As in it is used in the kitchen, to turn a big piece of cheese into smaller pieces of cheese."
Jace looked at Magnus as though he'd lost his mind. Maybe he had. He was in a closed mainstream furniture department store, after all. On a Friday night.
"You know what," Magnus said, "never mind." He continued under his breath, "forcing anyone to eat anything cooked by a Lightwood would be a method of torture in itself, so sure why not? Kitchen implement wielded by a Lightwood equals weapon of mass destruction…"
Jace was already several paces in front of him and fortunately (or unfortunately) didn't hear. He had put the cheese slicer back into his belt.
It had been late into the evening when Isabelle had called. Alexander had been out on patrol, so Magnus had been mooching around his apartment, giving the finishing touches to a series of potions he had been working on for his clientele. There had been reports of a demon, raised by a group of mundanes, loose in a furniture store. They had been having trouble tracking it: would Magnus mind helping? That phone call had taken place a couple of hours ago. He was getting tired. There was something in the place that was draining him more than usual. Maybe it was the overall and distinct lack of taste permeating their surroundings.
They appeared to have wandered into a section of the store that catered for the interior design of lounges. Several different armchairs lined the left side of the room, with tables, desks and an assortment of lamps to the right. Magnus paused his inspection of the decor and turned towards the sound of Izzy's clacking footsteps. He was about to suggest they try another area of the store, when there was a faint thud, followed by a yell from further in.
Immediately, Izzy had her whip in hand and was marching for the corner Jace had just disappeared around.
Magnus followed, blue magic twining around his fingers.
Jace was on the floor, breathing heavily, his seraph blade glowing. Before him was a shredded pile of wool. He looked up as Izzy and Magnus approached and grimaced. "It's alright. It took me by surprise, but I killed it. Don't know what species it was."
Magnus and Izzy paused for a moment, looked at each other. And burst out laughing. Jace gazed up at them, bewildered.
"I've seen a lot of things in my time," Magnus said, wiping his eyes to stop his eyeliner running, "but a sentient sheep-skin rug? A 'SKOLD' if I'm not mistaken? That's brilliant. Why oh why can't Alexander be here right now?"
"A what?" Jace asked, "I've never heard of a Scolde demon before."
Izzy just shook her head, still smiling, and helped her brother to his feet. "Not the demon we're looking for."
As Jace brushed himself off, looking as confused as ever, a stillness washed over the room.
The lights dimmed a fraction more. Izzy's necklace started to glow an eerie red.
Magnus turned slowly, sending his magic out in tendrils.
"The sensors were right," he muttered after a few seconds, "there's something demonic at work here. I don't know how malevolent it is though. I think I recognise–"
He was cut off by a loud bang. He felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his temple. And his world went dark.
…
Alec Lightwood had just reached his boyfriend's loft after a long, cold night-shift when his phone started ringing. He groaned, drew his phone out of his jacket pocket, saw that it was Jace, and decided it could probably wait five minutes. It could definitely wait five minutes. He'd earned five minutes.
He'd had to track down and dispatch five rogue Shax demons through the streets of Manhattan. He was entitled to a minute of peace for each one, he reasoned.
He was covered in ichor. He was exhausted. All he wanted was a mug of hot chocolate, a bath and at least eight hours sleep curled up next to Magnus. Was that too much to ask? he questioned as he unlocked the loft door and walked in.
Evidently it was, he concluded, as his phone rang again. This time with Izzy's caller ID. He huffed.
"What's up Iz? Have you had any luck tracking–" he began.
"They took him. Alec, I'm so sorry. A shelf collapsed and a load of FÖRÄDLA fell on him. And it went dark. And then another shelf collapsed and a load of ARV BRÖLLOP fell on me and Jace and now–"
"Izzy, Izzy. Calm down. What do you mean they took him, took who?"
But as he stepped further into the penthouse and failed to be greeted by a certain warlock, he had a pretty good idea of who.
Izzy was still spouting nonsense on the other end of the line when he stopped her. He could also make out Jace's muffled voice in the background.
"Enough," Alec said. "Why are you speaking Swedish? Izzy, listen to me, where are you?"
"Some demonic den. I think Magnus called it 'Ik-key-yah' or something. They sell furniture, but everything has weird sounding names and–"
The line went dead.
"Izzy? Izzy? Shit."
He shoved his phone back into his pocket and was just about to rush back to the Institute when a portal appeared in the middle of the lounge. He grabbed his bow and notched an arrow, angled towards the intruder.
A small red-head stumbled out. She raised her hands as soon as she saw him. "It's just me. Friend, Alec."
"What are you doing here?" he asked, bow and quiver vanishing again.
"I was on the phone to Jace when the line went dead. He said he couldn't get hold of you."
Clary kept a hand raised towards the portal, keeping it open. She nodded her head towards it. "I know where they are."
Alec didn't hesitate as he strode forward. They both stepped into the swirling vortex and vanished with a flicker of light.
…
His head hurt.
Not, as one would expect, because he had been hit over the head with a three-tiered cake stand. Ohhh no. His head hurt because the tiny little demon in front of him would not. Shut. Up.
It spoke in Swedish, a language Magnus was familiar enough with, but not fluent in.
His hands had been tied behind his back with what the demon had called a "RISÖ", as if he'd been trying to sell Magnus the damn thing.
"RISÖ," it said again in its funny voice and made a series of erratic hand gestures. It pointed to Magnus's tied hands. It pointed behind him. "KÖTTBULLAR MED POTATISMOS."
It brought its little hands to its mouth and made a chewing action. When Magnus didn't respond immediately, it went to repeat the actions. "RISÖ–"
"For the last time," Magnus said, interrupting the tiny creature's sales-pitch, "I have no use for a hammock. I have nowhere to put the hammock. And even if I did, I still wouldn't make the purchase because ONE; I do not want to risk developing back problems in my old age. Such a contraption would only ensure such a thing, TWO; my boyfriend is too tall and lanky, so he would not find much joy in something that is ergonomically unsuitable for his body-type, and THREE; IT'S ORANGE."
The little creature huffed, looked away from Magnus, crossed its arms, and began, to Magnus's horror, to sulk.
He was an odd little thing. Magnus couldn't remember the exact name of the species, but he had come across their ilk before. Back in Peru, if he remembered correctly. They were well known for possessing terrible tempers. Or maybe it was terrible appetites? Or just being terrible in general? At that point Magnus didn't really care.
Appearance wise, it looked like a cross between a petulant gnome and a bush baby. There really was no other way to describe it. Humanoid enough, Magnus thought, that it had the potential to be reasoned with.
That conviction did not last long.
"Oh, that's very mature," Magnus said, as the creature proceeded to shred through a bag of SKORPOR KARDEMUMMA. "A mighty show of strength. Don't come crying to me when you can't get the crumbs out of your blanket. There's nothing worse than a scratchy pillow-fort."
For they were, in fact, in a pillow-fort. And, if Magnus was feeling generous (which he wasn't), it was rather a good one. Structurally sound. With no exits or entrances. The demon had teleported them in.
He was trapped in a pillow-fort. He allowed that to sink in. A pillow-fort constructed from cheap, artificial Scandinavian homeware. Now, he had nothing against the Swedes. This was just not how he imagined his evening going.
Magnus turned his attention back to the demon who was now attempting to eat a packet of GRÖNSAKSKAKA. He was finding it difficult. He didn't appear to have many teeth.
"Look," Magnus offered, ever the diplomat, "how about you let me go? Let me leave this hell-hole. This establishment devoid of taste," his eyes wandered to a particularly ugly duvet cover. "Let me return to my friends. And, in exchange, I will BUY YOUR BLOODY HAMMOCK?"
He smiled at the creature he had decided, on a whim, to name 'Joffrey'. "Seem fair?"
The demon turned a very unimpressed, wide-eyed glare on him. "KÖTTBULLAR MED POTATISMOS."
"Yes. You've said that before. I still don't know what it means. If you're trying to intimidate me, it's not working. Have you ever tried to intimidate anyone before? I could give you some pointers. It would cost you, of course. My freedom perhap–"
The creature stood up to its full height, all of about three-foot, and padded closer to where Magnus was sitting. It had to brush a half-dangling curtain out of its way to do so. When it reached Magnus, it snapped its fingers. A jar appeared. He placed it gently in front of Magnus, took a step back and pointed at it.
"KÖTTBULLAR MED POTATISMOS," it squawked.
There was a beat of silence.
"But of course!" Magnus declared suddenly.
The creature's eyes lit up and it started nodding. It may even have tried to smile.
"It's so obvious now!" Magnus continued. "How did I not understand the twenty-three other times you said that?!"
He started pulling at the hammock wrapped around his wrists with a newfound vigour.
"See, the problem is," he continued, staring at the jar of SÅS PEPPARROT (or 'Horseradish Sauce', his brain supplied). "I like myself too much to be eaten. I don't taste very nice anyway. Believe me. Yuck. Warlock. You don't want to eat me. I'm old. Like, old old. No amount of SÅS PEPPARROT is going to fix that deficiency."
It was at that moment that a noise came from somewhere beyond the pillow-fort. It sounded like a human yelling; but sound was so muffled within the fort that it was impossible to tell.
Joffrey looked once more at Magnus, with what appeared to be despair in his bush baby eyes, before he disappeared.
Magnus let out a breath he'd been holding. He looked in front of him and his face scrunched in disgust. With a booted foot he managed to kick the jar away to the opposite end of the fort.
"Swedish-Hell-Sauce," he muttered under his breath. "Not today, Satan."
End Note: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to hear any comments or feedback you have. I'll try and have part two finished for next week, so until then I'll leave you with a couple of teasers:
[1] Alec reveals a talent that Magnus didn't know about.
[2] Swedish cuisine is harder to cook than you might think. Especially if you're a Lightwood