[ Whatever explanation future Martin might have attempted - whatever words might have made it to his lips - they’re dead and buried before they even make it past his head. Tim steers him all too efficiently into current Martin’s path, and there’s nowhere for him to hide. Nowhere else for him to look, either.
So he stares, grabbing at Tim and Jon with knuckles that would be white if his hands weren’t fucking transparent right now. An unpleasant voice roars to life in the back of his head, reigniting the image that had been burned into his mind without his consent.
You want to know what she sees when she looks at you?
He'd thought mirrors were bad enough; he'd certainly thrown out all of his back home, and been miserably surprised by Jon's here. No, looking at himself in flesh in blood is infinitely, infinitely worse.
Future Martin makes a strangled, miserable noise and faints outright. ]
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So he stares, grabbing at Tim and Jon with knuckles that would be white if his hands weren’t fucking transparent right now. An unpleasant voice roars to life in the back of his head, reigniting the image that had been burned into his mind without his consent.
You want to know what she sees when she looks at you?
He'd thought mirrors were bad enough; he'd certainly thrown out all of his back home, and been miserably surprised by Jon's here. No, looking at himself in flesh in blood is infinitely, infinitely worse.
Future Martin makes a strangled, miserable noise and faints outright. ]