#the fluffiest chocoboy

[thechocoboexpress-blog]

The Trash Man’s Mystery Height (Aka: The Height Ref) ((AKA Aka: Too Much Time On My Hands))

TAGS BECAUSE I’M PROUD AND WANT PEOPLE TO SEE THIS: @wrathwritesthings @themissimmortal @hypaalicious @louisvuittontrashbags

SO, this question has always bugged me? Is Ardyn tall or short? Or a nice inbetween? Now in actuality it’s never been a doubt in my mind that Ardyn is at least six feet, but that still begs the question, how many inches do I need to shave off or add? Welp, let’s take a look, shall we?

(HERE GOES MY ATTEMPT AT BEING DEDUCTIVE.)

I would like to introduce you to height template number one of this little journey, this is the official heights of all four main men in FFXV, down to the Centimeters, I also added a pixel wide bar to show from Prompto to Gladio just how much shorter Prom is than Gladdy, which frankly surprised me, I honestly expected there to be a bigger height difference than that, what with how much of a behemoth Gladio is, and yet Prom comes up to just below Gladios jawline.

Now that you have some perspective on how short (or not short) our sweet muffin turns out to be, lets take a look at some screenshots I got while meticulously searching through letsplays and speedruns of the game, starting with: Episode Prompto.

Soooooo.... correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s a big fucking height gap right there, isn’t it?

Here, lets’s take a little measurement:

Return of the angry red measurement line: The tip of Proms beanie manages to reach the weird frilly bit on his seven billion layers of clothing. Things to take into consideration: Prom is leaning forward, Ardyn is mid movement, Ardyn has his head tilted down to look condescendingly at Prompto. In general it’s a good gist of their respective heights but there are things to consider before making it the Magnum Opus on his height.

Blue is where the tip of the beanie starts, red is where I think I can’t stress enough I only THINK his head would start, give or take a few pixels in width, Ardyn is tilted to the side and in this image the red bar is below his jawline, they aren’t moving as much but they also aren’t facing each other, something to (again) take into account.

Now for the great pain: We all know that Prom is the shortest, so what’s above is almost moot in finding out specifically how tall this guy is, therefore I’ll move to the next extreme, the tallest guy we know. Gladio.

Fair warning; some of these pics are very blurry because I was going through and finding individual frames that I thought looked best for this. Almost all of these are at weird angles and just in general kinda bad.

Lets start with this one here, in Galdin Quay:

Gladio is VERY close to the camera (for example, Prompto’s (who is next to him in this scene) head alone takes up the entire screen for a moment), and yet Ardyn still manages to keep up height next to him, but this is a bad angle and can make everyone look way taller or shorter than they really are, lets move on:

This is the next frame after Ardyn walks past them, it’s the closest I could get Ardyn next to Gladio and the guys, and as I said before: He holds his height against Gladio. And an argument could be made But he’s wearing large boots! Yes, I’ll give you that, but I counter with this: Gladio, the man who frequently gets into battles, who loves to go camping and hiking, prooooooobably isn’t wearing flip-flops, so the height difference there is so slight it’s pointless.

Let’s move on: The Lestallum Scene!

Here’s the only good frame I could get of Cutscene!Ardyn next to Gladio, and personally: I think it says a lot: They’re pretty close to each other, Gladio’s posture is mostly straight whereas Ardyn is bent in a funky way toward Prom and Noct (who look about as big as children here) and yet... He’s still pretty damn tall next to Gladio. Once again boots/shoes are not going to be playing a part in this and a thick trench coat and hood is not gonna make him gain inches in height, or any height at all, really. 

So for the next and final big gripe: Cutscene models and live models’ heights have a tendency to differ WILDLY in this game, making incredibly tall people seem short and incredibly short people seem tall, I personally think that Cutscene body types should be regarded as the “real” character sizes, but for the sake of thoroughness, I got some while they’re walking around too:

This photo is meh, it catches a general feel for their height and it’s pretty amusing. This is Ardyn, he covers his face with his own name and doesn’t like standing. But yeah, he’s mid step and still about as tall as Gladio who hasn’t moved yet.

NEXT. The Big Kicker:

It’s blurry, but they’re right next to eachother. Ardyn is moving just slightly and is the exact same- if not taller- height than Gladio, he’s not a short dude.

And so, for my final height model, I present this:

The general height I think Ardyn is: one or two cm taller than Gladdy.

So how tall should I say he is???: I don’t know exactly. These are all eyeballing guesses at his height, he really could be a lot shorter than Gladio, or he could be a seven foot tall man-giant. It’s all up to you and your own preference, if big Daddy Gladdy is still the reigning Height King, then go Gladdy! If you think that Ardyn as become The Usurper of more than one throne, then daaaaamn congrats Ardyn you’re a big dude!

IN CONCLUSION: I hope this helps people trying to understand the stature of their beloved characters and trash man. Cya guys later! -Jo

((EDIT: Fucking tunglr posted this before I finished it so NOW it’s done.))

[thechocoboexpress-blog]

OKAY OKAY OKAY One last really short post about Ardyn’s height

THIS, is why I don’t think Ardyn is 6′3″

Prompto is supposed to come up past Ardyn’s jawline here, there’s a very noticeable height difference between Gladio and Ardyn, and yet.

(Taken from @chocoblondie)

You’re reeeaaally telling me Prom can really reach up to Ardyn’s ears in height?

Yeah, no.

ANYWAYS yeah I think Ardyn probably could’ve been 6′3″ in the Kingsglaive movie, but not in the game itself.

[thechocoboexpress-blog]

Besithia

This is SHORT AND CRAPPY AS FUCK but I’m blaming that on me being sick.

1,031 words. It’s mostly just a drabble.

@hypaalicious @wrathwritesthings

Ardyn used to hate the cold.

It would nip and burn at sensitive skin and as a boy he’d flee the castle, running as fast as his once thin legs could carry him all the way to the stables where he’d fling himself under Morgan.

Now he can’t remember the last time he so much as shuddered from the chill.

He’s reminded of this now because he stares at an unconscious young man lain flat out against the floor of one of Niflheim’s most important labs.

Said boy won’t stop shivering.

There’s a sense of irony here, leaving a dull throbbing in the man’s head.

Another Besithia, another time. And oh how he looks like his ancestors. The blond hair and the blue eyes and the freckles that he used to listen to his daughter just gush about.

It makes him want to crush the boys’ throat in his hand. But alas, two thousand years of waiting can’t be spoiled by a slip of his hold on the rage that is constantly stoked by his little friends- so instead he sits on a chair, kicks his legs up onto the control panel and waits.

And while he waits, his mind wanders. Ardyn can acutely remember being introduced to Niflheim’s leading scientist, and the way he wanted to laugh when he was faced with another damned Besithia. Verstael wasn’t like his predecessors however, he was cruel and cunning, and slimy enough to shock even him. The way he could blind himself to the horrors of his research by saying it was for the greater good.

Who can mutilate their own children and say it’s a good thing?

Perhaps it’s for this reason that Ardyn doesn’t let the psychopath change forms in front of his son, doesn’t force the boy to fight his father. Some sick form of a conscience rears up with his daughters’ face poorly pasted on.

Even with that tiny conscience of his he taunts that boy for putting down Verstael, well, putting him down temporarily, smarmy bastard thinks he can make himself of a finer material than even the gods. He doesn’t have to like or even tolerate the Six to know it’s utter lunacy.

It’s strange, like a deviation. To be born of someone so cruel and yet to end up something so… Soft, the way Ardyn can just bat this little creature around- take the form of his friends and torment him- and he withers in on himself rather than lash out in a fit of rage. ‘My oh my, barely have to prod to have that halfwit spawn of Gilgamesh and the little brat King nearly tear each-others throats out.’

He twirls a knife in his hand and he watches as that boy fights for his life, perhaps he’ll actually fill his role in the prophecy rather than look like some flimsy insecure little prop now.

It’s as Argentum is going to leave that Ardyn decides he wants to grab the pesky little thing, it’s not hard either, a blade to the engine is never a good sign for your near future. He nearly takes a rough tumble off a cliff when Ardyn grabs him by his collar and rips him backward, between the whiplash and the second ski incident in two days it’s no surprise he remains unconscious as the ancient man drags him by his throat to Zegnautus Keep.

Ardyn is almost tempted to just strap him up and leave him there, but he feels it’ll be a better bonding experience if the rogue has to run about first. So he gets a little practice in with Argentum. “What do you think you’ll say to them… When you tell them how you’re the spawn of the person who murdered their parents? I would start with something self deprecating. To break the ice, of course.”

He hears that little growl at the base of Argentum’s throat and it’s surprising enough to make him laugh. So he is capable of anger! Fascinating.

It’s the closer he gets to the Crystal that spurs Ardyn down darker paths. “I could still make you into one of them, you’re missing some of the more base parts- but that’s no problem! Lucky for you, you’re standing in a massive facility just teeming with the necessary equipment, and then you’d never have to feel lonely again.”

And finally he gets too close to the Crystal for Ardyn’s comfort, and he takes it upon himself to corral the boy into his cell until his dear, sweet friends come along, and perhaps along the way Argentum gets a little scuffed up, it’s not his fault that Humans bruise so easily when thrown into walls.

It’s during one of these times that Ardyn jostles him pretty hard for trying to go down the wrong hall again that his past comes creeping up, the boy makes a piddly terrible little whine in his throat and it’s like he’s a middle aged man, pinning Eleazar Besithia against a smooth marble wall making all the threats any overprotective father would, except Ardyn has drawn a blade in the middle of his rant and Eleazar makes that exact noise.

It takes a moment for Ardyn to notice the change in Argentum’s expression, going from one of fear to incredible confusion, Ardyn was- in Argentum’s mind- speaking in tongues, Ardyn recognized it as the original Lucian language, one long dead and gone. It’d be embarrassing if he gave a damn.

Argentum tries to speak, his voice cracks and squeaks high like a mouse and Ardyn is in the past again, watching Eleazar blush profusely as he rambles a mile a minute, and his daughter just stands there smiling fondly.

Ardyn throws him again for that unknown slight.

It’s a particularly harsh crack against some metal bars that finally makes the boy stop squirming, although he supposes the blood trailing down his face should be a concern. Ah well.

And so he stands there, looking at the slumped forward figure clamped down before him. It’s befitting, really. That the world would come full circle.

The same bloodlines from two thousand years ago, here to finish the story today.

[thechocoboexpress-blog]

Welp,

fuck,

it happened and I thought it would.

Mediumkey ship Prompto x Aranea now.

[thechocoboexpress-blog]

MT!Reader headcanon BS I guess?

This is terrible, don’t hate me please lol. @themissimmortal

The first time you awake, it’s cold, everything is cold, people pick and prod at you in their white coats with their clipboards, wanting to see what makes you tick and squeal, you are so very small compared to them, then.

The second time you awake, you’re tall now, the world is still cold but you can comprehend it better, you can stare the people in the coats in the eye now, but for some reason, they hate staring back. You don’t go to sleep again.

It was that second time you awoke that your existence was defined for you, as you were walked by massive machines that clinked and whirred and called to you down along wide endless hallways, unforgiving in their own right. The cold never went away, why was it so cold?

At first you were afforded your own bed in the cold place, where you could rest after the people in the coats prodded at you, they told you that you would be special, special for them.

You’re in commission for five years before they finally complete building you, replacing all the fleshy bits that you didn’t need, that made you weak- with new, better pieces, metal and gears and wiring and inky black ooze that seemed to hiss as it funneled through your new veins. The most painful procedures were the ones where they complete removed portions of your body, they started with the legs, sawing them clean off and replacing them with disjointed works of metal that seemed to end on what appeared to be two toes.

They finished with your arms, they were the most heavily modified and least fleshy part of your body by the end, equipped from wrist to elbow with weaponry, your arms were far longer than they should have been, far longer than they were before, reaching down to your knees, disjointed and too thin, like your legs, you’d think to yourself.

But the real reason they finished with your arms is what they put in them, a whip in the right and a shield in the left, first of your kind built like this, the MT-1929259 or, the Arbiter Class, now you tower over everyone, and they tremble when you stare, but that’s because they don’t know when you’re staring, you were finally ready for use out in the field, but like all your kin you couldn’t stand the sunlight, it burnt, worse than when they would meld the metal of your new body parts to the flesh of your old.

So you were stuck in the same bleak identical uniform  that every other MT on Eos wore, cold unfeeling white shells designed to keep all the light out and all the ugly in. Although they did… Specialize your outfit, it wouldn’t do to mistake you for a normal MT.

The year M.E. 756 is the most important year of your existence, you fight a god, sure, pretty cool. But more importantly, you meet Prompto Argentum.

The fight was relatively boring, the Archaean had no interest in you or your ilk, the thing that captivated his attention was the Crown Prince of Lucis, a streak of crystal blue light dancing around him, akin to an annoying bug, no? The Prince wasn’t your concern.

Until he blew you up. Well, correction, he blew up the machine you were operating, either way you blew up and a leg was torn clean off, you flew a good ten feet and cracked hard against a massive boulder and landed directly in front of a man with the most ridiculous hair you’d ever met. You’d immediately made to attack him, but one leg was missing and your entire lower half was sluggish, likely the fault of an unforgiving stone that you’d just made impact with, this left you dragging yourself after the Human who’d raised his gun at you.

Bang! One shot, two, three, each clumsy bullet to your shoulder chest and midsection hurt but not as much as the light it let seep in under your shell, attacking your grayed out flesh. You’d made to sit up, and were met with the barrel of a gun pointed directly between your eyes, the havoc wrought onto you had long overridden basic protocol and instead instincts, things long buried and beaten and trained out of you had clawed the way to the forefront of your mind, you blocked your face with your hands. In retrospect your hands were also damaged, fingers bent out of shape and creaking as the tried to stick straight out, damned sand.

The Human’s response was… Unusual. Flinching and jerking the gun away from where it’d been honed on you moments ago. Soft blue eyes were wide as saucers, watering and unblinking, as if you’d just committed an act of sacrilege by hiding your masked face behind your broken hands. He’d stepped forward, a hesitant hand held out in your direction when the booming voice of the Archaean rumbled through the earth, you could feel your blood boil with pain and discomfort at the mere sound, and quieter underneath it’s earth shattering tenor was another man’s voice calling out. “Prompto!” And like that the tiny man had looked away and fled.

The next time you’d meet Prompto, he’d be stealing his car back.