Thinking about how Astarion insisted on staying up to keep watch in the beginning of the game
Yeah, it could be because he needs to go hunt at night without anyone noticing, or because he's keeping an eye out for Cazador/his minions. But... It could also be because he's scared of sleeping/trancing in general?
He's got severe C-PTSD. I have that too. And one of the things I experience from it is a fear of falling asleep.
Sleeping is vulnerability. You're completely defenseless. It's terrifying to fall asleep when you're used to danger! And some abusers will purposefully do things to you when you sleep. I wouldn't put it past Cazador to have done something like that.
It's especially terrifying when you're sleeping somewhere unfamiliar, or as out and open as a forest. With strangers.
Add in the elvish reverie (if we assume Astarion still experiences it as he would if he were alive at his current age)... and he might even be reliving horrible memories every time he tries to rest.
(If you're unfamiliar with elvish trancing/dreaming, I made a post about it and some ways it might affect Astarion as a vampire spawn a while ago)
One of the reasons I think this could be the case is actually the other spawn, specifically what I noticed when we first meet Dalyria and Petras. At first I thought Astarion's eye bags were just a product of being undead. But... Petras, the very human looking spawn, doesn't have that. Dalyria is an elf as well, and like Astarion, she's got some of that tired sleep-deprived purple under and around her eyes.
So all this considered... I think it's very possible that Astarion has a fear of sleeping too. Or at the very least, trouble resting. Him and the other elvish spawn.
It also makes me wonder if he sleeps any better later on in the game. By Act 3 he probably feels more comfortable with you and the group. Sleeping near familiar people (especially people you're very comfortable with, but that's very dependant on your own choices in your game), and having established night time routines can make sleeping feel a little safer.
Plus by that point he's made many new memories he can visit in his reverie. Maybe instead of remembering the terrible things, sometimes he dreams of sun bathing, the first time he bit you or that bear, or any other happy memory he's created since being tadpoled.
Maybe for the first time in centuries, sleeping isn't such a terrible prospect.
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heres the limbo fusions with the rest of the vento aureo main protags
Limbo + Mista
Mimbo - any pronouns
"Are u lost bbygrl? :)"
(They give a weird stare if asked for a full name. They only use Mimbo, even though it’s a combination of Limbo’s forename and Mista’s surname.)
most stable Limbo fusion merely by virtue of Mista’s simple ability to just not give a fuck.
GET YOUR GUN OUT OF YOUR CLEAVAGE!
bitch gon step on my fuckin toe bitch with them fuckin cowgirl fuckin boots
VITALLY important that you know that despite being easily mistaken as fem on first glance, Mimbo also has the deepest voice of any Limbo fusion for literally no reason other than it’s funny to me. They also have sideburns
Stand: Mighty Wings - Redirects Signals. Still a colony Stand, looks like tiny little pastel fighter jets!
Limbo + Abbacchio
Lio Adkio - they/them
“Don’t say SHIT about my mascara or my eyeliner.”
“In fact, don’t fucking look at me or I’ll have to kill you or myselves.”
stable only because when Limbo started panicking in the mindspace, Abbacchio simply pointed and snapped at her to CALM THE FUCK DOWN. and she did so immediately.
nicer than Abbacchio. not by that much, though… but weirdly apologetic about it.
the eyeliner doesn’t appear to be due to crying, it seems that it just looks like that.
bazongas?
Stand: Keeping The Faith? Never Too Late? Shawty like a melody-
“rewinds” signals to previous states or connections and/or can do a “replay” of those signals’ succeeded actions (i.e. having a phone replay a prior conversation) Unfortunately, it’s pretty useless in combat.
Limbo + Giorno
Glimbo Giovadkins - she(?)/they/them
“Wouldn’t you like to hear one of my 765 fun facts about aerodynamics, animals or Air Bud?”
“I also have a few facts about botany, blood and birds.”
stable, until they’re not. they’re incredibly calm and delightful, but when they think someone’s mad at them they panic and start excessively apologising.
genuinely the softest cutest sweetest lil bitch you’ve ever seen. also traumatised with a guilty conscience and can flip on a dime in a terrifying way.
shortest Limbo fusion for no clear reason? shorter than both Limbo and Giorno.
Squalo’s worst fear.
sounds pretty much how you would expect.
Stand: Crystal Dolphin - can transform signals into life—by taking the signals out of something, typically disabling it, they can create life like Gold Experience can. The more complex the device, the bigger its potential creation.
Limbo + Buccellati
Bimbo Luno Adkellati - they/them
"...I've lost the conversation. I'm gonna go make pizza!"
Megan Thee Stallion?!
has no idea what’s going on for some reason? always looks a little confused and loses track of conversations very quickly.
very good with kids! practically unable to have a coherent conversation with Abbacchio. They don’t seem too distressed, but they just stop making much sense and seem to confuse themselves.
Stand: When Doves Cry? Perhaps Freewill? Uhm… I don’t know? Maybe it can sort of, ‘zip’ signals together, combining two or more functions into one sent signal? Bruno's ability is just so specific... I can't think of many ideas.
Limbo + Fugo
Fimbo (Pannalimbo Adkigo) - they/them
"STOP TALKING ABOUT FREUD BEFORE I KILL YOU WITH MY FUCKING BRACELETS!!!"
( Note: all currently depicted instances of Fimbo seem to be post-PHF, as Fimbo is almost always seen with the mouth scars hidden by the tattoo.)
enemy of the state. punches fascists. lovecore punk goth. in terms of authority figures they only respect Buccellati and Limbo’s dad.
AuDHD trauma poster child. Short fuse but very friendly until something sets them off and they start screaming and or burst into fucking tears.
Self-love in the sense that the fusionmates care about each other deeply and both sides are trying to look out for the other knowing the other won't look out for themself.
Stand: Cabin Fever - Terrifying deathly virus that, rather than being airborne like Purple Haze, is passed though signal transmission. Fimbo doesn’t know if the virus is the same as Purple Haze, a different strain of it, or something entirely different. It spreads most quickly through vocal communication between two people.
Limbo + Narancia
Nimbus Ghirgins - he/they/she
"tummyache... :("
Libby why does my stomach feel like it’s going to fucking collapse in on itself and why are my knuckles torn? aren’t they supposed to bruise when you punch?
bad relationship with food. Hanahaki disease, what are you doing here? (/ij)
sometimes they find Mista sitting around, sit next to him and fall asleep on him immediately
incredibly bad with emotions and doesn’t even get angry they just get overwhelmed instantly at any presence of significant emotion
Stand: Falling in Love/Hard on the Knees - who the fuck let this kid control CO2 emissions?? They can barely control themselves???
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#God tho this does make me want to pull back up that notebook fic snippet i had#of Margo confronting Molly about this too but like with science.#Margo would know. Just saying. She knows. ⃪ does this mean you have Molly/Margo fic?
Hi anon! sorry this is now several days late but boy do I. ( watched FAMK for the first time in February, wound up with Pages and pages of fic snippets (for a couple ships, margo x molly included) in chicken scratch on physical paper which is always a great sign that im being normal about a show, thought I'd cure myself if I just watched the whole thing a second time and absolutely only made it worse. )
I meant to answer this ask by just typing up the quick excerpt of the fic I was talking to myself in the tags about but...... started typing and did not stop. It lives over here now! Was not the one of the notebook fics I thought would see the light of day but you know? why not.
(I assume if you're here you, like me, have already read all the fics to be found but if you have Not read everything in that tag already, highly recommend. this fandom may be small but boy did it have good food on offer when I rolled in four years late fresh off a few episodes and absolutely screaming.)
Since I went ahead and dropped that one on ao3 at like 4am i'll throw in something a little more typical of the the notebook archives - how about this thing that exists entirely bc i noticed that used bookstore you can see beside the Outpost in season 1 and it gave me Ideas
Sometime post crossword-quiz / pre- run-in at the Jazz club.
Margo walks fast past the Outpost on her way over to Bargain Books. When she can, she prefers to park down at the other end of the street and not have to go by that eyesore of a bar in the first place, but when you double the size of the astronaut program with twenty female ascans, you turn street parking into a blood sport. On her salary, no way is she playing chicken with the corvettes, not even to avoid mustering a polite smile for a coworker at his inebriated worst.
Most days, that’s only an issue if she swings by after dark, the hour when everybody’s trickling out and stumbling home for the evening. Otherwise, the dingy whitewashed plywood keeps a nice impenetrable wall between book-seeking passers-by and drunken test pilots. Today, however, a spell of perfect weather is conspiring against her. Someone has the door propped open with a rusty paint can, letting the sound of laughter of clinking glass spill through it onto the sidewalk.
A flash of green catches Margo’s eye before she can make it past. Despite herself, she recognizes that shade in an instant. It’s the flannel shirt she had to reprimand earlier that afternoon for bringing a lit cigarette into the sim. Molly Cobb, bent over a pool table, chin twisted up towards Patty Doyle, grinning like a woman about to win.
Just Margo’s luck that this is the perfect time of day—indoor light matching outdoor light—for Molly to catch her eye straight through the open door as she makes her shot. 8-ball, dead in the pocket.
For no reason she can think of, Margo feels heat rushing up into her cheeks.
She stalks into Bargain Books in a hurry.
The sweater-vested owner behind the front desk gives her the polite nod reserved for a good customer (and disinterested conversationalist) as she beelines for Paperback Fiction. She finished Matheson’s Ride the Nightmare last night— should have picked up two when she noticed how short it was in the first place, but nothing else tickled her fancy when she was in here a week ago, so here she is again, browsing spines. Maybe it's time to cave and finally grab a 10¢ copy of Rosemary's Baby from the stack on the end, seeing as it’s the one highly recommended title in her genre-of-choice the entire country seems to have read in the last couple years, but she already knows the ending (and the entire premise of demonic pregnancy does not appeal for tuning out after the work day).
She’s dubiously eying the back-cover blurb on a Chandler detective thriller instead when a voice over her shoulder says, “Oh, Patty loves this shit.”
To her great chagrin, Margo jumps, gasps, and drops her book. “Jesus, Molly.”
“My bad.”
Molly squats down to pick it up, slouchy brown corduroy flexing over her thighs. She fixes a bend in the cover before offering it back to her, but when Margo tries to take it away, Molly doesn’t let go. Instead, she adopts a playfully quirked brow and tugs it back towards herself inch-by-inch, bringing Margo, frowning, a step closer than she was before. “Came here to see if I could talk you into a drink.”
Margo’s voice comes out approximately four steps too high as she looks around for some explanatory audience and says incredulously, “In there?” with a jerk of her thumb towards the Outpost’s adjoining wall.
“Yeah. NASA central, shithole though it may be, but I never see you around.”
“Well, I’m not an astronaut.”
“Neither are the five white-shirts who monopolize the best booth in the back six nights a week. They don’t check for a pin at the door, Madison. That’d be no way to run a business. It’s a bar. Come have a drink with me.”
“With… you.” She asks because she expects there to be an and. Me and the other ascans. Me and the rest of you white-shirt types in the back. Me and Patty Doyle.
But Molly just raps the cover of The Lady in the Lake with her knuckles and says again, “With me.”
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