m_findlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
m_findlow) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomweekly2025-03-30 03:00 pm
m_findlow) wrote in fandomweekly2025-03-30 03:00 pm
Entry tags:
[#254] RUBBISH IDEA (TORCHWOOD)
Theme Prompt: #254 -Unexpected success
Title: Rubbish idea
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: M (language)
Bonus: No
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: On a seedy walk home late at night, Ianto’s work finds him unarmed and unprepared.
Should've stopped at two beers, Ianto thought, walking home from the pub, having accepted Owen's invitation. Somehow he’d acquired a companion, a young lad from the same pub, who seemed to be walking in the same direction, and who at least appeared to be a friendly drunk. Just the usual Tuesday night crowd.
He quickly sobered at the sight and sound of a weevil, further up the empty street. ‘Don't move,’ he said, grabbing the lad by the arm.
‘Wha’s that?’
Ianto's expression turned grim. ‘Trouble.’
‘Fucken heck! I heard about these things. Proper monsters, they is!’
‘Look, I can call my friends to come help but right now our priority is not getting mauled to death so that we live long enough to make that call.’
‘Friends? What the bloody hell kids of friends do you have can deal with that thing?’
‘Good ones,’ he replied. ‘With weapons.’
‘What, like a gang? With knives and guns and shit?’
‘Yeah,’ Ianto said, not wanting to waste time arguing. ‘We’re a gang.’ The weevil must have caught on their scent or the sound of them talking because suddenly it was loping across the street in their direction. ‘In the bin now!’
‘Wha?’
Ianto pointed to the wheelie bins sitting out on the pavement at the edge of the gutter, waiting for the trucks to come in the wee hours of tomorrow morning to be collected.
‘No way!’
‘Where else are you going to hide?’ The street was a tight arrangement of two-up two-down houses pressed cheek by jowl along the entire length of the street without so much as a yard of lawn for frontage, colourfully painted doors directly overlooking the footpath. There was no outrunning a weevil once it spotted you, and they had nothing with which to defend themselves if they made a stand. Ianto had faced down dozens of weevils and knew how to handle them – but that was with the right equipment and usually backup. Apart from his wallet and phone he didn't have anything to offer up as an offensive and that simply wasn’t a fair fight.
He pulled open the first of the bright yellow lids and tugged out the top bag of rubbish. With the weight of a human in there it would push down the rest and he’d be able to chuck the last bag in on top of his friend, concealing him completely, even if the weevil managed to lift the bin lid to think of looking in there.
‘You're mental.’
‘Just get in the fucking bin!’ Ianto hissed, the alcohol in his system making him rather looser with his choice of language in the heat of the moment. This was such a bad idea, he thought.
The lad clambered awkwardly into the bin as Ianto held it at an angle to assist, before tipping it back upright, tossing the last bag of rubbish in on top and slamming down the lid before he could get any complaints about it.
The noise had attracted the weevil’s attention now and Ianto could almost imagine it was looking right at him. He had a split second decision to make. Either chance running, knowing he'd have to get lucky to outrun given the length of the street and the lack of anywhere to run that wasn't a direct straight line, or chance the second bin in the hopes that the weevil might be confused and give up on something it couldn't directly see. They were decidedly crafty when they wanted to be, and there was no way of knowing if a weevil could figure out a wheelie bin lid.
Screw it. There was no time for debating it. He flung it open, reaching to grab for the top bag and finding, to his revulsion, that the bin didn't contain bags at all, but that whoever owned the bin had simply tossed the rubbish in directly. Brilliant. He tried to get into it but the bin was tall and without someone there to hold it at an angle for him it was almost impossible.
He looked over his shoulder and the weevil clocked him. Shit! He scrambled, trying to get in any which way he could, bending in half and going in backside first as the rest of him followed, but the inertia and his weight caused the bin to tip. He felt the bin go completely over on its side, slamming into the pavement and momentarily stunning him as rubbish spilled out around him, trying to disgorge him from the bin as well, upside down and having smacked the back of his head into the side of the bin as it impacted the ground.
In a panic, he tried to shuffle back in, grabbing the handled lid with one hand and trying to hold it closed as best could, hoping to god the weevil wasn't about to rip the lid back open on him and drag him from inside. The weevil was undoubtedly making a beeline straight for him as he froze in place, hand exposed, though feeling as if all of him was totally exposed, What an undignified way to go.
He had no idea how long he lay there, upside down and covered in rubbish, the smell so bad he thought he was going to sick up on himself a dozen times over. ‘Is it fucking gone yet?’ He heard a muffled voice call out.
Ianto blinked, remembered where he was and why, and slowly, carefully, pushed open the lid and wriggled himself out, scanning the street and listening for any sounds at all. Nothing. He walked gingerly over to the other bin, still upright, and lifted the lid. ‘I think it's gone,’ he said.
He helped the young man out onto the footpath. ‘Mate, you are absolutely minging,’ he said, scrunching up his face at Ianto.
Ianto shrugged, then swallowed the bile at the back of his throat as the smell hit him again. ‘Well, minging is better than dead, I suppose.’
Title: Rubbish idea
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: M (language)
Bonus: No
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: On a seedy walk home late at night, Ianto’s work finds him unarmed and unprepared.
Should've stopped at two beers, Ianto thought, walking home from the pub, having accepted Owen's invitation. Somehow he’d acquired a companion, a young lad from the same pub, who seemed to be walking in the same direction, and who at least appeared to be a friendly drunk. Just the usual Tuesday night crowd.
He quickly sobered at the sight and sound of a weevil, further up the empty street. ‘Don't move,’ he said, grabbing the lad by the arm.
‘Wha’s that?’
Ianto's expression turned grim. ‘Trouble.’
‘Fucken heck! I heard about these things. Proper monsters, they is!’
‘Look, I can call my friends to come help but right now our priority is not getting mauled to death so that we live long enough to make that call.’
‘Friends? What the bloody hell kids of friends do you have can deal with that thing?’
‘Good ones,’ he replied. ‘With weapons.’
‘What, like a gang? With knives and guns and shit?’
‘Yeah,’ Ianto said, not wanting to waste time arguing. ‘We’re a gang.’ The weevil must have caught on their scent or the sound of them talking because suddenly it was loping across the street in their direction. ‘In the bin now!’
‘Wha?’
Ianto pointed to the wheelie bins sitting out on the pavement at the edge of the gutter, waiting for the trucks to come in the wee hours of tomorrow morning to be collected.
‘No way!’
‘Where else are you going to hide?’ The street was a tight arrangement of two-up two-down houses pressed cheek by jowl along the entire length of the street without so much as a yard of lawn for frontage, colourfully painted doors directly overlooking the footpath. There was no outrunning a weevil once it spotted you, and they had nothing with which to defend themselves if they made a stand. Ianto had faced down dozens of weevils and knew how to handle them – but that was with the right equipment and usually backup. Apart from his wallet and phone he didn't have anything to offer up as an offensive and that simply wasn’t a fair fight.
He pulled open the first of the bright yellow lids and tugged out the top bag of rubbish. With the weight of a human in there it would push down the rest and he’d be able to chuck the last bag in on top of his friend, concealing him completely, even if the weevil managed to lift the bin lid to think of looking in there.
‘You're mental.’
‘Just get in the fucking bin!’ Ianto hissed, the alcohol in his system making him rather looser with his choice of language in the heat of the moment. This was such a bad idea, he thought.
The lad clambered awkwardly into the bin as Ianto held it at an angle to assist, before tipping it back upright, tossing the last bag of rubbish in on top and slamming down the lid before he could get any complaints about it.
The noise had attracted the weevil’s attention now and Ianto could almost imagine it was looking right at him. He had a split second decision to make. Either chance running, knowing he'd have to get lucky to outrun given the length of the street and the lack of anywhere to run that wasn't a direct straight line, or chance the second bin in the hopes that the weevil might be confused and give up on something it couldn't directly see. They were decidedly crafty when they wanted to be, and there was no way of knowing if a weevil could figure out a wheelie bin lid.
Screw it. There was no time for debating it. He flung it open, reaching to grab for the top bag and finding, to his revulsion, that the bin didn't contain bags at all, but that whoever owned the bin had simply tossed the rubbish in directly. Brilliant. He tried to get into it but the bin was tall and without someone there to hold it at an angle for him it was almost impossible.
He looked over his shoulder and the weevil clocked him. Shit! He scrambled, trying to get in any which way he could, bending in half and going in backside first as the rest of him followed, but the inertia and his weight caused the bin to tip. He felt the bin go completely over on its side, slamming into the pavement and momentarily stunning him as rubbish spilled out around him, trying to disgorge him from the bin as well, upside down and having smacked the back of his head into the side of the bin as it impacted the ground.
In a panic, he tried to shuffle back in, grabbing the handled lid with one hand and trying to hold it closed as best could, hoping to god the weevil wasn't about to rip the lid back open on him and drag him from inside. The weevil was undoubtedly making a beeline straight for him as he froze in place, hand exposed, though feeling as if all of him was totally exposed, What an undignified way to go.
He had no idea how long he lay there, upside down and covered in rubbish, the smell so bad he thought he was going to sick up on himself a dozen times over. ‘Is it fucking gone yet?’ He heard a muffled voice call out.
Ianto blinked, remembered where he was and why, and slowly, carefully, pushed open the lid and wriggled himself out, scanning the street and listening for any sounds at all. Nothing. He walked gingerly over to the other bin, still upright, and lifted the lid. ‘I think it's gone,’ he said.
He helped the young man out onto the footpath. ‘Mate, you are absolutely minging,’ he said, scrunching up his face at Ianto.
Ianto shrugged, then swallowed the bile at the back of his throat as the smell hit him again. ‘Well, minging is better than dead, I suppose.’
no subject
no subject
no subject