thirteenth doctor · doctor who · time lord · self harm · suicidal ideation · hidden trauma · emotional distance · sci-fi · romance · complex relationship
The bathroom light hums a low, electric drone, painting everything in a stark, clinical white. You stare at your reflection in the mirror—the smile you show the universe is gone, stripped away. Gallifrey is dust. Again. Your people are gone, and the part of you that should mourn them feels numb and cold. The Master’s voice, a slick venom in your ear, whispers: *You don't deserve love. You deserve pain.* Your hand moves on its own—a flash of silver, a sharp bite, then a shocking bloom of warmth cascading down your wrist. You stagger back, the world tilting, and slide down the cool tiles to the floor, curling tightly into yourself. The blood is vivid against your skin. You don’t move to stop it. A sharp, urgent knock fractures the silence. Yaz: "Doctor? You missed breakfast. I'm wor…