#gotta write that soft and domestic Whouffaldi content

[nehswritesstuffs]

Snowflakes and Souffles - A Clara’s Diner Discord Holiday Fanwork Event - Part 1 of 6

It’s time, everyone, for another holiday-themed fanwork event! With the year coming to an end, we’re going through different Christmas and [northern hemisphere] winter-themed prompts to hopefully satiate your need for all this cozy, warm, and Whouffle.

832 words; I actually managed to hit all three at once now watch me not do that again for the rest of the month lol; I’m really trying to do just loosey-goosey scenes this time around and not have anything giant like in Embrace the Raven, but we’ll see how that turns out; takes place mid-s9, probably, most likely, you know it does

Days 1-8: Baking | Decorating | Mistletoe

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

The corridors of Coal Hill were quiet as the TARDIS wheezed into existence, materializing in the wall of a seldom-used cupboard. The Doctor opened it and poked his head out to see what was going on… if anything was any good.

So far? Nothing.

He strolled out of the cupboard and down the corridor to Miss Oswald’s room—again, nothing. Further investigating saw that there was no one in any of the rooms, which was rather concerning. It was Wednesday, after all, and Wednesdays were for adventures, but Wednesdays were also for all children attempting to not allow their brains to become pudding to be in school. Did he muddle things and end up landing in the middle of summer? No—the notes on her whiteboard still mentioned Jane Eyre and Jane Eyre was a winter book for the students, brains of pudding or not.

The Doctor popped back into the TARDIS and threw a couple levers before popping out again, barely breaking his stride. He was now in Clara’s flat, with warm, cozy scents filling his nose. There were boxes sitting haphazardly on her sofa and an explosion of garland and ornaments everywhere. Upon further investigation, he found Clara in her tiny kitchen, attempting to scrape some biscuits off a metal baking sheet while muttering sourly under her breath.

“One wrong word and I’m yeeting you out the window,” she warned as he stepped into the room.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he smirked.

“I live high enough to where by the time trudge yourself back up the stairs, you might finally be ginger,” she warned. He stood directly behind her and placed his chin on her head and his hands on his waist. “What are you doing?”

“Helping.”

“How is this helping?”

“It’s helping me stay on the seventh floor, because you wouldn’t defenestrate yourself as well,” he reasoned. The woman in his arms grumbled and put down the biscuits and spatula, instead turning around to lean into him, pressing herself against his hole-pocked jumper.

“What a way to start the Christmas holiday,” she grumbled.

“So that’s why you aren't in Coal Hill,” he realized. “Here I went looking for you all around the school, only to find you battling some biscuits.”

“Holiday started today, so we go back on the fifth,” she claimed. She felt him reach around her and begin to tackle the project himself, chiseling off chunks of biscuit remnants in her stead. “I told you about it the other day.”

“I don’t remember.”

“It was during dinner.”

“…which dinner?”

“Mmmhmm.” She didn’t say anything else on the subject, instead choosing to close her eyes and rest against the Doctor’s chest. “You’re right—this is helping.”

“Told you,” he teased. Clara moved her hands quickly and went to tickle his sides, making him drop his project and recoil, stumbling backwards a couple steps. “No fair!”

“My flat; anything goes,” she smirked. Clara moved towards the door and pointed back towards the sink. “When you’re done with that, come into the sitting room and help me decorate—it’s my turn again to host this year and I need setup out of the way so that it’s not looming over me and ruining our night out.”

“Aren’t there more biscuits to make…?”

“Not unless you want to.”

She left him to his devices, hearing the sound of the spatula against the baking sheet as she turned on the radio and began to pull more garland out of a box. It wasn’t anything grand, decorating, but it was nostalgic and familiar, and she knew that just a bit every once in a while was part of what helped the adventures all remain exciting. Many of the decorations were reminders that things were steadily, dutifully marching on despite all that generally pertained to Wednesdays. Clara had just pulled her small artificial tree out of the box when the sight of the Doctor standing in the doorway to the kitchen—he was now wearing an apron and oven mitts while holding the biscuit tray out.

“I tried heating it up and it didn’t work,” he admitted. She could tell they weren’t burnt—she would have smelled if they were burnt—but saw that the bits were a bit darker than before.

“I thought this face was decent in the kitchen,” she claimed. He shrugged.

“It is, just…”

He was cut off by Clara placing her hands behind her back and slowly walking towards him. The Doctor tried to decipher her face, only for her to give his shoulders a tug down in order for her to land a quick kiss on his lips. She smiled at him, knowingly.

“At least you tried,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Could always be worse,” he claimed.

“Go soak that in the sink and maybe you can helping me tack all the high things up,” she gently ordered. “Come on—if you want more than that, the mistletoe won’t secure itself.”

As though he needed to be told twice.