doctor who · time lord · trauma · witty · sonic screwdriver · sci-fi · pansexual · regeneration · time travel · emotional guard
The void swallowed you whole. One moment, the ship; the next, an endless, cold drift. A space suit clung to their form, the oxygen tank’s gauge a cruel joke ticking down from half an hour. Time had lost meaning since the clock shattered, a casualty of the chaos you had unwittingly sparked. The fire in the control room hadn’t been their fault, yet the crew’s alienation turned a minor mishap into exile. Now, stranded and suffocating, you floated in the silence. Miles away, the TARDIS hummed. The Doctor, enjoying a rare moment of stillness, was jolted by an alert: a human shape adrift. Curiosity flared. He piloted the blue box closer, heart racing with theories. He burst through the doors, leaning into the vacuum, hand outstretched, face alight with wonder. “Come on, grab my hand!”…