#cott archie

[starlight-artbby]

My COTT doodles that I will (Probably) do cleaned up versions of later

[smidge-doodles]

I love when characters who share the same voice actor meet up, in cross-overs or just au episodes, and this is what came to my mind when I saw a post from the voice actor holding the lego character he voices. I mean, I'd be a little freaked hearing my voice coming from a sentient lego person.

It was fun to make, especially double d's extreme expression. Anyway, enjoy the doodle of my dog.

I think its pretty good 😊

[scarlett-fire-cat]

The Absolute Horror of “Nothing to Fear But Fear Itself”: Why Lycaon is the Ultimate Predatory Blueprint in Class of the Titans 🐺🩸

Can we pull up a chair and have a deeply serious conversation about the absolute psychological devastation that was the Class of the Titans episode “Nothing to Fear But Fear Itself”? Because I am constantly looking back at 2000s animation tropes, and this single episode completely shattered the boundaries of a standard Y7 cartoon.

Let's keep it profoundly real: Lycaon isn't just a "monster of the week." He is a personal, visceral, skin-crawling threat that introduced a completely R-rated vibe to the narrative ether.

Here is my exhaustive, intersectional breakdown of why this hunt changed the entire psychological landscape of the show:

1. The Mindless Wrecking Ball vs. The Sadistic Predator

When you look at the monsters Cronus throws at the Seven Heroes, most of them function like natural disasters. The Kraken is just a giant, mindless wrecking ball smashing boats because it’s a force of nature. But Lycaon? Lycaon is a personal threat. His hunt of Atlanta wasn't about a strategic victory for Cronus; it was entirely about the sadism of the chase.

He took active, visceral pleasure in her terror. This is exactly why the comparison to Fenrir Greyback from Harry Potter hits so staggeringly hard. It’s that exact same, stomach-turning energy of a predator who doesn't just want to kill, but wants to physically dominate, torment, and ravish his target.

2. The Violation of the Blood Connection

To make things infinitely more invasive, Cronus literally used Atlanta's own blood to pull Lycaon out of ancient myth and bring him into the modern world. Think about the sociology of that for a second. By using her life-force as the catalyst, the narrative creates an unwanted, forced, and deeply creepy connection between the victim and the predator. It gives Lycaon a metaphysical "claim" over her body and safety before the physical hunt even begins.

And let’s praise the animators, because they refused to make him a "cool," sleek werewolf. He was drawn as mangy, skeletal, and desperate. He literally looked like he smelled of physical decay and terrible intentions. He didn't just want to take her life; he wanted to consume her strength, her spirit, and her beauty.

3. The Shattering of the Huntress

What makes this episode a total jump scare for the audience is who the target is. Atlanta is established as the ultimate tomboy icon—she is sassy, tough, outspoken, spunky, feisty, and a fiercely badass fighter. She is the descendant of Atalanta; she is the huntress.

But Lycaon completely turned the tables and forced her into the position of the prey. When she was backed into that corner, her tough-girl shield didn't just crack—it completely shattered. Her terrified face in that corner was a masterpiece of desperate animation.

Sarah Edmondson’s vocal performance during these scenes was phenomenal. That wasn't a generic "cartoon action fight" gasp. That was the breathless, helpless frequency of a person trapped in a room with a real-world predator. Her brain canonically went into neurological survival mode (freeze/paralysis) instead of fighter mode, because Lycaon was her literal psychological kryptonite. He was a monster specifically tailored to break a proud woman's spirit.

4. The Interlocking Green Flag: Archie as the Anchor

This brings us to the absolute most intense, yet profoundly wholesome aspect of her relationship with Archie. When Atlanta’s defenses failed and she was paralyzed with terror, Archie didn't just step in as a physical shield—he served as her psychological anchor to reality. He reminded her that she wasn't alone in the dark.

This dynamic is beautifully interdependent. Archie’s entire hero journey is fueled by his deep, protective devotion to the people he loves. Without Atlanta to protect, Archie wouldn't have found that extra gear of mythic courage required to face down something as revolting as Lycaon.

They perfectly balance each other out: Atlanta gives Archie his fire, and Archie gives her his unyielding stability. On top of that building, they weren't just two separate teenagers fighting a myth; they functioned as a single, unbreakable unit. Archie standing his ground gave Atlanta the literal space to breathe again, proving that even the absolute toughest person in the room deserves to have someone cover their back when the world turns into a horror movie.

Conclusion:

"Nothing to Fear But Fear Itself" didn't just give us a cool fight scene; it gave us a profound look at trauma, vulnerability, and the radical healing power of emotional safety. Atlanta didn't lose her power by being afraid; she proved her humanity. And her story belongs to the survivors who know what it’s like to fight like hell to get their breath back.

[storiesaremylife]

Kai's friends are so much kinder about his aquaphobia than Archie's friends

Kai: im terrified of the water

Jay: ah man that sucks

Cole: dont worry we'll make it through this

Archie: im scared of wa--

Atlanta: LOL NERD

Jay: well get the frick over it loser.

[nerdo-art]

Got dress-coded at school by the new assistant principal? Don't worry! Neil and The Boyz are there to get the whole school to commit to the bit.

I would have LOVED to have seen more in-school hijinks with these goofballs. And was this a shameless excuse to draw early 2000's fashions? Why yes, yes it was.

BONUS:

Based on this ProZD short video: [LINK]

[death-himself]

Smoke and Butterflies — Chapter 1

Fireworks on a Winter Night

Summary: Why is Archie the mistrusting, angry person that he is? Why do his eyes always scan for danger, his hands gripping his weapons as he stays permanently prepared for a fight? How does someone become like that?

(aka me overanalyzing everything this man has said and done and creating a backstory for him because why do none of these characters have even a smidge of a canon backstory)

Word Count: 1,730

Warnings: minor ableism, minor emotional child abuse, homelessness

next (AO3 Link)

Ever since Archie’s third sprained ankle, he hadn’t felt safe at home. The first time he sprained his ankle, he was ten years old, playing soccer during recess, when he slipped and fell, his right ankle twisting and creating a searing pain unlike any he had felt before. His parents brought him home that day without a word said about it. It wasn’t anything serious.

The second time was a month later, playing soccer, where he sprained his right ankle again as he slipped on some mud caused by the storm the night before. His parents brought him home again, no words of comfort to be said.

Another month passed, and he sprained his ankle again, this time his left rather than his right. On the ride home, his father made a joke about how the universe seemed to have it out for him, though his words sounded sharp and cutting. He looked back at Archie with a dubious glare. “Are you just doing this to get out of school?” He asked coldly. Archie said he wasn’t; while he had never been a good student and had always made it clear he didn’t like school, the throbbing, burning pain in his leg had him fighting back tears. His father didn’t reply, and when they parked in their home’s driveway, he left Archie alone to make his own way up to his room. After a few moments of struggling, his mother helped, but her touch felt cold and unwelcoming to him.

He would sprain his ankles three more times after this, twice more on his right and once more on his left. After his fifth sprain, he started noticing that he couldn’t walk in a straight line anymore. His ankles constantly ached with a dull pain, and by the age of twelve he went from being the best soccer player on his team to the worst. His parents took him to the doctor, and he was soon diagnosed with chronic ankle instability and chronic ankle pain.

Things got better once he began wearing ankle braces. His parents continued to believe he was faking his injuries and pain, but still paid for his trips to the doctor and bought him the cheapest braces they could find. Everything was fine for years.

And then high school came around. Archie didn’t remember much of his freshman and sophomore years. Thinking back on those times made him feel like he had been cast into freefall over the void, doomed to eventually crash and die.

He remembered smoke. And yelling. And a funeral he couldn’t attend. His last memories of his sophomore year were intentionally fuzzy. He had gotten into an argument with his parents, which ended in him punching his father in the face and getting thrown out with a duffel bag full of food and clothes as a response. He didn’t know if his parents had meant to kick him out for good, and he had stopped caring about the answer a long time ago.

Things blurred again after that. His memories were clear again after he walked out of the cemetery with the single train of thought that had led him for the past year. Where am I going to sleep tonight? Do I have money to spare for a motel room? Can I afford to get this? Can I risk stealing that?

He took a bus to a town a couple miles away from his parents’ house, far enough away for no one to recognize him. After a few nights sleeping in back alleys, he walked along the highway to the next town. He had to keep moving, he felt like he’d die if he didn’t.

His ankles burned more than ever before. The cheap polyester and spandex of his braces created blisters on his legs, and after a week they had become even more drenched in sweat and dirt than Archie himself was. With no soap or water to spare, his blisters turned an infected yellow hue often.

Libraries became his safehouses; so long as he stuck to a corner away from other people, pulled a book off of the shelves, and at least pretended to read it every hour or so, the librarians would generally leave him alone.

He had never been much of a bookworm, but the ancient Greek stories of the Iliad and the Odyssey brought back fond, but safe memories of a time he had blocked out of his mind. So at each library he went to, he would settle himself in the classics or mythology sections, fill up his water bottle at the water fountains, clean himself as best he could in the bathrooms, and give his legs some time to rest.

Before becoming homeless, he had preferred the Iliad over the Odyssey. He had loved the character of Achilles, but now the further into the story he got, the more disoriented and queasy he would feel, like staring into a funhouse mirror. And each time he picked it up in the library, he found himself unable to flip to the next page once he finished Book 15. He knew what would happen in the next section, and sometimes it felt as if he and Achilles’s pain was linked, though he didn’t understand why at the time.

Archie would always spend his first day in a new town walking around, looking for places to camp. So whenever the librarians had to kick him out to close for the night, he would know where he could go. His favorite spots were in the woods, on the rare occasions that the library was close enough to some. He would find a spot where fallen tree branches arched just over his head, hang his blanket over them, and sleep there. Sleeping in the woods put him at risk of being attacked by wolves, though, and one time he had in fact been attacked in his sleep, to which he ran out of the woods at the dead of night with a bleeding gash in his left thigh and a clump of wolf fur clutched in his hand as a trophy.

A part of him enjoyed the thrill of it, a different kind of fighting for survival that seemed to come easier for him, and one that broke up the monotony of resting in libraries and shoplifting food at corner stores. He picked the lock of a gas station bathroom, washed his injury, then took his pocket knife and cut a strip off of his blanket, tying it tightly around his wound.

He found it a miracle that he never seemed to get sick throughout his time being homeless. Sometimes his injuries would turn yellow and begin leaking pus, but even then nothing worse seemed to come out of it. Sometimes he would get a good night’s rest and wake up to all of his injuries healed, though the scars would still remain. It didn’t make sense, but Archie chose not to think too hard about it. The pain in his ankles would always remain, and that was the most debilitating injury he had.

He eventually had to abandon his old braces; they had simply become too filthy and worn down to help him anymore. He had risked stealing some ace bandages from a drugstore, and wrapped them tightly around his right ankle. His left had always felt much better than his right, so he chose to preserve the remaining bandage in case he would need to re-wrap his more damaged ankle.

Archie had trouble keeping track of how long he was on the streets. He could tell when holidays passed based on decorations in stores, and sometimes libraries would have a calendar set out somewhere at the front. Christmas and New Years had passed not long after he had left his parents’ house, and as snow began to fall again, he could tell it had been about a year. 

When the new year came around, he had expected it to be the same as the last. He had set up camp at the edge of Lake Michigan and watched the fireworks from afar. When the time hit midnight, or at least he assumed it hit midnight, the fireworks shot into the sky, producing a beautiful array of color that scattered across the black, combining with the stars blinking above. But as Archie watched, it felt like he was seeing some sort of glitch in reality. For just a moment, the fireworks froze. The stars behind them stopped sparkling. Then the fireworks seemed to move backwards in time. Archie counted the seconds; no more than a minute passed before things went back to normal. He heard the distant cheers and music of people celebrating the dawn of a new year, as if he was the only one to see what had happened.

Archie found himself unable to sleep that night. When morning came, he packed up his belongings. As he began walking out of the woods, a glint caught his eye. Hanging from a tree branch was a gold pendant. It looked somewhat like a sundial, with a small lightning bolt at the top and a pattern around the edges. Archie took it gingerly in his hand and turned it over, finding an intricately carved “A” on the back.

The metal felt warm in his hands, as if it had come right out of the fire it was forged in and was hand-delivered to him. It didn’t feel like the magical item Archie would soon learn that it was, but he knew it was important, and he knew it was meant for him and him alone.

“I could probably get so much money if I sold this thing,” he mumbled to himself, but the moment the words left his mouth he knew he would never even try it. Even still, he didn’t want to think about what it meant, and if it was related at all to what he saw the night before. Archie wasn’t important enough to be involved in anything like that, even if magic did exist and even if what he saw the night before had actually happened and wasn’t just a trick of the mind.

So Archie tucked the pendant under his shirt, gripped the strap of his duffel bag tighter, and walked to the library, trying to ignore the metal practically humming against his chest.

[melon3lord]

45 MINUTES

Theresa: I'm at a loss for words!

Archie: Despite being ‘at a loss for words’, Theresa yelled at me for the next 45 minutes.

[bifairywife]

when every single one of em are so important to you <33