#project 77

[roboticbryson]

Tomorrow, the next robot that'll be drawn is 7723 AKA Project 77, who is my favorite Next Gen character of all time.

You all stay tuned for my upcoming art of him! :)

[formosusiniquis]

your eyes can be so cruel (just as i can be)

I'm so excited to start sharing my @steddiebang2024 fic that I've been working on, I can't believe how fast the time's gone and I hope you all enjoy. And the biggest thank yous in the world to @kaspurrcat and @ablogcalledrevenge who have been endlessly patient with me throughout this process. Please go show them some love.

He thinks something is watching him.

Following him.

The meeting with his editor wrapped after a grueling two hours and a promise that he would send the full completed pages to her by express mail at the end of the month.

She wouldn’t be making a second trip to Indy for this.

He started walking home, a long meandering path to clear his head. To shake off the ick that the meeting had left him with.

Maybe it’s still  that lingering tension. That long held fear.

Eddie knows after all that as much as it’s gotten better, it’s still dangerous to be what he is.

It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you, kid.

Unlike Al, who knew who the lurking  were, Eddie doesn’t know who or what have set their sights on him. Something bad is coming. But bad could be anything.

And there’s something following him, he’s sure of it. A creeping, threatening presence.

The weight of it clung to the back of his neck. His shoulders dragged high to protect it from whatever was looming, waiting to catch him.

A Thing rattling dumpsters in the alley as he passed. Quick darting away. A blur he could make out just enough of to be afraid.

If he stops, slows his frantic huffing pace -- how had he wandered so far from home -- enough that he can hear something over the frantic rush of blood in his ears. He can hear war drums. Conflict approaching.

He can’t let that happen. Can’t stop until he’s home.

There’s a scrabble of keratinous claws on the concrete. A chorus in the back of his brain that just says We Hunger.

We Hunger.

We Hunger.

We Hunger.

We starve in a land become waste, cut off from the lands that once fed us. Only the beasts remain. Connected to the grounds where they were born and where they will die. And we, the rest, we hunger.

We Hunger. 

We Hunger

We Hunger.

He hungers.

There’s something he's meant to be a part of that he’s separate from. He can feel them. An ache in his stomach. He hungers.

The city moves around him. Maybe he’s still walking. Fleeing. Searching. Guiding. He doesn’t know.

He just knows he feels the staticy power in the air. Hear the voices in his mind just like he could 16 years ago.

Be sure. Mean it. Say the right words and say them well.

But this voice wants him, not the other way around.

Something is following him. Something bad is coming.

Read and Follow the fic on AO3

[next-7723]

Yo?

Hello. What's your name?

[mariapaula350]

Project 77 From Next Gen •Fanart•

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Project 77 Concept Art (Desert Oasis) by Martin Deschambault

[theseworldsareyours]

P77 Tree City by Martin Deschambault

[cinderacequeen]

Happy Father’s Day to Héctor Rivera, Project 77, and Baymax for being the best father/father figures.

💜❤️💚

[yutani-corporation]

Martin Deschambault