The Torchwood Drabble Files by badly_knitted



Summary: A collection of drabbles, mostly based on the weekly prompts at tw100. Mostly Jack/Ianto as that's what I write, but no doubt other Torchwood characters will pop in from time to time. All genres are possible, but expect mainly humour and fluff, because that's usually what comes out when I write. All are 100 words exactly in Word, but apparently not here!
Rating: Teen
Categories: Torchwood
Characters: Gwen Cooper, Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, Lisa Hallett, Martha Jones, Myfanwy, Other Character(s), Owen Harper, PC Andy Davidson, Rhiannon Davies, Rhys Williams
Genres: Mixed
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2012.09.23
Updated: 2022.08.17


The Torchwood Drabble Files by badly_knitted
Chapter 236: The Eighth Day…
Author's Notes: My eighth drabble for Challenge 303 – Twelve Days at tw100, and Part 8 of ‘The Twelve Days of Riftmas’. I wasn’t happy with my first attempt, it was a bit on the bland side, so I tried again. I like this one better, but I’m posting my first attempt here too, so you guys can decide which one you prefer.

Summary: It’s Christmas, and the Rift is apparently in a giving mood…

Warnings: Random insanity.

On the eighth day of Christmas, eight large cows were discovered in the Millennium Stadium. Ianto thought they certainly looked ready for milking. Not that he was an expert on cows or anything…

“Oh look!” said Jack cheerfully. “The Rift almost got it right this time!”

“Yes, Jack, because eight ready-to-milk cows are just what we needed.” Ianto rolled his eyes so hard they nearly fell out. “What am I supposed to do with them?”

“Call a farmer?”

“I was hoping for buxom milkmaids,” Owen grouched.

Ianto sank into a seat. It was entirely possible he was losing his mind.




Alternate Eighth Day...




On the eighth day of Christmas, several crates appeared in a car park.

There was writing on them.

“Maiden’s Milk? What’s that? Some sort of booze?” Owen sounded hopeful.

Prising a crate open, Ianto pulled out a bottle.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Owen, it’s bath oil. ‘You too can have skin as soft as a maiden’s’,” he intoned solemnly. “You should try some.”

“Bite me!”

Ianto smirked.

“Right, let’s load ‘em. Hold on.” He glanced around. “There’s only seven. Where’s the eighth?”

They found it in a ditch, half buried in mud.

“Oh joy,” groaned Ianto. “The Rift hates me!”


TBC in ‘The Ninth Day…’


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