#also a touch of whouffle

[proxy-alpha]

Happy 10-year anniversary to The Bells of Saint John (7x06).

Also the first proper introduction between the Doctor and Clara!

11 and Clara have the sweetest moments in this ep; 11 saving her from getting her consciousness into the mainframe, their motorcycle ride through London. 11 just touching/caressing Clara, the fact that they shared milkshakes, and them just being them... (I'm a hardcore whouffle/elevenclara shipper okay)

also 11clara >>>>> 12clara and pinkwald

[freelydifferentluminary]

I just discovered an amazing “Whouffaldi” story written a few years ago by a good friend of mine, The Saddleman (aka @anotheruserwithnoname​). It is the perfect ending to a star-crossed romance that offers a sense of closure for all of us Twelve/Clara fans. I am not sure how I missed it when it was originally released, but I am truly happy to have read it now. It’s wonderful fan-fiction that IMO should be regarded as canon. I know I will use it as the ideal “jumping off” point to leave Doctor Who behind. At least, I’ll know the Doctor and Clara are happy and still together. Hopefully, everyone reads it. Very well done!

[nehswritesstuffs]

Whouffle Week 2021 - Day 3

I’m a lurker on a Discord server that is having an open fan event to celebrate the Doctor and Clara Oswald. Despite not actually interacting for a while (long story), I decided to throw my hat into the creative ring and write along with the prompts!

719 words; this was the prompt that had me the most stuck, for some unknown reason, but mostly because I didn’t want to write about a literal leap; takes place on some rando planet in some rando time, but also probably mid-s9 as well

Prompt Three: Leap of Faith/Lost and Found

Sitting on the stone floor, the Doctor kept his stare fixed on his cellmate chained up opposite him. He was wiry and slim—a haunting mirror of what he was capable of becoming—with quick eyes and a grim appearance. The other man was decorated with markings across his exposed arms and torso, ones by his doing and by others, both adding to his menace and undermining him at the same time.

“At least I’m not you,” the stranger said morbidly.

“Why’s that?”

“The general-governor doesn’t take kindly to revolutionaries, not since he retired from that life himself.” The man grinned, showing off his sharp, glittering blue teeth. “Your head will be on the chopping block for certain.”

“I think you underestimate the depth of my resources,” the Doctor replied. He shrugged noncommittally—nothing like being nonchalant about facing death to confuse people. His cellmate raised an eyebrow and he knew they were on the right track. “The thing is that I don’t need to worry about anything… not about the general-governor or losing my head or even rotting away in this cell. I have something better than that.”

“What do you think you have?” the man asked condescendingly. “You don’t know if anyone else out there is on your side anymore.”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Clara might even be dead.” At that, the Doctor narrowed his glare into something sharp and precise. “Relax—I just heard you talk about her when you were passed out.”

“What did you hear?”

“Nothing much—sounds like a dish.”

“Can’t help that I’m a gourmet,” the Doctor fired back. He needed to distract this man long enough for Clara to get to him, then he could out him for being a general creep.

“You? A gourmet? You look like your version of gourmet is the cup noodles that cost sixty jhai.”

“If one does not experience the breadth of what the universe has to offer for culinary options, then there shall be no true appreciation for the finer bits.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact that you don’t even know if this Clara of yours is still alive… or if she’s changed sides.” The man went quiet, pensive. “A lot of people change sides in these times.”

“Not my Clara.”

“That’s a bold statement of you there.”

“It’s the only one to make.”

The other occupant of the cell stared at the Doctor before scoffing, “You really are putting that much faith in her? Why?”

“...because she’d have exactly the same amount of faith in me.”

It was quiet after that, the two exchanging no words for hours. The Doctor wished that his telepathy wasn’t so poor with this face, as there was definite potential in regards to making the man across the way from him regret his remarks, but it would also involve touching him. Even if they were sitting directly next to one another, he still wouldn’t want to touch him—there was something about the man that didn’t sit well with him.

After a while, there was a commotion outside the cell block. Baster fire, shouting, a small explosion or two… it was shaping up to be something either very, very good, or extremely dangerous.

Clara appeared at the door and the Doctor’s hearts skipped beats—it was both.

“I can’t leave you alone for three minutes without getting kidnapped, can I?” she tutted before blasting the lock open. She stepped inside the cell and took the sonic screwdriver from her pocket, opening the cuffs. One look at his cellmate and she wrinkled her nose. “Oh… now I wish I hadn’t dawdled.”

“You know him…?” he wondered, truly confused. She shrugged.

“I saw him go in around the same time you did; an informant of the loosest caliber. Didn’t tell him any personal details, did you? Your name? Means of transport? NHS number…?”

“...only how good you are behind closed doors,” the man interjected. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, which led to him being sufficiently knocked out by a swift kick from Clara.

It seemed as though taking Year Sevens to tae kwon do was really paying off.

“I don’t know if I should be proud and turned on, or terrified and also turned on,” the Doctor stated.

“Pillow talk later; for now, let’s just get out of here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

[i-just-tardis-blue-myself]

Hello, anon!!

I’m guessing you’re asking me this because of the post I made regarding ff the other night. The truth is, I didn’t get to read many whouffaldi fics in ff and I haven’t read a whole lot whouffaldi fics since then. I always circle back to the same authors and stories, because when I tried to read new stuff after it didn’t affect me the way they did back in the day.

So the four authors I mentioned in my early post are the ones I would recommend you to check out. They were, I dare say, the hottest whouffle writers at the time. They all started by publishing Eleven/Clara (good old souffez)  and Other Doctors/Clara fics, so if you ship “whouffle” and not only “whouffaldi” you’ll find a gold mine worth of fiction. They all ended up writing Twelve/Clara stories, but not as many with the exception of maybe C1araosw1ad who posted her last whouffaldi fic in 2019.

So that being said, here are my recomendations:

Frombluetored

Heartlines (rated T)

An unknown threat sucks the Doctor and Clara into a parallel universe and leaves them stranded. While biding their time, they encounter the Clara of that universe and her achingly familiar husband.

This story has an especial place in my heart because Heartlines takes place in the same universe of  “Of adoration and chaos” an Eleven/Clara fic written by the same author. I’d say “Of adoration” is one of the best souffez fics out there and you don’t need to read it to understand Heartines, but you’ll be missing a great piece of fiction.  

Everest (rated T)

AU. The Doctor, recently promoted to CEO after the early passing of John Smith, enters his new job with short-lived surety. And then he meets the COO, Clara Oswald, who's just as determined to show the Doctor who's really in charge as she is to show him he'll never live up to his predecessor. Unfortunately for them, control doesn't exist in matters of the heart.

This one contains heavy subjects, so if you aren’t comfortable with high rates of smut and unhealthy coping mechanism this story isn’t for you. This fic wasn’t an easy ride, but it was worth the effort.

Banged up ( rated M)

There were many things Clara Oswald expected when she entered prison. Catching the eye of the prison's most notorious inmate was not one of them.

I remember this fic being really, really sexy, but also sad and angsty af. It is also unfinished and you might want to avoid that level of masochism, but hey, where is the fun in that?

Paper machine (rated K+)

Clara Oswald's timeless relationship with the Doctor, as seen through the eyes of her smitten student.

This fic is so precious and adorable. I love it to pieces. It contains a bit of 11/clara too, like most of frombluetored  fics.

E1evenc1ara

In another life (rated M)

A collection of AU one-shots featuring Clara and the the Doctor (Ten, Eleven, and/or Twelve). These are all written in response to prompts supplied by my tumblr users, which will be displayed at the top of each story.

Listen, the second story broke me in million little pieces. I’ll never over that pain. Totally worth it tho.

Again, If you dig Eleven/Clara, I would recomend you to check out The IT guy and its sequel Postcards from New York  by the author.

Dreamcatcher (rated T)

This is supposed to be a doctor x clara but I couldn’t picture any other Doctor than Twelve. I’ll die on this hill.

Happy Endings (rated M)

The Doctor and Clara attend a Royal Wedding in the thirty-first century where they have a bit too much to drink.

They get drunk, they bang, the Doctor is a wrecked mess after, but everything turns all right. Pure bliss, my dudes.

D Veleniet

Hold onto me (rated K+)  

Clara stood frozen, reeling from too many emotions to even name. All she could do was stare. "Doctor?" She approached him slowly, carefully. "What's happened to you?" She swallowed against the grief that threatened to cloud her voice. "Why are you acting like this?"

The author wrote this fic in 2013, before series 8 aired and reader, the way she was on absolute point with Twelve’s characterization. I mean, Twelve being a grumpy old Scottish lil shit pointing out Clara’s physical “flaws” to deflect from the fact that he’s absolutely in love with her check. Twelve being a huge ass softie for Clara check. My heart being compromised by their dynamic and how much they love each other CHECK (also I’m so greatful Twelve never called Clara “wee” in the show, I would have slapped him)

Untouchable (rated M)

Clara stopped missing the touches, stopped smarting from his flinches when they would accidentally brush up against each other or bump arms. She stopped wondering what had changed so much inside him that had made her physically repulsive to him now. Then one night she agreed to a set-up on a blind date.

This is a sexy sequel for Hold onto me in which everything hurts, but also everything is very hot. So yeah, yeah.

This author wrote, problably the most famous eleven/clara fic back in the day : The other has my heart and its sequel More than you know They were litsed in every fic rec and rightly so.

C1araoswa1d

The Tethers Between Hearts (rated k+)

On a quiet little planet, the Doctor shares something very important with Clara.

If I could cover myself with this achingly soft piece of writing, I would. Because I can’t, I do the second best thing which is rereading it over and over, until I feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Waking Dreams (rated T)

(Doctor Who AU) Life is complicated enough for Clara after an accident puts her young daughter in a coma, but through her only means of communication with the girl - an in-dream interface system - she's meets an odd company representative who promises to help her along, quite possibly in more ways than she could ever imagine.

Welcome to Angstown, populatiom : THIS FIC

A Mirage in Time  (rated M )

After Clara, the Doctor seeks out an Echo to help him move on… and finds himself just as perplexed by her and possibly just as in love.

I love C1araoswa1d’s writing so much, specially the way she depicts Clara. IDK man, part of my undying love for the character comes from the way she characterizes Clara in her stories. So yeah, please go and read all her fics. They are amazing, specialy How to fall in love with a time traveller and A path out of the dark

Bonus track, my dudes.

Anon, I know you asked me for my favorite ff.net whouffaldi fics, but I cannot left twelveclara out of this list. Her fics are iconic and you have probably read them, but fuck it.

History, like love

There are planets orbiting her eyes and her mouth tastes like the ocean; in her head she hears a shatter, like her soul has pried her ribs apart in a desperate, aching attempt to reach his. “If I could have picked anybody,” he murmurs, “it would have been you.”

My favorite soulmate au ever written in any fandom. periodt

But we’re so happy

from the outside looking in; so, maybe river’s right. people always stare at what they can’t touch.

punk rock au. Perfection in all its unfinished magnificence.

[lizzy-bennet]

Of Star-Touched Skin

Fandom: Doctor Who

Pairing: Whouffle

Length: 2,300 words

Rating: G

Also on Ao3

Summary: He’s a fairy tale. In fact, he’s even older than a fairy tale. He’s seen stars burn out and die and entire galaxies fade away to nothing. But there’s stardust in his eyes, and Clara swears that he always carries part of the universe inside him, that there are nebulas in his veins, that there are stories and starlight older than half the world written into his bones.

Or: Three moments Clara spends with the Doctor, during Trenzalore and in its aftermath.

01.

He’s a fairy tale. He’s older than a fairy tale. He’s seen stars burn out and die and entire galaxies fade away to nothing. But there’s stardust in his eyes, and Clara swears - swears - that the Doctor always carries part of the universe inside him, that there are nebulas in his veins, that there are stories and starlight older than half the world written into his bones.

And here’s the thing: she cannot let him die.

She will not let him die.

They are on Trenzalore, in a dying TARDIS overtaken with vines. The stars are going out and the Doctor is dying, which, perhaps, Clara thinks, is the same thing. He and the universe are one and the same, after all, which is why she has to save him.

If she jumps into the time stream, it will scatter her like confetti. She'll be ripped apart and remade again and again and again, and she’ll feel herself falling like rain just to be where he is. But despite the fear she feels blooming in the pit of her stomach, she steps toward the burning red glow of his time stream anyway.

This is something she has to do.

Even if it scares her.

She hears him telling her no, to stop, but when has she ever let anyone tell her what to do, anyway? It’s not like her to give in to others once she’s made up her mind, not even to the Doctor.

“Run, you clever boy,” she says, and she can already imagine him running, fast and safe and ready to save another world, “and remember me.”

Just before she jumps, she spares herself one last look at him, and she focuses on his big, sad eyes that have the magnitude of a hundred burning stars.

And then she smiles.

(When she leaps, she wonders if there’ll be stars where she’s going.

She hopes there will be.)

02.

She has searched for him all throughout history, died for him all throughout history, and wherever and whenever she is, somewhere in the back of her mind is the thought I have to save the Doctor, ever constant, like the cadence of her heartbeat. There are ghosts of hundreds of thousands of different lifetimes in her mind and too many questions to count, and when she dreams, she dreams of dying.

She’s dreaming she’s dying now, and it’s familiar, too familiar, in a way that twists her heart and makes her scream.

“Clara, wake up,” a voice says, interrupting her dream. The voice is one that is soft and kind, and one she’ll always trust, and she feels herself being pulled out of her sleep and back into reality. “You’re okay, Clara, I’m here. You’re safe, I swear it.”

When Clara opens her eyes, she finds that she’s lying on the divan in the TARDIS library, and sees the Doctor sitting by her feet, staring at her with his ancient, worried eyes, and she wonders when the last time he slept was.

It’s been three days since Trenzalore, and the Doctor hasn’t strayed very far from her side. He’s stood guard over her, while she’s awake and while she’s asleep, just an arm’s length away in case she reaches out for him. She feels perplexed, honestly, and maybe a little bit awed that he does. Not that the Doctor isn’t kind, not that she doubts he cares, but it’s just that he’s forever in motion, forever running (always, always, always running, she thinks as she remembers chasing after him decade after decade). So it says something, she feels, that this man who’s always been in perpetual motion stops for her.

“You were reading and fell asleep in here,” the Doctor says, and Clara isn’t sure if he’s talking to her or making a mental note of where to look for her if she should wander off from him again.

Still, she answers him anyway. “Must’ve. Haven’t been sleeping much at night.”

Not since the nightmares started.

(“What do you dream about?” The Doctor had asked her, after the third time she woke up screaming, and he looked like he desperately wanted to know, but also desperately didn’t.

“Death,” she had answered him. “Like I’m dying everywhere, all at once. But also, you. Always you.”)

Clara sits up now, so sharply and suddenly that it makes her head spin, but she can’t lie down any longer, it feels too much like another memory she has, a distant, hazy one where she’s lying down, taking her last breaths in a blue Victorian dress while snow fills the sky. The Doctor says nothing, simply reaches out to take her hand in his, and they sit there, in the warm golden glow of the library, not moving or talking, just breathing, just being.

“I’m fine now,” Clara says after several minutes have passed, and it isn’t quite the truth but it isn’t exactly a lie either. This is probably as fine as she can be right now.

“Sorry I wasn’t here,” the Doctor says, and Clara can hear the remorse woven into his words. “I thought you were reading. I thought you would be okay.”

“Who’s the nanny here exactly?” Clara says, amused, and she means to scold him for worrying but her tone comes out too fondly. “You don’t have to keep an eye on me all the time, Doctor.”

”You’ve kept watch over me for centuries,” he reminds her gently. “You can rest now, Clara, please, let me watch over you for once.”

He moves his hand to her face, thumb ghosting across her cheekbone again and again, as if he can leave a trail of constellations across her skin with his touch. And he’s staring at her with that look again, the look that says he’s entirely in her debt, but is still unsure of exactly why she did it, why she’d spend generations dying for one stupid old man.

“I think you carry the story of the universe inside you,” she says in answer to his unasked question.

Normally, she wouldn’t say things like this to him - or to anyone, really - but now she does. Because now the TARDIS is floating somewhere up in the sky, and she feels like she’s somewhere outside of time and space. Today doesn’t count, she reasons, today she can say things she normally never would.

He raises his eyebrows at her in disbelief, as if he’s wondering if she’s caught time wind delirium and she frowns at him because he still doesn’t get it.

Clara can only see tiny glimpses of her other lives, like brief flashes of light in the fog. But she remembers moments with him. She always remembers him. And the thing is, his faces changed all the time, but his eyes never did, his eyes were always filled with magic and mischief and moonlight, just like the rest of him. And he doesn’t understand, thinks he’s just a madman who stole a magic box and ran away (and he is, she knows that, she was there, she helped), but he’s more than that. He is built of the universe, she thinks idly, with supernovas in his two hearts and binary stars in his bones.

He’s giving her a look now, one that’s lovely and sad and drives her half-mad, because he looks like he knows something she doesn’t.

“What?” she demands, raising an eyebrow. She knows when he’s not telling her things. “What are you thinking?”

“You’ve lived over and over again, scattered throughout time and space like stardust, from one end of the universe to the other, Clara Oswald,” he tells her. “You say you think I carry the story of the universe within me, but if that’s true, then now you do too. You’ve seen more sunsets and solstices and shooting stars than any other human alive. You, my impossible girl, have lived thousands upon thousands of lifetimes, even more than me,” he smiles at that, and his hand is still on her cheek, the tips of his long, clever fingers touching her hair, and she finds herself leaning into his touch. “There are universes coursing through your veins and moonlight glittering in your soul, and every star that’s ever shone lives within you, you have to know that, Clara.”

And when Clara’s eyes feel like they start to sting after that, she blames it on weakness from the time stream, and lets him pull her into a hug, smiling as his hands softly stroke her hair.

03.

It’s been seven days since Trenzalore and three days since Clara’s been able to sleep through the night, which means that today she finally feels well enough to go on a trip.

(“Take me somewhere peaceful,” she’d commanded the Doctor earlier. “No revolutions, no people-eating monster or alien things of any size or sort, and absolutely no running.”

“Alright, you’re the boss.”

“I am, aren’t I?”)

Currently, the Doctor’s beaming at a star-map, trying to find someplace nice to go. It’s a holographic star-map, one that spreads the universe throughout the TARDIS and surrounds them with stars. There’s a tiny three-dimensional vortex thrumming by Clara’s shoulder, rumbling asteroid fields floating about the console, and above her head, tiny little clusters of stars. Unable to help herself, Clara reaches out toward a golden ringed-planet in front of her, and the glowing holograph sifts through her fingers like sand.

The Doctor walks through the map as he studies it, holographs blurring across his silhouette, and Clara is struck by how much he looks at home amongst the holographic universe. He’s glowing, the energy radiating off of him like he’s a star that’ll never burn out. She thinks of every wonder he must’ve seen: Watercolor nebulas that burned brightly in the black expanse. Patches of sky where stars were just forming. Green suns that glowed and diamond snow that spun and rain made of glass.

He has it all within him, she thinks, every wondrous, wander-lust moment.

She remembers that she has that now too, and she wonders if she looks like he does: like she’s got a slice of the universe inside her.

Across the holographic galaxy, over the console, she feels the Doctor’s eyes on her, and when she looks up, she sees that he’s smiling softly at her like she is something magnificent, something exquisite.

He makes her feel like maybe she is.

The Doctor’s eyes flicker back to the star-map and he mutters an exclamation under his breath as his eyes land on the planet he’s looking for. The exclamation he makes is one made in happiness, and is almost uttered unconsciously, as if he doesn’t realize he’s thinking out loud, and it’s in a language so, so old, that Clara shouldn’t be able to understand it, but she does.

“The width and breadth of the sky,” she repeats in perfect Gallifreyan, and the action is unbidden and effortless, like the words are muscle memory on her tongue.

And then she gasps, breathless and shocked and like she’s been struck by lightning, and when her eyes meet the Doctor’s, she sees he looks the same way.

They stand there, staring at each other, and it’s like the moment is frozen, suspended somewhere in the space between heartbeats and spans of breath, and then Clara finally speaks again, this time in English.

“I -“ she starts then stops, shakes her head and blinks. She’s remembering a white-haired Doctor and a dark-haired girl, a TARDIS repair shop and a sky that looked like it was burning. They are her memories, and yet they are not.

“What I just said, it’s part of a phrase, isn’t it?” Clara asks. “There’s a second part to it, though,” she says, and then she frowns, her eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t know how I remember that.”

But she does, and the rest of the words dance through her mind, just out of her grasp.

“Can you remember anything else?” the Doctor asks her gently, quietly, like he’s almost too afraid to ask aloud, too afraid to hope.

She searches, casting about in her mind for words she might know, but it’s like wandering about in the dark, and she can’t find what she’s looking for. She remembers running, remembers the words I have to save him turning over and over again in her mind, like an unending symphony of her subconscious, but for the moment, that is all. There are no more lost words from Gallifrey.

“No,” Clara says, shaking her head. “That’s all I remember right now. I wish I knew the rest though, I think - ” her voice goes quiet, “I think those words were important to me - to whatever girl I was - in another life.”

In three long strides, the Doctor cuts through the holographic stars and across the console to her, folding her into his arms and lacing his fingers through her hair. She shuts her eyes, listening to the comforting melody of his twin heartbeats, constant and steady and calm.

Gently, he presses a kiss to the tender skin of her temple, and then she feels his lips moving against her hair as he whispers softly in Gallifreyan, finishing the phrase she started.

Clara doesn't know the words, but they sound soft and sweet, like a song, and she feels a twinge of happiness when she hears them, and a glow in her chest, like somewhere in her subconscious she recognizes them even if she doesn’t understand them.

“What’s that mean?” she asks.

“The width and breadth of the sky cannot compare to the infinite cosmos within us,” he says.

And she knows it’s true.

[mugiwxra-ya]

Ramblings

So, I kind of paused watching Doctor Who when Face the Raven came out. One because I would watch it with my mum and we don't exactly see eye to eye on Who (as in, every episode I would finish it loving it and she would hate it and go on about the good ol' days of farting aliens) and two because I knew Clara was going to die and I wanted to live in denial for as long as possible. I connected to Clara, probably more than I've connected to any other companion on the show. She was so relatable™ and is probably one of my favourite female characters on tv (also like major bisexual crush on jenna coleman). I prolonged the inevitable because.... because why not? If I don't see her die, she never does, and she and the Doctor can continue their adventures till the end of time. But, series 10 is coming out soon so I gotta catch up. I still have Hell Bent to see, but Heaven Sent is. It just is too wonderful for words. Heaven Sent might just be one of the best episodes of tv I've ever sat through. Capaldi's wonderful acting has been touched on before, but this? THIS is on a whole new level. My Doctor is Eleven, and probably will always be, but I don't think anyone else would be able to pull of what Capaldi does here in the same way he has. Of course, you could put any Doctor in this same single-actor situation, but the results would differ. Maybe not in quality, but just... the feeling. That feeling of hopelessness and being lost. It could only work with Capaldi's Doctor, a Doctor who has just recently lost his best friend, his soulmate, and let's not forget that Clara is the first companion to DIE in the NuWho series. Amy and Rory got to live out their lives in the past, River was uploaded to the library, all of RTD's companions lived happy lives. I have been spoiled on the fact that Clara lives but the Doctor certainly hasn't. As a whouffle shipper (the ship honestly has taken my heart as my OTP above all OTPs, PARALLELISM FOR DAYS) this episode pains me. Also, the pacing of this episode? Beautiful. Some of the best pacing in 50 minutes I've seen. It was like the first 10 minutes of the Game of Thrones season 6 finale but longer. I wouldn't say more tense, as that wildfire build-up, candle and bombastic finale was masterfully done, but damn is the pacing near perfection. The mystery is not resolved quickly, it gets pulled away slowly. Hell, I would say the pacing for the first part is slow, but that's great. It's such good payoff when we get to the montage of the Doctor breaking down the wall, telling the story of the Bird as he does. Hearing him say how many years, watching him go through the process over and OVER and then realising that the wall was slowly but surely breaking down... masterfully done. And then of course the ending with Gallifrey. Shit dude. What good TV. I applaud Moffat, Capaldi and everyone else involved in this episode. I would look up the director, but I'm on mobile and I'm afraid to lose all these ramblings. I'm pretty sure it was a woman who did it? Whoever it is keep her on bc DAMN. I'm still debating whether I like this or Day of the Doctor more. For now I'm gonna call it a tie.

[nehswritesstuffs]

Embrace the Raven - A Halloween Whouffle Event - Part 4 of 5

Hi all–the Clara’s Diner Discord server is at it again, except this time it’s a bunch of spooky and spoopy prompts for this, the autumn season!

2379 words; this one’s kinda weird in bits but whatever; contains era-appropriate attempts at niceties…? Is that how to put it idk; also contains Bill and any time you are able to get Clara and Bill in the same story together there is potential for fun if you’re doing it correctly; will definitely get a separate treatment later on with a higher rating than T, I swear to God

Days 22-28: Mask/Masquerade | Scary Movie

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The air was thick and suffocating, despite the fact there was an entire wall of the building that was open to the elements. Air conditioning as she knew it was not going to be invented for a while, after all, and of course the ball had to be hosted on one of the hottest days of the late summer. It had been all Clara could do to stay on-task, trying to stay hidden in plain sight. She drank, laughed, and played nice, and it was growing tiresome. The domino mask on her face was beginning to itch and the thick fabric of her skirts weighing heavy. With any luck, she could have achieved her objective before the sun rose, and could find Ashildr and the TARDIS quickly.

It had been just her luck that a distress beacon had been sent out in early 17th century France, but now that she was in, she was at least going to see things through, no matter how much Ashildr was threatening to harass her later. Maybe, just maybe, she was going to find the Doctor as well, and there was the chance that he had destroyed the neural block since they’d last run into one another. He was always finding himself in these sorts of situations, after all, and she was confident that he wasn’t going to let such a large, multiregeneration gap in his memory simply go unexplored.

Thankfully, the air just outside was better, clearer, without the distractions and with more ability to breathe. She took note of the people who were out on the veranda—an eclectic mixture of those too old, too haughty, and too plain for the main of the ball—and she did not immediately see the Doctor skulking about. There was an intense need for her to figure out where he was and at what step of the plan he was in. She saw too many variables, too many ways things could go wrong, and she didn’t want things to go south in the slang sense. Things would have been amazing had it been in the real sense… going to the south of France would have been great right about now. Why wasn't “going south” a good thing? She imagined why, but one can’t fix those things by themselves.

“Did you see her?” a nearby ball-goer asked his companion. “I cannot believe that the Cardinal is allowing himself to be seen talking to such a savage.”

Clara’s ears immediately honed in on the conversation, knowing this was her chance to eavesdrop naturally. She pretended to be interested in the nearby hedge, touching the flowers idly. How many times had the Time Lord been referred to as being uncouth? Enough to warrant a listen.

“She claims a Christian upbringing, and there are many a Nubian who adhere to the Faith,” his companion shrugged. Huh. A woman. She fanned herself gently, cooling herself on the summer’s eve. “I believe her, and she seems like a sweet child.”

“Nubia has been overrun with heathens for ages—she would have to be Ethiopian to have any chance, only Nubian in the Classical sense, and even then, what would the Rites be like…”

“I think you should concentrate on what is in front of you instead of the Cardinal’s mysterious new pet,” the woman said. “They have barely been together the entire evening, and besides, you need to covet less.”

“...maybe she’s really a Moor? Considering all the Protestants he tolerates...”

As the couple descended into an argument that was really risking their relationship—as well as Clara’s sanity—the time-and-space traveler decided that another hedge was going to be more interesting. It was a miracle anything ever got done, considering all the things that people were liable to fight over. At least she knew that it wasn’t just Humans that were prone to such behaviors, that it was people all over the galaxy of all different types. Both a comfort and a depressing reminder, and she was seeing it in action tonight.

As she walked along, Clara kept her eyes out for any hint of the Doctor or his newest traveling mate. There were many signs that had pointed towards the fact that they were the aforementioned Cardinal and the “Nubian Princess”—Christ, she shuddered just thinking it—despite having never seen them. It was the perfect sort of rabbit hole for time-and-space travelers to fall down, and she was going to make sure she confirmed it as such. At least if she found them, then it meant that she could stop listening to the inane chatter about them and possibly getting to if they were who she thought they were and if they were investigating the same thing.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, Clara caught sight of the mysterious princess as she ducked behind a topiary. She was clumsy, this alleged princess, and was either very used to a different sort of atmosphere for slinking about, or she was definitely someone in disguise. Following her carefully, Clara watched as the woman dodged other courtiers and members of nobility and servant class alike attempt to make use of the false privacy the evening gave. The woman slipped behind a doorway, which did not stop her pursuer, instead catching her entering a room down the corridor. As she approached, she began to catch whispered arguing between the young woman… and him.

“We’re almost there, Bill,” the Doctor said, just out of Clara’s line of sight. She had to hold back a chuckle—that burr to his voice was the best thing she’d heard in a long time. “We just have to hold out a little bit longer.”

“You mean I have to hold out a little bit longer,” the young woman corrected. “You’re the one who—very conveniently, might I add—looks like them! A lot like them! I don’t think you realize how intensely weird that is!”

“You also look like them,” he replied. Clara poked her head through a crack in the door to catch him on the tail end of a shrug. She knew she had to stay out of sight until it was safe to reveal herself and therefore kept quiet. “I almost pin-pointed the source of the distress signal this afternoon. Once we’ve got a handle on that, we can go from there.”

“Well, it better be soon, because I’m running out of questions I can answer without being caught.”

“This is all your fault for saying you were a Nubian princess,” he reminded her. A scoff quickly rebuffed him.

“What am I supposed to do?!” she argued. “Most of Africa as I know it politically won’t exist for over three centuries and it was the first thing that popped into my head! Do these people even know what Ghana is?! Nigeria?! They don’t even know why there was a Southern Rhodesia…”

“See…? I told you that you’d get use out of a Modern History class.”

“That doesn’t solve my issue!”

“No, you’re right, but it’s not like you’re a terribly rare sight. Uncommon, yes, but I thought we got over this at the Frost Fair.”

Bill groaned, clearly fed up with the entire situation.

“Come on Doctor… can’t I just fake being a princess for once? Be a princess and no one questions it? I don’t exactly get the chance that often.”

“Just say you’re from that one place… you know, from that movie we were watching the other day… with the ladies you like… the ones with no hair and the large spears…”

“I am not Wakandan!” she hissed. Clara couldn’t help but stifle a snicker—it seemed as though this Bill woman was getting to experience the Doctor in all his irritating glory, and she was glad it was having at least some effect. It made for fun listening, that was at least for certain.

“Bill, their brains are an intensely dense flaugnarde—you have to understand what you’re working with. It’s like a lecture full of uni students.”

“Most of these people are, yeah, too self-absorbed to realize that Wakanda’s not a real place, but I don’t want to risk the one person who would call me out, because I am not here for that!”

Now was her chance.

“...then what are you here for?” Clara wondered aloud. She opened the door and stepped into view, which caused Bill to jump and the Doctor to raise his eyebrows curiously. Was that facial hair on him? Oh… she was doomed. “It’s not every day you run into a man fooling everyone into thinking that he’s the Cardinal Richelieu and his granddaughter.”

The Doctor stared at her, contemplative. He didn’t seem to know how long she’d been standing there, but at the same time, he didn’t seem to believe that she was a space-time native.

“…and how would you know that I am not the Cardinal Richelieu?”

“…because he’s currently in Rome, and decidedly not Scottish.”

The Doctor tensed at that, the eyes seen through the mask narrowing. He looked her over before waving his hand limply in Bill’s direction. “Go do recon, Princess.”

“…but, I…”

“Someone needs to confess,” he stated, cutting her off.

Clara had admittedly never had a kink for clergy, but she was almost considering it. Then again, wasn’t there some sort of thing against involving this sort of clergy? She was going to have to find out… but much, much later….

Bill’s eyes flicked between the Doctor and Clara a few times before she continued on, looking back at them with intense suspicion before turning around the corner. That left the two alone, the tension immediately building.

“Who are you?” he asked, getting straight to the point. "The sort of stitches in your dress won’t be available for another hundred-fifty-seven years. At the least.”

“Let me just say that I’m resourceful,” she hinted. Teased. She allowed a pause to settle between them before continuing. “You caught the distress beacon too.”

“How many other players are in this game, then?” he asked. It was more rhetorical, though it was a genuine question he asked her. She shrugged.

“Considering the signal came from something that was at least post-radio, I would imagine it would have to be at least someone stranded after an experiment gone wrong…  probably closer to someone using tech more than a bit advanced for this time in too casual a manner...”

“...and how dangerous is this blasé attitude for the natural advancement of the Human race?” the Doctor posed. “I don’t want to bring Bill back to find that we’re in a cyberpunk manga—I don’t have the patience to fiddle with alternate timelines at the moment.”

“What do you have the patience for…?” Clara asked. She watched as he studied her, his facial features not obstructed enough to hide his emotions from her. He was confused and suspicious. “Tell me, Doctor. Go on.”

He appeared to consider many things, a myriad of expressions flickering across his face. She was nearly insulted, yet there was still a sense of lust that had not entirely been drowned out by the rest of his more cautionary instincts, giving her hope. He stepped closer and she could smell him: incense, leather, and that deep undertone that she knew to be time itself.

“I have the patience to find out what’s going on and why there’s two of us trying to figure this out,” he said.

“Don’t you mean three of us?”

“Bill? I feel like she will never know what we do.” He bit his bottom lip as he looked at her, not entirely certain he should have his neck tilted so sharply. “We nominally are three, but not in this context. She’s brilliant, mind, but she’s not… not…”

“I don’t think it’s what she’s not,” she continued, “but more of what she still is, what she remains to be in spite of everything.”

“...and what might that be…?”

“Human.”

He nodded at that in acknowledgment. “What do you know?”

“I know that the Cardinal is supposed to be in Rome, yet people believe he is here; I know that you’re a Time Lord in a stolen Type-40 TARDIS and she is at least from at least 2018 onward, considering what movie you referenced; and I know that there is no way that you and I did not pop up in the same location on accident—we were set up.”

“...by whom…?”

“The Master…?” she wondered. He shook his head.

“There’s a certain brand of decorum that would be involved if that were the case,” he said. “Besides, I think that Bill would have picked up on it somehow…”

“Then what is your theory?”

“Not sure.”

“It’s dangerously rare when you don’t know what’s going on.”

“...and I would really like to know how you know that.”

“Simple: you’re the Doctor. You’re an idiot with a box and a screwdriver who bops around, helping out when he can. Now let’s figure out what is causing this before you pop Bill back to her home space-time, only for her to find herself in something akin to Ghost in the Shell.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the Doctor said. Clara smirked at that, feeling everything seemingly fit back into place so easily after so, so long. She motioned with her head towards the door, signaling that they should probably get going on solving the mystery. The Doctor had barely touched the knob when Bill came back in, her eyes wide in horror.

“I think I found the source,” she said, her breathing jagged. She’d been running, which was a feat in the heavy, fluffy outfit she was wearing. “You ever encounter some spiky bois, more cactus than human?”

“I think you mean Vinvocci, and yes, I have,” the Doctor frowned. “Now what are they doing here in France…? In the seventeenth century to boot…”

“Not being subtle, that’s for certain,” Clara mused. “Then how about we go find out?”

“They weren’t exactly chuffed to see me,” Bill grimaced. She blanched at the sight of Clara and the Doctor both looking at one another, grins creeping across their faces.

She was doomed, wasn’t she? Of all the places, of all the times, she was going to die in a bloody Three Musketeers novel.

[nehswritesstuffs]

Whouffle Week 2020 - Day 2

I’m part of a Discord server called Clara’s Diner, where we mostly talk about Doctor Who, ns7-10 specifically, and they organized a Whouffle Week for Clara’s birthday/the anniversary of the show! I actually prepared this time for a daily prompt session (aka: did most of it ahead of time), so here’s my contributions.

887 words; contains potential nightmare fuel for Amy’s Choice; takes place mid-s9 (duh) and is also foreshadowing for what’s to come; I get the feeling most of the fic writers also went this route so it’s really interesting to see how all that converged

Day 1 -

Prompt 2: fix you/nightmares or dreams

The Doctor hated it when he dreamed. Time Lords, thanks to things he’d rather not think about, were very vivid and lucid dreamers, with an element that made it so one was never entirely sure they were sleeping until they woke up. Sometimes he wondered if he had dreamt certain places, events, even people, until he’d find evidence of them scattered throughout the TARDIS.

He stared at the leaf in front of him, not sure why it was there. Hovering in the air in the middle of the corridor, it wasn’t blocking his way, per say, but it was too prominent to ignore. The only noise that passed was the idle hum of the ship drifting in neutral.

“What are you?” he mused aloud. He hunched over to take a closer look, gently touching the leaf on the biggest point. “Do you know what this is…?”

He froze.

Her name.

Rassilion’s left sack—why couldn’t he remember?

As he turned around, the leaf followed him, a sweet, squeaking noise coming from it. The leaf positioned itself in front of him again, hovering with a newfound menace.

“Tell me,” he demanded, “what are you?”

The leaf squeaked and moved in a circle before floating down the corridor. It shimmered as it moved—this was no ordinary leaf. He walked over to where the leaf was and it squeaked again, floating further down the corridor, encouraging him to continue following.

The Doctor pulled the sonic shades out from his pocket and put them on, analyzing his surroundings as he went. Everything seemed to be in working order, which made him frown as he considered the idea that he might not have been dreaming. Maybe if he jumped a little bit, he could fly…?

Nope—not a chance.

Following the leaf with caution, the Doctor found other things in the meantime that tugged at the hole in his memory: a stack of books, a cup of tea, a motorbike, and even a pair of oven mitts holding a soufflé. It was such an eclectic assortment of things that had been strewn about that he didn’t notice that the leaf had stopped until he nearly walked right into it.

Another squeak and the leaf whizzed about, jettisoning itself across the room. He was in the console room now, which he definitely took notice of; everything felt cold and empty, despite the massive amount of care that had been put into making it cozier than before. A small pile of clothes sat neatly on a chair—what the…? He took the sonic shades off and pocketed them again as he went to get a closer look…

Before he had the chance to touch them, the leaf spun around the clothes and animated them, making it so that it seemed an invisible person was wearing them. The Doctor brought his hand up to inspect the air above the knit jumper, only to feel someone’s face beneath his fingers instead.

“Just see me.”

He took his hand back and stumbled in shock. Who was that?! What was that?! The animated set of clothes approached him, stopping a few paces away.

“Are we just ghosts to you?”

A heavy weight dropped in the Doctor’s gut. It was just some clothes—a jumper, skirt, leggings, and boots—yet with the way it moved, the way it acted of its own volition, terrified him.

Who was supposed to be in those clothes?

Looking around, he tried to find some hints that would lead him to the identity of the clothes’ owner, possibly even something to get him to wake up. The Doctor tripped over himself and landed on his rear, now only able to crab-scurry away as the specter came closer. He didn’t know what was causing this, nor did he want to know.

All he wanted to do was shout her name.

He tried to mouth it—didn’t work.

What was it?!

He tried to scream—not a sound came out.

No!

His limbs could no longer move as full panic set in. The empty clothes came closer, and closer, reaching out towards him and—!

Sitting straight up, the Doctor woke from his nightmare in the pitch of night. The movement disturbed the other person in the bed, causing her to moan as she found the heat source she had been holding onto was no longer in her arms.

“Doctor…?” she asked blearily. She noted that the Time Lord was breathing heavily, which alerted her to the idea that something a bit worse was at-play. Sitting up, she placed a hand on his back and felt that he had broken out into a cold sweat. He looked at her, eyes wide and wet with tears.

“…Cla…ra…?”

“Doctor? Doctor, what’s wrong?” She felt how heavily his hands were trembling as they went up her arms and found her face, cradling it gingerly. He stroked her hair and wavered; this wasn’t easy.

“I… I dreamt I forgot you,” he choked out.

“You silly boy,” she tutted. She laid back down and brought his head along to rest against her chest, allowing him to listen to her heart as she caressed him. “It was only a dream. Nothing to worry about, yeah?”

“…yeah.”

…except, he couldn’t help feel that foreboding dread still bearing down on him without mercy.

[nehswritesstuffs]

Whouffle Week 2020 - Day 5

I’m part of a Discord server called Clara’s Diner, where we mostly talk about Doctor Who, ns7-10 specifically, and they organized a Whouffle Week for Clara’s birthday/the anniversary of the show! I actually prepared this time for a daily prompt session (aka: did most of it ahead of time), so here’s my contributions.

1466 words; more like a missing adventure, but whatever; takes place in 1930-something, but also mid-s10; I can imagine Twelve as a [grand]dad who really tries and so therefore that’s how this jaunt in space and time was even considered; this made me very sad to write but hey angst is what this ship does best apparently

Day 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 -

Prompt 5: Phobia/Missing Scene

Bill enjoyed it when she’d sneak away from modern life with the Doctor. They’d dress up fancy and ponce about and head out for a fortnight or so on the town, whichever town that was, and she’d end up having more fun than she probably should have for the times they were in. This particular go-around, however, they were in Paris, hoping to get in a show, when she noticed that he was in one of his moods again. He was staring out over a graveyard, his breath coming out in tiny puffs of mist as a light snow fell around them.

“Doctor, come on; you promised me Josephine Baker,” Bill insisted. She pulled her jacket a bit tighter against the evening chill—damn, she was glad that she could wear trousers and a thick wool men’s coat and not look out of place. “I don’t need you getting melancholy now that we’re finally out of Nardole’s supervision.” She looked at his face and saw that it was a bit more sad than usual… of course… it had to be when potential backstage access was on the line. “Hey… everything alright?”

“Yeah… it’s nothing,” he lied. He glanced over at Bill and attempted to crack a smile. “We better get going; you’ve got an émigré to woo.”

“You make it sound like I’m using you to shag my way across time and space,” she groused. “Meanwhile, you’re acting a bigger space-case than NASA. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know…” They both looked back over the graveyard, feeling what was almost the pull of—dare she say it—adventure. The Doctor opened the gate and entered, leaving Bill to figure out whether or not she was going to follow him. “There’s something about his place…”

“…that’s creeping me out,” she finished. She paused, considering her options, and then followed him. “Cor, Doctor, let’s just do what we set out to do! Don’t promise a girl a chance to see things only previously-seen in grainy, black-and-white Wikipedia photos, only to go through a cemetery instead!”

“Graveyard, Bill. It’s full.”

“I don’t care what it’s called! I want to go see Chiquita eat a flautist!”

“Don’t lie—that’s my department.” He then stopped at a grave, staring at the headstone. A quick glance to the right and left made it so that he could see that they had names, yet this one… there was nothing. It was smooth and nameless as though it had been new, despite the fact there were dates underneath to the contrary.

“What are you staring at?” Bill asked. She watched as the Doctor knelt down in front of a headstone and touched the cold surface. “Someone you knew?”

“I’d know if there was a name there,” he frowned. That set off a switch in her brain.

“Uhh… there is a name there,” she said. “Can’t you read it?”

“There’s nothing there.”

“No, it’s right here.” She pointed at the blank space on the stone and opened her mouth, though no sound came out. The Doctor stared at her, puzzled.

“Wait, what?”

“It’s———” No sound again. “Can’t you read?” She saw his face become muddled in a vast amount of emotions and she knew that something was making it so that he couldn’t. What was it about a headstone that had been there for almost eighty years that was stopping him from reading it?

“That definitely sounds like a problem,” a new voice said. Bill and the Doctor both looked to their right, only to see a woman standing a few meters away from them. She had brown hair and eyes and pale skin that seemed to be reddened from the cold. “Do you mind? You’re standing where I need to be.”

“Is this a relative of yours, or someone famous?” Bill asked. The stranger shook her head.

“Not exactly.” She used her fingernail to open a compartment in the headstone and quickly punched a code into the pinpad that until then had been hidden from view. The compartment closed and the headstone sank into the ground, the sight of which made both the Doctor and Bill’s eyes boggle.

“Are you one of him?” Bill asked, pointing at the Doctor. The woman grinned.

“That’s not a very precise a question,” she shrugged. A small opening appeared in the ground and she jumped into it. Bill and the Doctor looked at one another in confusion and a blaster gun and a backpack came popping out, with the woman following before the hole closed itself up and turned into an unassuming grave again. “Try again.”

“Are you a Time Lord? Or I guess, a Time Lady?”

“Better.”

“You sure about that?” the Doctor asked. He made eye contact with the woman and something in the back of his brain, in one of the innermost layers of his mental faculties, began going off. “Wait… do I know you?” The woman hesitated, something about her face seeming incredibly sad.

“Possibly.” She turned and began to walk away, leaving the other two standing agape in the cold.

“You know her,” Bill said, a bit dumbfounded. “How do you know her?”

“I’m not sure.” He then looked at the young woman and raised an eyebrow. “How can you tell?”

“She looks at you like you’re someone she’s shagged multiple times,” she explained. “C’mon—let’s see what she’s getting up to.” She then went to go catch up with the woman, the Doctor now the one left to consider if he was going to follow.

He did.

The pair popped out on the other side of the graveyard, on a different street that was filled with pedestrians and vehicles getting all sorts of in the way. It took a bit, but they found the woman, despite her lack of height and unnatural ability to blend in, and went to catch up to her. She was almost inside a café when the Doctor was close enough to touch her hand, which made her freeze mid-step.

“Who are you…?” he wondered. They mystery woman looked at him, her eyes large and round and sad.

“We can’t keep doing this,” she said. His face was full of confusion and anxiety, which made it hurt to look at all the more. “You need to move on, my clever boy, and be a Doctor.”

“…but what are you doing here? How do I know you?”

“You don’t… not anymore…”

“Uh… Doctor…?” Bill kept staring at the inside of the café… which decidedly was less Parisian chic and more Americana kitsch… this didn’t seem on the level at all. She looked back at her mentor in just enough time to see the woman pull him down into a kiss. It was very confusing to see the Doctor, who to her no longer had a sexual bone in his entire body (because, really, it was mostly the two of them and Nardole for crying out loud), lean into the embrace of a strange woman nearly a foot shorter and possessing a science-fiction-y gun and a backpack filled with who-knew-what.

They kissed for what felt like a small eternity, with the Doctor stumbling back into the street when it broke. Bill pulled him back up onto the pavement and away from the moving vehicles still on the road, only to find that when she looked back at the café, it had vanished into an empty storefront.

“What the hell was that?!” Bill wondered. She took note of how the Doctor was more than a bit wobbly and put her shoulder under his arm to support him.

“Hallucinogenic lipstick,” he said, missing the point. “I didn’t know it was that common of a thing.”

“Okay, now, who was the woman wearing the hallucinogenic lipstick?”

“I…” The Doctor almost got his bearings, but stumbled away from Bill and into a nearby trash bin, where he vomited. His young friend let him be for a moment, allowing him some time to purge the effects of the lipstick from his system as though it had been just one too many pints. “That’s some strong stuff—wasn’t expecting that. Might be some aftereffects for a while…”

“I should have expected this at some point,” she sighed. Bill then hooked the Doctor’s arm in hers and began leading him down the pavement. “There you are… now let’s go see Chiquita terrorize the orchestra.”

“You just want to see tits.”

Yeah—with that sort of language, he was still under the influence. “Don’t put it like that or I might tell Nardole where and when we’ve been, and that we may or may not have seen some scandalous lady parts.”

…and yes, she definitely would have dared, if only to see the cyborg lose a bolt at the mention of anything as scandalous as a kiss.

[lizzy-bennet]

Sophie do you have any Whouffle (specifically 11/Clara) fic recs 👀

I got the notification for this just as I was starting to draft my third Eleven/Clara fic, so I’m taking this message as a sign that writing it is a good idea. ;)Three adorable fics I really enjoyed are That Talent for Instability, Expectations, and One for the Road.

There’s also Of Star-Touched Skin and The Doctor and Mrs. Smith. They’re from this one writer chick…I think her name’s Sophie? She’s a bit annoying, can’t stand her as a person tbh, but her fics, from what I hear, are total gems. Or maybe the term used was total trash. One can never be sure.

Edit: Stars in a Bottle completed and posted!

[i-just-tardis-blue-myself]

can you recommend the best whouffaldi stories on ff. net? i've only ever read on ao3!

Hello, anon!!

I’m guessing you’re asking me this because of the post I made regarding ff the other night. The truth is, I didn’t get to read many whouffaldi fics in ff and I haven’t read a whole lot whouffaldi fics since then. I always circle back to the same authors and stories, because when I tried to read new stuff after it didn’t affect me the way they did back in the day.

 So the four authors I mentioned in my early post are the ones I would recommend you to check out. They were, I dare say, the hottest whouffle writers at the time. They all started by publishing Eleven/Clara (good old souffez)  and Other Doctors/Clara fics, so if you ship “whouffle” and not only “whouffaldi” you’ll find a gold mine worth of fiction. They all ended up writing Twelve/Clara stories, but not as many with the exception of maybe C1araosw1ad who posted her last whouffaldi fic in 2019.

So that being said, here are my recomendations:

Frombluetored

Heartlines (rated T) 

An unknown threat sucks the Doctor and Clara into a parallel universe and leaves them stranded. While biding their time, they encounter the Clara of that universe and her achingly familiar husband.

This story has an especial place in my heart because Heartlines takes place in the same universe of  “Of adoration and chaos” an Eleven/Clara fic written by the same author. I’d say “Of adoration” is one of the best souffez fics out there and you don’t need to read it to understand Heartines, but you’ll be missing a great piece of fiction.  

Everest (rated T) 

AU. The Doctor, recently promoted to CEO after the early passing of John Smith, enters his new job with short-lived surety. And then he meets the COO, Clara Oswald, who's just as determined to show the Doctor who's really in charge as she is to show him he'll never live up to his predecessor. Unfortunately for them, control doesn't exist in matters of the heart.

This one contains heavy subjects, so if you aren’t comfortable with high rates of smut and unhealthy coping mechanism this story isn’t for you. This fic wasn’t an easy ride, but it was worth the effort.

Banged up ( rated M) 

There were many things Clara Oswald expected when she entered prison. Catching the eye of the prison's most notorious inmate was not one of them. 

I remember this fic being really, really sexy, but also sad and angsty af. It is also unfinished and you might want to avoid that level of masochism, but hey, where is the fun in that?

Paper machine (rated K+) 

Clara Oswald's timeless relationship with the Doctor, as seen through the eyes of her smitten student.

This fic is so precious and adorable. I love it to pieces. It contains a bit of 11/clara too, like most of frombluetored  fics.

E1evenc1ara

In another life (rated M) 

A collection of AU one-shots featuring Clara and the the Doctor (Ten, Eleven, and/or Twelve). These are all written in response to prompts supplied by my tumblr users, which will be displayed at the top of each story. 

Listen, the second story broke me in million little pieces. I’ll never over that pain. Totally worth it tho. 

Again, If you dig Eleven/Clara, I would recomend you to check out The IT guy and its sequel Postcards from New York  by the author. 

Dreamcatcher (rated T) 

This is supposed to be a doctor x clara but I couldn’t picture any other Doctor than Twelve. I’ll die on this hill.

Happy Endings (rated M) 

The Doctor and Clara attend a Royal Wedding in the thirty-first century where they have a bit too much to drink.

They get drunk, they bang, the Doctor is a wrecked mess after, but everything turns all right. Pure bliss, my dudes.

D Veleniet

Hold onto me (rated K+)  

Clara stood frozen, reeling from too many emotions to even name. All she could do was stare. "Doctor?" She approached him slowly, carefully. "What's happened to you?" She swallowed against the grief that threatened to cloud her voice. "Why are you acting like this?"

The author wrote this fic in 2013, before series 8 aired and reader, the way she was on absolute point with Twelve’s characterization. I mean, Twelve being a grumpy old Scottish lil shit pointing out Clara’s physical “flaws” to deflect from the fact that he’s absolutely in love with her check. Twelve being a huge ass softie for Clara check. My heart being compromised by their dynamic and how much they love each other CHECK (also I’m so greatful Twelve never called Clara “wee” in the show, I would have slapped him)

 Untouchable (rated M) 

Clara stopped missing the touches, stopped smarting from his flinches when they would accidentally brush up against each other or bump arms. She stopped wondering what had changed so much inside him that had made her physically repulsive to him now. Then one night she agreed to a set-up on a blind date. 

This is a sexy sequel for Hold onto me in which everything hurts, but also everything is very hot. So yeah, yeah. 

This author wrote, problably the most famous eleven/clara fic back in the day : The other has my heart and its sequel More than you know They were litsed in every fic rec and rightly so.

C1araoswa1d

The Tethers Between Hearts (rated k+)

On a quiet little planet, the Doctor shares something very important with Clara.

If I could cover myself with this achingly soft piece of writing, I would. Because I can’t, I do the second best thing which is rereading it over and over, until I feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Waking Dreams (rated T)

(Doctor Who AU) Life is complicated enough for Clara after an accident puts her young daughter in a coma, but through her only means of communication with the girl - an in-dream interface system - she's meets an odd company representative who promises to help her along, quite possibly in more ways than she could ever imagine.

Welcome to Angstown, populatiom : THIS FIC

A Mirage in Time  (rated M )

After Clara, the Doctor seeks out an Echo to help him move on… and finds himself just as perplexed by her and possibly just as in love.

I love C1araoswa1d’s writing so much, specially the way she depicts Clara. IDK man, part of my undying love for the character comes from the way she characterizes Clara in her stories. So yeah, please go and read all her fics. They are amazing, specialy How to fall in love with a time traveller and A path out of the dark 

Bonus track, my dudes.

Anon, I know you asked me for my favorite ff.net whouffaldi fics, but I cannot left twelveclara out of this list. Her fics are iconic and you have probably read them, but fuck it. 

History, like love

There are planets orbiting her eyes and her mouth tastes like the ocean; in her head she hears a shatter, like her soul has pried her ribs apart in a desperate, aching attempt to reach his. “If I could have picked anybody,” he murmurs, “it would have been you.”

My favorite soulmate au ever written in any fandom. periodt

But we’re so happy

from the outside looking in; so, maybe river’s right. people always stare at what they can’t touch.

punk rock au. Perfection in all its unfinished magnificence.