#ikea flat pack assembly

[a-wolf-at-the-door]

thinking about capitalism & art… thinking about how the commodification of art as “entertainment” and then “content” is reducing quality for mass appeal… thinking about how art is at its best and most truly universal when it’s at its most specific… thinking about how marketing and control groups sand off all the interesting detailing and texture… thinking about how so much of my media diet is the artistic equivalent of Wonder Bread and IKEA furniture… thinking about how we need to bring back niches and specificity and learning your craft by practicing and engaging with the experts/masters instead of trying to make blandly appealing but much more Convenient substitutes and rake in those profits…

[flatpackassembler]

Flat Pack Assembly Cost | flatpackassembler.com.au

Flat pack assembly is a popular way to purchase furniture. It saves space and storage and can reduce the cost of delivery to customers. However, it is important to understand the costs involved.

When hiring a furniture assembly company, look for one that offers a fixed price per item rather than a pay-per-hour rate. This will ensure that you get the best value for your money.

Cost of materials

If you’re planning on installing a new bookcase or shelving system, then you’ll need to consider the cost of materials. These can be expensive, especially if you’re buying from an online retailer. You can reduce the cost of materials by purchasing your own supplies pre-emptively. However, you should note that these costs will be higher than if you hired someone to do the work for you.

Flat pack furniture assembly rates depend on a number of factors, including the type and size of the piece of furniture to be assembled. For example, a simple bookcase is likely to be cheaper than a larger wardrobe with sliding doors. Also, most assemblers charge per hour instead of a daily rate.

It is also worth noting that flat pack assembly cost usually does not come with all the fixings you may need, such as raw plugs or anchor bolts, which could be an extra cost. These can be purchased at a local hardware store for around PS12. This is usually cheaper than paying an assembler to supply them for you.

Cost of labour

Flat pack furniture is a popular choice for those who want to save money. The pieces come as separate components and can be easily assembled by the customer. These items are usually cheaper than their fully assembled counterparts and are also easier to transport. This makes them ideal for those who regularly move home or landlords who need to furnish multiple properties.

Despite the ease of assembling flat-pack furniture, many people still contact a professional to help them put together their purchases. These professionals are able to provide services for a range of prices, but on average, they charge around PS25 per hour for the first hour of labour.

They may also charge for additional costs such as addiction costs, parking fees or if another tradesperson needs to be involved. Typically, a single tradesperson can assemble most flat-pack furniture products in one hour, but large purchases such as outdoor equipment or children’s playgrounds require two tradespeople to complete the work in a reasonable timeframe.

Cost of transport

Flat pack furniture is a great option for people who are looking to save money.

These pieces of furniture come in separate parts and are packaged in boxes with assembly instructions and hardware. However, assembling this type of furniture requires knowledge and skill. If you’re not familiar with putting together flat-pack furniture, you may want to consider hiring someone who does.

The amount of time it takes to assemble your furniture depends on the size and complexity of the pieces. The average time frame is 1-3 hours. It is also important to clear adequate space for the assemblers. This will allow them to work quickly and efficiently.

Many companies offer flat-pack assembly services, although they usually charge a fee by the hour. Make sure to get multiple quotes and compare prices before choosing a company. You should also make sure that the company you hire is reputable and has experience with furniture assembly. They should also provide a list of references and positive online reviews.

Cost of insurance

Whether you are moving into a new home or looking to update your existing furniture, flat pack furniture can be a convenient choice. It is cheaper than purchasing ready-to-assemble furniture from a retail store, and it can be more environmentally friendly. However, it can be difficult to assemble and install, so it is important to find a furniture installer who is competent and experienced.

A reputable furniture assembly experts service will have references and positive online reviews. They should also be licensed and insured in case of an accident or damage to your property. They should also offer a clean-up service that includes removing boxes and extra pieces.

Many assembling companies charge an hourly rate and have minimum fees that must be met. This helps them cover costs such as business overhead, tools, and insurance. This can add up to a large bill for small jobs, such as assembling a bedside cabinet or chest of drawers.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

i would've requested something so much earlier but for some reason your ask box wasn't showing on my mobile at all?? very strange

soo since i was helping my mom assemble some garden chairs recently, how about drabbles about M6 dealing with assembling ikea furniture and how good/bad they're at it:3

The Arcana Drabbles: M6 building IKEA furniture

You'd like to say that you've seen the shop in worse condition, but ... you really haven't. The six adults scattered across the the floor and scrabbling through the pile of flat-pack boxes that arrived earlier aren't helping (though you can tell they're really, really trying to -).

"UGH!" Lucio groans, crumpling an ill-fated leaflet in his golden hand, "this makes no SENSE!"

"Of course it wouldn't," Nadia calmly responds from her chair. Did she drag that out of the back room? "it has writing on it, and I've never seen you patient enough to read."

"I CAN READ -"

"I can't, apparently." Julian hangs his head mournfully over the pile of screws he's laid out. You're pretty sure half the pieces don't belong to the kit he's currently crouched over, and they're arranged in a fashion eerily similar to surgical tools. "The first step calls for piece 'a'! I can't find piece 'a'! How am I supposed to build this if I can't find piece 'a'?"

You step cautiously past Nadia's pristine workspace and peer at Julian's leaflet. You're pretty sure you saw piece 'a' a minute ago scattered in the wreckage that is Lucio's general vicinity and you don't know how to break that news to the languishing doctor.

"Hah! I did it!"

Portia pops up from where she's been sitting behind the counter, triumphantly twirling her little metal screwdriver. "Tadaa! I don't know how to pronounce the official name of this, but here are your new cabinets, oh great magician shopkeeper." She gives you a giggling bow and waves her hand at the finished piece. "Where do you want me to put it?"

"You can leave it where it is for now, I still need to decide - Asra? What's that?"

"Hm?"

The magician looks at you over their shoulder, sitting cross-legged on the countertop with their back hiding whatever it is they're working on against the wall. "I'm almost done."

That's cryptic. "Done with what?"

He smirks. "This." The structure they reveal may have started as furniture, but currently resembles a modern art piece. You don't know what it is.

"What is it?"

"Ah ..." His voice trails off, and he flushes sheepishly. "Well, it's going to be shelves when it's done, I just took the less conventional route." They flash you a dimpled grin. "I'll keep working on it."

It's as you're turning away that you notice piece 'a' must have just been plucked from Lucio's floor space and creatively attached to the structure. Thankfully, Julian still doesn't seem to have noticed.

"WHERE ARE MY PIECES GOING?!"

... however, it seems like Lucio did notice. You approach the whirlwind of screws and random wooden pieces, the ex-count sitting at the center of the chaos like a loud, confused island. "Which pieces are you missing?"

"I don't know! I just took apart the thing I was working on -" he waves his crumpled leaflet with a pout, "- and now I have less than I started with! Asraaa -"

"Don't look in my direction." Asra gives Lucio an uncharacteristically cold scowl and makes a show of pulling piece 'a' from the artwork that is, to their credit, starting to look more like a shelving unit. It drops on the floor and rolls into Julian's pile.

"A-ha! I've found it! You've fled from my grasp for long enough, you scoundrel. Finally, I can begin!" The doctor snatches it up in delight and flips excitedly through his leaflet.

"JULES!" You'd think Lucio had gotten sunburned with how red he's turning.

"I'm pretty sure that wasn't one of your pieces, Lucio. Why don't you show me what the first step was, again?"

Lucio grumbles and begins un-crumpling his instruction manual. It's while he's distracted that you see the large hand reaching into the sea of his pieces and snatching a tiny screw. You follow it back to the corner where its owner has been sitting silently the whole time, and your jaw drops.

Three completed furniture pieces are neatly arranged in a row, a fourth one quickly reaching completion in Muriel's lap. You knew he was a good craftsman, but it's almost like the screws dance into place under his precise touch. You watch him glance at his open manual, spot the cross-shaped piece under Lucio's knee, and then silently snap it up as soon as the ex-count's head is turned. A small, smug smile dances across his bent face when another confused shriek follows shortly after.

"ANOTHER ONE DISAPPEARED! IT WAS CROSS-SHAPED, IT WAS HERE AND NOW IT'S NOT -"

"Silence."

Nadia massages her temples, clearly fighting off a migraine.

"Noddy, I -"

"Enough." Nadia leans back and sighs. She's pulled out a set of trays and organized each unused manual with all the screws and small pieces needed, laid out in order of use. She holds out one hand and Muriel silently flicks the piece she's looking for into her palm - right after pulling it from under Lucio's boot. "I've been taking your pieces, in order to better organize our endeavors."

"Noddy, how could you?!"

"How about some tea? Doesn't that sound nice?!"

Portia's aggressive sunshine smile overrides the growing storm, giving Nadia a moment to massage her temples and momentarily cowing Lucio. You smile. "Tea sounds nice right now."

Portia claps her hands, skipping around the counter. "Great! Do you have any snacks?"

You shake your head slowly. "I ran out this morning, but if anyone wants to buy cookies I can give you some -"

"Cookies?!" Lucio stands bolt upright, heading straight for the door. "Don't worry about it! I'll get them!"

The door slams shut behind him and the room is suddenly quiet, his excited shouting fading around an outside street corner. To your surprise, it's Muriel who breaks the silence.

"Cookies? ... that's all it takes?"

[carmybears]

Assembly Required

or - The Inherent Eroticism of Swedish Furniture

This started as a joke and quickly spiraled out of hand

pairing: carmy berzatto X female!reader

summary: What's a new apartment without a trip to Ikea? Building Ikea furniture with Carmy and christening a new apartment

word count: 3.8K

warnings: explicit content, 18+; oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it), praise kink, hair pulling, dirty talk, mentions of carmy's gold chain, established relationship

There’s nothing quite as humbling as assembling Ikea furniture.

For such a young man, Carmy had already accomplished a lot more in his life than he ever really expected he would – not just graduating culinary school but excelling in it, working in some of the finest dining establishments in the world, winning a James Beard award, and reopening the family restaurant essentially from the ground up. But god help him if the assembly instructions for this Ingolf dining chair weren’t just going to get the best of him.

Over the course of the past several months, you and Carmy had been in the whirlwind process of moving in together. Deciding to get a place together was one of the easiest decisions he had made since returning to Chicago – he already essentially lived in your apartment, so it only made sense to find a place for the both of you when his lease was up. Apartment hunting had been something of a chore, and he shuddered to think of some of the places you’d seen in listings before stumbling across a shockingly spacious 1 bedroom with a decently renovated kitchen, a surprising amount of natural light, and a relatively easy commute to both the restaurant and your office.

House Hunters, eat your heart out.

As your move-in date came ever closer, every spare moment of your time together had become dedicated to preparing for the move. Many nights, the two of you had shared stories about your own respective days at work over piles of clothes to donate or cardboard boxes lined with packing paper and bubble wrap. Not exactly the sexiest of dates, but he knew that he’d have you all to himself before long.

The day of the actual move went surprisingly well, despite the long hours you’d spent moving boxes from one apartment to the other. Carmy already had very little stuff to actually move, and you’d talked him into hiring professional movers to take the furniture and heavier items to the new place. It left the two of you with plenty of time to methodically move from room to room, unpacking as many boxes as you could before absolutely running out of energy at the end of the day, collapsing on a hastily made bed. It was only at sunrise, when the light began to stream directly into Carmy’s eyes, that you realized you needed to buy curtains.

Well, you needed more than just curtains. In fact, you needed several pieces of furniture and had planned to use Carmy’s second consecutive day off as an opportunity to drive out to the Ikea in Shaumburg and check several items off of your shopping list.

You arrived shortly after opening, and Carmy sipped a gas station coffee lazily from a paper mug as the two of you wandered side by side through the store, occasionally sidetracked by a display featuring items you most certainly did not need. If he hadn’t been with you, he wouldn’t have necessarily enjoyed the shopping process – He had always chosen his furnishings based more on function than form, which he supposed was how he had ended up with a tattered, striped couch that you deemed “fit for a frat basement” and insisted was not allowed in your shared apartment. Still, seeing your eyes light up as you strayed away from his side to pinch the fabric of a throw blanket between your fingers or inspect a set of glassware was surprisingly endearing to him as you leisurely meandered your way through the labyrinthine showroom.

You returned home that afternoon with a bounty of flat packed treasures – four ingolf dining chairs, a Fjallbo coffee table, Hemnes dresser, plus whatever other odds and ends you had thrown into the bright blue and yellow canvas bag. The rest of the day had been spent assembling furniture, a growing mountain of cardboard and Styrofoam amassing along the outskirts of the living room with each item you constructed. The coffee table and dresser had come together with little difficulty, although now Carmy was suspecting that he had met his match as he struggled to comprehend just where exactly he was supposed to be placing a screw in the first of four dining chairs that remained to be assembled.

“You look stumped. Lemme take a look,” you offer, crawling across the new area rug to him.

“Take it,” he relinquishes the instruction sheet to you readily. “I think it’s scrambling my brain just lookin’ at this too long.”

You study the instructions for a moment before pulling the miscellaneous pieces closer to you, brow furrowed in concentration as you pick up the allen wrench and begin the assembly process

He watches in admiration as you work, the chair starting to take form before his very eyes as you hum along to the song playing on the Bluetooth speaker you had set on your newly assembled coffee table. You’re dressed in an Original Beef of Chicagoland t-shirt that you’d stolen from the back office at the restaurant shortly after the grand opening of The Bear, and your crossed legs were bare, save for a black pair of athletic shorts that left very little to the imagination. For a moment, he’s entranced by your thighs, the thought flitting across his mind how he wouldn’t mind being in between them right about now, when he notices a garish mark near your inner thigh.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asks, fingers automatically reaching out to brush across your skin where an angry looking bruise has formed.

“Hmm?” you glance away from your work, down to your lap. “Must just be from moving around all these boxes. It’s no big deal.”

“Sure it doesn’t hurt?” His hand rests on your bare thigh a moment longer and it’s practically Pavlovian the way his mind starts to wander, thinking of all the ways you still have yet to christen the new apartment.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” You’re hardly paying attention to him, your eyes glued once more to the page. “Do you see a screw laying around somewhere?”

His mind is lost in thoughts of you – your skin against his, your breathy moans in his ear – when he sees you looking at him expectantly. “I’m sorry, what?”

“A screw, Carm. Do you see one laying around here somewhere?”

Without waiting for an answer, you rock forward onto your knees, crawling all around the half assembled chair. He starts to look halfheartedly, idly picking up random pages and pieces of cardboard in search of the missing screw, but mostly he’s just eyeing your ass as you crawl around.

A part of him thinks that maybe he should feel just a little bad that he’s not being more helpful in your search – it had been a long weekend after all, and you still had a long way to go before you were fully unpacked and settled in. But on the other hand, he could easily count on one hand how many times the two of you had been intimate in the past two months – busy work schedules, packing lists, and the occasional bickering about what furniture to keep or sell always seemed to get in the way whenever you two had time alone. Or plain exhaustion – can’t forget about that.

Eventually, you give up, sitting back up with your palms pressed to your knees as you let out a groan of frustration. “I can’t believe we’re missing a fucking screw.”

“I think I know where you can get a fucking screw,” Carmy mumbles, not quite sure what devil on his shoulder has clouded his better judgement.

You look at him incredulously, immediately clocking the innuendo. It’s not like you two don’t talk dirty when the occasion calls for it, but damn Carmy can’t help the blush that creeps up his neck as he realizes how crude his thoughts sound when spoken aloud.

 “Sorry, I’m as surprised by that as you are,” he apologizes quickly. With fidgeting hands, he starts to rifle through the debris on the floor again, struggling to meet your eye.

When he hears you start to laugh, he steals a look back over at you, noticing that the tension has left your shoulders as you melt into his side, squeezing his bicep reassuringly. He looks down at you and allows an uncertain smile to cross his face as he admires the way your eyes crinkle in laughter as you try to catch your breath.

“That has got to be the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said me,” you wheeze. “Please say more.”

You don’t give him the opportunity to say another word because you place your hands on his cheeks and pull him into a kiss, still giggling when your lips first make contact. As he wraps an arm around your waist to draw you closer, you melt against him, kissing him in earnest now. Something stirs in the pit of his stomach and he wants more – especially when he feels your fingers twist and tangle into the curls at the nape of his neck. He pulls you flush against him and you groan into his mouth, planting your knees on either side of his hips. You’re all warmth and softness in his lap, and he swears the very blood in his veins turns molten as he realizes how badly he wants you underneath him.

With a swift arc of his arm, he clears the miscellaneous debris from the rug before easing your back down to the floor. His lips are working their way along the line of your jaw when you hear the clatter of something small and metallic skittering across the hardwoods. And just like that, the spell is broken.

“Do you think that was the missing screw?”

“Hmm could be,” he mumbles into your skin, pressing his lips into that spot at the base of your neck that usually makes you squirm. Instead, you’re craning your head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the screw among the small mountain of trash, saying something under your breath about how you should check it out.

He inches away from you as you begin to prop yourself up on your elbows underneath him.

“The chair’s really that important right now?” he asks, just barely leveling the twinge of annoyance in his voice.

“We need someplace to sit, Carmy,” you counter.

He snorts just a little at your reasoning. “I can think of someplace better for you to sit right now.”

His remark earns him an eye roll from you, but you pause for a moment in hesitation. He takes that moment as leverage, gripping your hips tight in his hands and drawing them up to meet his, groaning in the back of his throat as your bodies make contact.

“You feel what you do to me right?” he asks, shamelessly incapable of stopping himself from rocking his hips against yours in a desperate search for friction. A small whine escapes the back of your throat and his gaze softens as he looks down on you. “I’ve been missing you like crazy.”

He strokes your cheek, fingers grazing down your cheekbone and along your neck, where he can feel your pulse fluttering rapidly. He knows you well enough that he swears he can see your thoughts happening in real time as realization washes over your features.

“We’ve just been so busy,” you offer weakly. “It’s been hard to make the time.”

“I know, I know,” he presses his lips to yours briefly. “Just be here with me right now, baby. I’ll build you all the chairs you want after.”

You nod furiously, balling his shirt up into your first as you pull him back down to you in a searing kiss. He slips an arm underneath you, pressing you ever closer as his fingers slip underneath your shirt, gliding against soft skin until you’re breathless underneath him. He feels you clawing at his t-shirt and together you both move in a flurry to discard your clothing onto the ground beside you. He’s planting open mouthed kisses onto every accessible inch of feverish skin until he has you bare underneath him.

Your fingers are fiddling impatiently with the zipper on his jeans, pushing them lower down his hips until he kneels back on his heels to finish the job for you. You sit up too, pulling his shirt over his head in a hurried motion before grabbing his arm and coaxing him over to the couch with you.

“Floor not good enough for you?” he asks, leaving a trail of kisses over your collar bones as he presses you down into the cushions.

“I’m just already sore,” you protest, your fingers tracing idly across his shoulder blades.

“But I haven’t even done anything yet,” he croons into your ear, bringing a hand up to knead at your breast.

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

And he does know – the subtle aches in the back of his legs and in between his shoulders have been present all day after the grueling hours of moving in the day beforehand. That’s not going to stop him now though, not as your legs fall open under his hands. His dick twitches at the sight of your pussy, evidence of your arousal glistening at the apex of your thighs and he’s like a man enchanted.

“This all for me, baby?” he asks you softly, reaching out to stroke your folds, wetness gathering on his calloused fingers as you squirm into his touch.

“Yes,” you gasp, pleading with him as you grasp his wrist in a feeble attempt to guide his fingers where you so desperately want him. “Carmy, please.”

You don’t have to ask him twice as he sinks two fingers into your snug walls. He studies your face as he touches you – the way you bite back a groan as his fingers stretch you out, admiring the way you tilt your head back, baring your neck to him as the pad of his thumb brushes roughly against your clit.

“Fuck,” you groan. “Carmy.”

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this for me, baby.” It’s true, you do. He thinks you’ve never looked prettier than you do in this apartment, with your proudly thrifted couch, half-built Ikea furniture and granite countertops that he could fuck you on every night if you wanted. With his free hand, he palms heavily over the front of his Calvin Kleins and makes a mental note that the kitchen is next in line for christening. But he has something he wants to do first.

You whine when he removes his hand from between your legs, but before you can protest, he’s maneuvering your thighs closer to the edge of the couch and angling your hips toward himself as he sinks to his knees in front of you.

He can feel your thighs trembling already in anticipation around him and you’re swearing under your breath before he’s even had his first taste of you. He starts with a few furtive licks, allowing the smell and taste of you to invade his senses before delving in deeper, lapping at your drenched pussy with languid strokes of his tongue. Wrapping one arm around your thigh, he pulls your leg over his shoulder, causing a shift of your hips that has the tip of his nose nudging against your clit. He steals a look back up at you just in time for you to cry out in pleasure, hands reaching down to tangle in his hair. Increasingly frantic, you tug at the roots, guiding his mouth where you want him, hips grinding senselessly into his nose and wanting mouth.

“Oh my fucking god,” you groan above him as his lips close around your clit, humming softly. He glides two fingers back into you, thrusting them in and out of you in time with the tight circles he’s making around your clit with his tongue.

“Carmen,” you sob his full first name – not Carmy, not baby, not Chef – Carmen. “Don’t fucking stop. JesusfuckingChrist don’t stop.”

He doesn’t stop – wouldn’t dream of it. Even as your thighs clamp together around his head, he’s dizzy with the taste of you, groaning into your pussy as he pushes his tongue into you, big nose pressed into your clit in just the precise way that has you falling apart for him. You’re babbling incoherently as you cum on his face, and he doesn’t hesitate to lap up every wave of pleasure that rolls over you until you’re squirming, oversensitive under his lips.

“Too much, Carm,” you beg. “Please.”

 He nuzzles a kiss into your inner thigh, lips pressed right above the bruise he noticed earlier, before crawling back up to you. Your chest is heaving against his as you limply wrap your arms around the back of his neck and he drags his lips along your throat.

“Absolutely insane that we haven’t done this in so long,” you pant, curling your fingers tightly in his hair to angle his mouth back toward yours. He swallows the groan you make when you taste yourself on his tongue and his dick twitches in his underwear at the sensation of your fingernails scratching at his scalp, raking down his back.

“C’mere,” you mumble against his lips, and in an awkward tumble of limbs, you both maneuver so that he’s laying prone on the coach with you sitting at his hips. He can feel the heat of your core so easily through his briefs that he thinks he may go insane. You drive a merciful hand under the waistband of his underwear and grab his aching cock so firmly in your hand that it makes his head spin just a bit as your thumb grazes over the tip. You pump the shaft expertly once, twice and he’s not even quite sure that he’s speaking English anymore.

“Wanna be inside you so bad, baby.”

“Sure you don’t want me to return the favor?” You’re easing his underwear down his thighs, all the while looking him directly in the eyes, your gaze heated. He knows right then and there that he wouldn’t last 5 seconds in your mouth.

“Another time,” he rasps, reaching toward you in a desperate attempt to feel your delicate fingers or the soft curve of your hips – he’ll take any little bit you have to give him. “Just want you now.”

You rock your hips against him, coating the length of him in your wet heat; a low groan in the shape of your name escapes his throat. He wants to chastise you for teasing him, but before he can find the words, you sink down onto him with a soft “Oh.”

There’s a moment of stillness and he drinks in the sight of you, eyes fluttering shut and lips thoroughly kissed and swollen. He can’t help the way the words tumble out of his mouth – “I love you.”

“But I haven’t even done anything yet,” you grin cheekily.

And that’s when you move.

You’re hot and wet around him and he’s absolutely mesmerized by the sight of his cock disappearing into you repeatedly as you move above him.

 “Fuck, you ride my dick so well, baby,” he praises, cupping one breast in his hand, kneading the soft flesh there in time to the rhythm of your hips rocking against his.

There’s a slight tug at the base of his neck as the hand you’ve leveraged against his chest catches on his golden chain, your fingers curling around the glistening metal as if to tether yourself to him. Something flips like a switch then and he needs more of you.

He grabs your hips roughly on the next thrust, pulling you back down onto him so that he’s buried to the hilt. You cry out and grasp at the back of the couch for balance but let him continue to guide your hips, doing everything you can to keep up with the rougher pace he’s setting for you.

“You good?” He checks in, praying the answer is yes.

“Fuck, Carm,” you groan, digging your fingers into his arm and he can feel the stinging sensation of little crescent moons pressing into the skin. “s’good.”

He can feel how badly your legs are shaking as you match his every move. Heat pools in the bottom of his stomach and he knows he won’t be long now. Maintaining the pace as best as he can, he slides a hand between your bodies, swirling his fingertips around the swollen bud of your clit in a way that makes you swear out loud.

Your thighs clench hard on either side of him and it’s all he can do not to fall apart immediately. You’ve all but collapsed onto his chest and your breath is hot on his neck as you whine to him that you’re close.

“I gotchu,” he promises, fingertips still working in time with his hips. “Come for me.”

And you do.

The sensation of your pulsing walls around him is all at once too much and not enough as he digs his heels into the couch, thrusting erratically into you several more times, chasing his high. With a throaty groan, he screws his eyes shut as a wave of euphoria washes over him. For just a few brief seconds, it’s as if there’s nothing in his world but you.

Limbs heavy and bodies absolutely spent, you lay facing each other, just barely able to fit laying side by side on the couch. If he had the foggiest idea which box a throw blanket had been packed into, he would have pulled one up and around your shoulders. Instead, he settles for curling himself around you, skin still flushed and heated from moments before as you tangle your fingers idly in his hair, gazing at him through heavily lidded eyes. He kisses the tip of your nose and runs the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone as your eyes flutter shut.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he jostles your shoulder lightly.

“Mmmh,” you harrumph. “I know, I know. We should get cleaned up.”

“No, I was gonna say we have some chairs to build.”

The smack he receives to the chest is well deserved. Nevertheless, you allow him to coax you from the couch to a warm shower. Afterward, as you finish dressing and preparing for bed, he pads back out to the living room, sifting once again through the pile of cardboard until the glimmer of something silver catches his eye.

You step into the room just in time to see him setting the lost screw atop the coffee table.

“A project for tomorrow,” you promise.

“Tomorrow,” he agrees, pressing his lips to your forehead.

He thinks of all the tomorrows you have ahead of you – together in your shared apartment, in your shared lives. And he can’t help but be excited for every single one.

[calamitys-child]

It is so important to me as a person that I strive to always be, in this order, 1. Helpful and 2. Goofy. If helpful is not possible in a given situation, goofy is the next option. All this to say due to work commitments I could not this year make my mum breakfast in bed for her birthday like I usually would, but I Did manage to put together a parody IKEA manual for flat-pack toast and coffee (some assembly required)

[eilooxara]

Is assembly of ikea furniture meaningfully different from assembly of any other flat pack furniture

like

People talk about ikea furniture assembly as if it's its own thing but it sure seems like every other flat pack thing (having not tried it)

[thunderheadfred]

I talk about IKEA a weird amount over here, which is funny to me because I don't actually shop there THAT often; maybe once or twice a year because we live nearby. IKEA is like my expensive adult LEGO indulgence I guess. We can afford a big new piece of furniture from them like once every few years (or sometimes an entire kitchen lol) and I get to go nuts and put it all together, and my reward is not only the fun of building a thing, but also having a decent, sturdy piece of furniture that just works and looks clean and does the thing it's supposed to do.

I enjoy this. I have never struggled to assemble IKEA furniture. I guess my brain just works in IKEA diagrams, I don't know. I watch videos where people complain about putting together a basic set of drawers and I'm like. RIP to that guy, I'm built different I guess. (perhaps built by IKEA)

I just assumed everyone could easily assemble flat-pack furniture??? That everyone enjoys knolling the parts and reading the instructions front to back before starting and making faces at the dumb IKEA cartoon man when he tries to do a team lift alone.

The only part of IKEA I don't like is actually going into the IKEA, because it's always crowded in there and someone's kid is always having a meltdown and the parents are always lost and can't escape. Meanwhile I just want to perpetually browse the marketplace for $1 soap dispensers and toilet brushes and tupperware and cheap seasonal wall art.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Omg from the domestic activities post- #1 would be hilariouuuussss

1. building a new piece of furniture from a flat pack together

The pieces of the Tufjord lay scattered on the bedroom floor in a map of insurmountable defeat.

Yuanzhi tosses a screw to the pile of of accessories and promptly declares he is going to look for a drink.

“No you’re not,” Shangjue says, grabbing him by the waist and pulling him back down onto his lap. Wrapping his arms around him, he traps his husband, soothing the capture with kisses to the corner of Yuanzhi’s lips, pecking his cheek and huffing a breath of laughter right behind his ear when he starts to whine.

“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t have gotten one that was already assembled. Or even had someone assemble it for us.”

Shangjue squeeze the man in his embrace. Shaking his head, he puts on moue of mock reluctance. “I can’t have that! What if my Yuanzhi sees those capable men assemble our bed for us and…!” He lets out a gasp. “He falls in love with their competence and leaves me because I can’t put up an IKEA bed for him?”

Yuanzhi is properly amused now, laughing along when Shangjue rubs his cheeks to Yuanzhi’s shoulder. “Don’t leave me, Yuanzhi ah! I can’t build IKEA furnitures for you but I promise I’ll be good to you and treat you right!”

Shangjue lets Yuanzhi throw his arm around his shoulder, giggling when the tip of his nose is kissed.

The warmth in his heart glows when Yuanzhi pulls back to caress his face. “I know. You’re the best man I have ever known. I married you because I know you’ll never let me down in the ways that matter most.”

“Yuanzhi ah…” Shangjue smiles, linking their hands together. In the afternoon light, their wedding rings glint. “You’re really good to me.”

“I’m glad you see that.”

Shangjue pulls him closer. “So, I’ll be good to you too, okay?”

Yuanzhi merely lowers his gaze, a small smile curling at his cherry red lips. “Mn…”

After a beat, Yuanzhi quietly asks, “Do we really need a bed frame to be able to christen our bedroom?”

Shangjue tilts his face to Yuanzhi, wiggling his eyebrows. He doesn’t need telling twice to pick his husband up, swallowing up his laughter with kisses and a happy chuckle of his own.

[rimeswithpurple]

Thank you so much for the tag @hushed-chorus ! I just finished my latest Simon and Baz drawing, so I haven’t got much to show. Summer vacation is in full swing at my house and in my infinite wisdom I didn’t book any summer camps. So I instituted some mandatory quiet crafting or reading time and this is what I was able to get done. I’m still playing dollhouse with the boys and now they’re building flat pack furniture. It’s one of my favorite Bluey episodes and I’ve always loved assembling IKEA furniture. I definitely see Baz as the park and bark sort, while Simon does the actual building.

Tags under the cut!

@prettygoododds @ebbpettier @artsyunderstudy @aristocratic-otter @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @valeffelees @blackberrysummerblog @letraspal @skeedelvee

[lovelymimic]

Can the futons at mimic ikea still transform from couch to bed and back while remaining disguised or is it all flesh and teeth in there? Do mimic ikea items come flat-packed and you have to assemble and grow them yourself? Given the size and labyrinthine construction of a typical ikea, does leaving there count as clearing a dungeon? If so how much XP is doing so worth and what boss do you have to fight to check out?

depends how much work the mimic's putting in; I reckon one could do an accurate futon if it felt inclined and understood that that was a thing futons did.

Mimics can't take discontinuous shapes, so the flat packs would, depending on intent, contain either a hungry mimic waiting to ambush you when you open it, or, i dunno, a mimic with some idea of having a job being your couch or something in exchange for lots of food.

Mimic Ikea is 100% a dungeon, but I've never really bothered to hammer out the specifics, so i leave the checkout experience to your imagination.

[bloodfromthethorn]

Some Assembly Required

Filling in a few of the prompts for @rosieblogstuff's June MacGyver Flashfic Writealong.

Also on Ao3

..

For a genuine, certified genius, Jack didn't think he'd met anyone as goddamn stupid as Angus Macgyver. The kid had brains and statistics and sheer, unstoppable determination in spades, but even after eight weeks in the field as a government agent he still hadn't quite picked up the habit of not charging headlong into active gunfire. He'd been warned about it repeatedly and occasionally with diagrams and yet, here they were again. Sure, Mac had insisted that he had a plan and, yes, technically his actions had been directly responsible for both neutralising the gunmen and incapacitating their target ready for capture, but it was the principle of the thing.

He genuinely didn't seem to grasp that the mission didn't matter to Jack if it got Mac killed.

Bizarrely, it made Jack think of flat pack furniture: the kid had all the right parts to become an incredible agent – clever, bold, determined,  good  – but getting it all to come together just right was still going to take some work. Some assembly required, as the saying goes. Which, on reflection, was pretty ironic considering Jack was sure Mac could put together an IKEA bookcase the same way that math whizzes could solve Rubik's cubes. All he'd need to do was blink and boom, there'd be a Kallax in the middle of his living room. 

…He might be getting off-topic.

The point was, the kid had the potential to be good. To be great, even. Jack was damn near certain that with the right guidance and a long enough lifespan to get some experience behind him, Mac could become one of the finest agents the US government had ever seen. The only problem was, he didn’t seem particularly invested in living long enough for that to happen. 

If it had been the first time, Jack might have been willing to let it go as youthful inexperience but if twice was a coincidence and three times was a pattern, then what did that make six times? In Jack's book, nothing good. Certainly nothing that he could allow to stand any longer. It had been a pressure point of their partnership ever since Mac graduated from spy school – with flying colours, needless to say – and it was long past time they sat down and dealt with it like adults.

At least, that's what he would have said if Mac hadn't rabbited the second he had the chance.

To be fair, hours later and more level-headed, Jack could admit that Mac was having a rough day. He’d had to tolerate Jack yelling in his face in the field, followed by getting the silent treatment the whole flight home, despite Mac’s multiple attempts at having a civil conversation. Then he’d arrived back in LA only to be absolutely reamed by Thornton for a solid twenty minutes, locked at Attention, staring straight ahead as the words washed over him. He hadn’t complained, he hadn’t flinched. Hell, he’d barely even blinked. 

And then, entirely unsurprisingly to anyone who’d been paying the slightest bit of attention, he’d done the one thing Jack hadn’t wanted him to: he’d taken himself home alone, and hadn’t been heard from since. 

In hindsight, he should have expected it. Mac was more open and pushy with Jack than with just about anyone, but he still had moments of doubt. Moments when Jack's rough edges had him concerned he'd somehow overstepped a line and ended up with him backing off like he was afraid he'd only do more harm if he stuck close. In their year and a half together, Jack had seen it a handful of times and it never failed to make him feel like an ass. Mac's trust in Jack's abilities was immense and nearly unbearable, but at the same time his belief in Jack's affection for him was fragile and gun-shy. All it took some days was a few harsh words, and the kid would retreat into himself like he'd been hit. 

After a long, stressful mission that was capped off by Jack kicking off over Mac's repeated failure to watch out for his own safety? Of course he'd make himself scarce. 

It was, coincidentally, the exact same reasoning for why Jack wasn't about to let him shut himself away.

He showed up at Mac's door roughly two hours after they'd landed back in LA. He'd been able to use the flight time to write most of his after-action report since he'd been looking for distractions to avoid talking to Mac, and debrief had been pretty short and sweet from his side. A quick detour to the showers to wash off the worst of the grime, and here he was, ready to mend some bridges. All he needed to do was keep his cool, the way he hadn't out in the field. He could do this.

On opening the front door to find the house eerily still and an opened first aid kit scattered across the kitchen counter, Jack rapidly started revising that statement.

“Mac?” He called out, automatically putting one hand on the sidearm tucked into the back of his jeans just in case. “You in here, bud?”

There was a long, tense pause. Then, quietly from down the hall, “Bedroom.”

Jack was moving before Mac had a chance to reach the end of the word. He didn't sound distressed or in pain, though there was definitely a lowness of tone that spoke of despondency, or perhaps resignation. He sounded a thousand miles from being happy that Jack was there.

Mac’s bedroom door was ajar, so Jack pushed it open with light fingers, still battling down the swell of adrenaline and panic so that he could at least try to start this conversation from a rational position. The room beyond was empty. “Mac?”

Fortunately for everyone involved, Mac didn’t give him long enough to freak out further before he appeared, whole and seemingly well, in the doorway to the ensuite. “Here,” he said lowly, raising one hand in a vaguely sarcastic wave. “What are you doing here? I thought you wanted to head home to get some sleep.”

“I– uh,” Jack started haltingly, automatically scanning Mac for anything that would justify someone scavenging the first aid kit and coming up empty. The dissonance between what he’d feared and the truth of what he could see before him clanged hollowly in his gut. “Uh, yeah. But I wanted to make sure you were alright first.”

Instead of rolling his eyes like Jack had expected him to, Mac just sighed. “I’m fine. Tired.”

“I’ll bet.” He paused, evaluating how he could push without forcing Mac to retreat even further. “Sorry, I’m not trying to get all up in your business, I promise, but– I saw the first aid kit and I thought… I dunno. Maybe something happened?”

Considering he’d walked up to Mac’s front door with a firm plan in mind, this was already going terribly. In all the time since they’d been back in the States, Jack had never felt so viscerally unwelcome in Mac’s home, and his own confusing jumble of emotions was certainly not about to help matters. Mac looked… exhausted. Worn down. Like Jack was just another in a long series of things Mac had had to put up with, when his daily quota for dealing with shit was already maxed out. Abruptly, Jack wondered if he hadn't actually made a huge mistake in coming here.

“It's nothing,” Mac responded woodenly. “Just a scratch.”

Jack's eyebrow crept up. “You trip and fall on your way through the door or something?”

“No, it's– Look. Why are you here? You seemed pretty keen to be rid of me earlier.”

It was Jack's turn to sigh, mentally rallying all the talking points he'd cued up on the drive over. “That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I owe you an apology. What you did back there was reckless as all hell and we do need to have a conversation about how you handle yourself on missions, but I shouldn't have yelled at you, and certainly not when we were still in the field. It was a shit way of handling my own panic and worse, it was absolutely the wrong way of trying to correct you. I'm sorry about it. I'll do my best to make sure it doesn't happen again.”

The apology felt lessened somehow, delivered as it was across the wide emptiness of Mac's bedroom. Neither of them had moved from their posts by the room's respective doors. It was a far cry from the friendly chat around the firepit Jack had half-expected. 

The strain of it compelled him to continue. “You know, I forget how new you are to this. When we're out there and you're doing your thing, it's so hard to remember that you've only been doing this a few weeks. I shouldn't be surprised when you make a bad judgement call because you don't know any better yet. That's my bad, and I'll work on it, I promise.”

Mac still stood, unresponsive, gazing back at him with a faintly blank expression. He looked surprised, to a certain extent, but anything more was guarded away too carefully for Jack to parse. It was more than a little unnerving considering how easily Jack was usually able to read him.

“Mac?” He asked gently, caught off-guard by the complete lack of response. He’d expected either anger (likely) or warm relief (substantially less likely), so the absence of both felt out of place. Mac wasn’t usually one to take things like this lying down. “You okay bud?”

That drew a reaction out of him, finally, though not entirely the one Jack had hoped for. A line appeared between his eyebrows and he bit his lip for a moment, evidently weighing up what he wanted to say. And, of course, it was only now that Jack properly registered the kid didn’t just look tired – he looked pale. Alarm bells sprang into life so loudly, he nearly missed it when Mac finally responded. 

“There’s something I should have told you. You’ll be mad.” That was the only warning he gave before Mac reached up to tug at his loose-fitting shirt – one of Jack’s, he realised distantly – pulling the neck wide enough to reveal the neat line of stitches marching over the rise of his trapezius. The skin around it was red and puffy, freshly irritated. “One of those bullets got a little closer than I’d thought,” he explained before Jack could demand answers. “It’s shallow and it’ll be fine, but I know I should have told you about it.”

Jack’s first response was, unsurprisingly, to just about lose his shit. Finding out Mac was hurt was never an easy transition, but finding out he was hurt and that he’d purposefully hidden that fact? In any other circumstance, Jack would already be yelling. But. 

But. 

He’d already made that mistake once today. 

It didn’t help that it was obvious that was precisely what Mac was expecting from him, and that he’d already braced for it. He'd acquired that vacant, distant stare familiar to soldiers the world over who knew they were about to get the dressing down of a lifetime. Mac knew he was in trouble and he knew he couldn't talk his way out of it, so until the yelling was done, he'd checked out of the conversation. He'd just let it wash over him and do nothing more than hope that none of it was vicious enough to get through his armour. It was the same expression he’d worn when facing down Thornton. 

Except maybe Jack wanted to be done making that mistake. Maybe this time he could do what he should have done back out in the field. It wouldn’t make up for what he’d done, but maybe that wasn’t the point. 

“Ah, kid,” he said softly and tried not to wince when Mac’s head came up sharply in surprise. “What have you done to yourself?” 

He crossed the room slowly, like he was trying to approach a spooked horse, but it didn’t seem necessary. Mac had frozen in place to watch him. The view up close wasn���t actually as bad as he’d feared; as promised, the wound was relatively small – just skimming through the very top of his shoulder – and Mac had done a good job on the stitches. The wound was bad, but it could have been so much worse. 

Jack’s hand skimmed lightly over the ball of Mac’s shoulder, watching carefully as the damaged skin shifted and the stitches held. He’d still far rather that they’d been put in by a medical professional, but it was done and done well, so Jack made himself let it go with a quiet sigh. 

“You take some pain meds?”

Mac nodded. 

“And you cleaned it out good?”

“Yes. Honestly, I didn’t even know it was there until I got home and I… I just didn’t want to have to go all the way back to the office.”

Didn’t want to have to face Jack or Thornton again is what he didn’t say, but Jack fought not to let the sting of it show on his face. It was nothing he didn’t deserve. “Okay,” he said instead of arguing. Mac twitched in surprise again. “Just make sure you keep an eye on it for infection. If it gets worse, you’ll need to see a doctor, alright?”

“I can do that,” Mac said haltingly, clearly caught off guard. He let his shirt – Jack’s shirt – fall back into place, hiding the offending stitches from view. “I promise, I didn’t know about it before.”

“I believe you,” he said simply. It wasn’t the conversation he’d come here to have, and against all odds, the gunshot wound was somehow the lower priority topic. It was a testament to how badly the day had gone that Jack could admit that. 

Mac’s faint relief was palpable in the thin air between them and Jack hated to break it, but it had to be done. “We do need to talk though. About earlier.”

Instantly, all of Mac’s slack muscles snapped taut. He straightened up sharply, but didn’t speak.

All on Jack then. Okay. “Like I said, I didn’t handle it well earlier and I’m sorry for that. I shouldn’t have yelled. But we do need to talk about you putting yourself in danger like that. You can’t be doing it, Mac. Not if you want to stay in the field.”

Carefully, Mac stepped away. Ostensibly it was so he could perch on the end of his bed, but it was pretty clear it was so he could put some distance between them again. Given that they’d probably need it, Jack couldn’t fault the decision. 

“I didn’t take this job to be safe,” Mac said at length.

“You didn’t take it to die young neither.”

For the first time since Jack had arrived at his door unannounced, Mac showed a hint of frustration with a sharp sigh. “I’m not trying to get killed, you know.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re trying all that hard not to. Mac, you ran right into the middle of a gunfight. No vest or nothing. That scratch on your shoulder is nothing compared to what could have happened if you’d been even slightly less lucky.”

“I know that, but it worked, didn’t it?”

“That wouldn’ta mattered if you’d got killed doing it. Do you understand that? The mission don’t mean anything if I’m bringing you back to Bozer in a box.”

It was a low blow and the scowl on Mac’s face said he knew it. Still, he didn't snap back right away, something pensive buried in his expression beneath the frustration. The thing was, Mac knew he’d fucked up. He knew it wasn’t the first time either. Every time he put himself on the line, he saw his own failure in the abject panic that threatened to tear Jack apart at the seams, and yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He saw a path forwards and he took it, without ever really wanting to consider what it might mean for himself. 

In truth, he missed his own competence. He’d been a bad soldier, with his personal brand of conscientious objection and his chronic inability to follow orders, but he’d been an incredible EOD technician. He’d had some of the best stats in US Army history and he’d been quietly proud of that every day he’d woken up in the hell of the Sandbox. He hadn’t had a lot to feel proud about, lately. 

“I know,” he admitted lowly, dropping his gaze to stare hard at the floor between them. The last of his failing energy bled out of him in a rush. He slumped where he sat. “I know.”

Silence sat between them, Jack too surprised by the resigned admission to come up with anything intelligent to say and Mac too shamefaced to continue defending indefensible actions. Eventually, Mac decided that the only way forward was the truth. It couldn’t hurt more than the secrets had done, surely. 

“I don’t know that I’m cut out for this job,” he confessed. “Doesn’t feel like I’m doing all that well.”

Jack just barely refrained from snorting before he realised Mac was entirely serious. His eyebrows pinched up in strained disbelief. “Man, are you kidding? You’re the best recruit I’ve ever seen. Do you have any idea how many agencies would kill to get someone with even an ounce of your talent?”

Mac huffed, unconvinced.

“Look,” Jack pressed, caught out that this was something he even needed to say. Maybe he’d been being too hard on the kid all along. “I wasn’t joking when I said I forget how new you are to this. You’ve got some improving to do, sure, but that’ll come with experience. For someone who’s only been out of spy school two months, you’ve been doing insanely well. I mean it. I’ve never seen anyone adapt to this work better than you. There’s people who’ve been in the business for decades who couldn’t do what you do.”

He paused for a minute to let that sink in – though he had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t for a long time – then opted for a softer tone. “If you decide that you don’t want this job, then we’re out, no questions asked. I’ll fight Patty myself before I let her put you in the field when you don’t want to be there, but if it’s a matter of you thinking you’re not good enough? I promise you that you are.”

Mac’s whole body seemed to judder at that, eyes bright and wide. He looked lost, desperate for something – anything – to cling to. In the heat of his own anger, Jack had somehow missed just how much the day’s mishaps had shaken his partner. 

Slowly, he crossed the space between them and crouched down to put himself on eye level with where Mac was sitting. He didn’t reach out, wary of touching when it may be unwelcome, but tried to put on his best reassuring expression. “You hear me Angus? You’re doing just fine.”

There was a long, expectant pause and Jack felt his heart faltering in his chest before Mac gave a very hesitant nod, accepting the comfort if only just. Jack breathed out in a rush. Without stopping to let himself think about it anymore, he sat up and leaned in to pull Mac into a hug, pressing his head down against Jack’s shoulder and holding him there. A few heartstopping moments later, Mac reached out and wrapped his arms around Jack in return. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled quietly after a long moment. 

Jack just squeezed him a little tighter, mindful of his shoulder. It was still a long road ahead of them, but Jack had never been so certain of anything as he was that Mac was strong enough to take it. The kid had never once let a little hardship slow him down, and Jack was determined to be beside him every step of the way, ready to lend a shoulder to lean on whenever he needed it. He might have been too focused on everything else to notice the cracks starting to form in Mac’s supports, but he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

“It ain’t nothing,” he told him. “We’re going to be okay, hoss. Promise.”

[flatpackassembler]

Furniture Assembly Experts - Get the Most Out of Your Space

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In addition, they will have experience in putting together various types of furniture and can save you time and money. They will also save you from potential damage to your furniture, which can be expensive to repair if you make an error.

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Maintain Warranty

Flat pack assembly Canberra is tricky business, and can be downright dangerous if not done correctly. Getting your new piece of furniture assembled by professionals can save you both time and money in the long run. Professionals are equipped with all the right tools to get your furniture up and running, while also ensuring it is assembled safely. They can even help you maintain your furniture afterward to ensure it is in tip-top shape for years to come.

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[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Ezra (Prospect) Masterlist

Bekväm** (Ezra x OFC)

Modern!Ezra AU. Ezra may have a nefarious past, but after escaping a long imprisonment (minus one appendage), he wants to rebuild and start over. Literally. Having no belongings of his own, he orders an apartment’s worth of flat-pack IKEA furniture. Unable to put it together himself, he searches Craigslist for someone to assemble it for him, and gets more than he bargained for.

Trigger Points** (Massage Therapist Ezra x f!Reader)

Ezra is a massage therapist. What kind, you ask? Internal massage.

[wileys-russo]

I’m trying to assemble a drawer that I’ve bought at Lidl

why it is so hard😭 I’m an Ikea slut, all my furniture is from there, I’m not used to this hard text comprehension instructions

when it comes to building furniture I am the supervisor and I force my friends to build it for me and I cook them dinner in exchange, im hopeless at flat packs

[leiflitter]

just reread the newest chapter for the like 10th time, honestly so excited/scared to see what’s gonna happen when oliver goes back to oxford😨

Well i mean Felix is gonna get a big cuddly ikea shark and have to assemble flat pack furniture so it's gonna be fucking horrific honestly

[metalcatholic]

Building ikea furniture is not that hard folks I’m sick of people acting like assembling a piece of flat pack furniture is the ultimate test prior to marriage