ITS DONE IM DONE I CANNOT BELIEVE IT AHHHHH THAT ONLY TOOK........a month..........., what the hellj possessed me to render nine characters in one panel
HI TEAM ive had this silly lyrics based comic in mind forever now and the holidays FINALLY gave me the opportunity to spend entirely too long staring at my screen to realize it PLEASE TELL ME YOU SEE THE VISION PLEA hope u enjoy 🫶🫶
showing my friends the movies rn so pssssst do not tell them about the last frame theyre not that far in the story yet 😔😔
some shading i was proud of without the lighting layers;;
Notes: Reuniting with Gally ft. Frypan friendship. [This was inspired by the prompt, 'Honestly? It really sucks', from one of @promptsbytaurie's lists]
As if your feet were suddenly one with the ground, you could not move. The freshly unmasked man in front of you with shame and surprise stirring together through the pale green in his eyes was waiting for you to say something, at the very least, but even your lips seemed to have turned into stone. The sight of Thomas rushing at Gally and throwing a fist to his face hardly shook you from your trance.
He looked behind himself as he led the way to Lawrence and the rest of the rebellion, quietly checking on you, but all you did was stare wide-eyed in return. He told himself it was a look of contempt. He killed Chuck and now you hated him like everyone else.
It wasn't until Gally took Thomas and Newt into the city that you could actually figure out what you were feeling.
“Is it too on the nose to say you look like you've seen a ghost?” Frypan dryly remarked, leaning up against the dilapidated “shed” you were to call home for the night.
Slowly, you dragged your eyes to him before laughing. He was right. He was always right.
“I was picturing some whole Romeo and Juliet thing, but you were kind of cold…”
“I thought he was dead. I was in shock. I am in shock.” The words came out clumsily as you dipped your head back. “I've been grieving him alone and now suddenly…here he is. He's been here. He's alive.” At least, he seemed okay. “What do I even say to him?” Looking to Frypan, a pleading in your eyes illuminated by a nearby trashcan fire.
“I don't remember you two doing a whole lot of talking back in the Glade.” A perfect “big brother”, Frypan teased and knocked his elbow into your rib. He forgot how sore it was from the tumble you took earlier when outrunning a hoard of cranks.
“You guys act like we were making out all the time in front of you. You saw us kiss, like, twice in a whole year.” Gally was private about everything. He hated when any of the guys gave him guff about it. It wasn't easy for him to be viewed as soft, to have a weakness. “It's not like I can just leap into his arms now and shove my tongue down his throat.”
“Why not?”
“Because for all I know, he's with someone or…maybe, he hates me.”
“No way he hates you.”
“He could. I left him. He was dying and we left.”
Frypan was shaking his head from side to side, not willing to accept what he was hearing.
“I distinctly remember a guard taking your foot to their groin as they dragged you off him, alright?” He dug his eyes as deep as he could into yours to really make himself clear. “You don't have to charge at the guy or make any moves, but you can tell him you missed him or something.”
Frypan had always been so willing to be there for you. It made it hard to be annoyed with his wisdom.
“I don't know…” You sighed and dropped your head to your shoulder, feeling as if it had doubled in weight.
As your tired eyes finally began to close, Frypan spoke again, “Hey Gally, ______ and I were just talking about how much she missed you.” He said matter-of-factly, like he was asking what to make for dinner. “How'd it go, guys? Figure out where Minho is?” Climbing up onto his feet, Frypan shouted toward Thomas and Newt before heading over.
Gally was staring at you, expectantly, but every time you tried to look back, your eyes strayed. You found dust on the toes of your boots, a series of holes in a blanket being used as a door across the way, and even an empty brown glass bottle beside the pillar he was leaning against to look at. Anything, but him.
He was about to give up. Gally uncrossed his arms, dropping them loudly to his side, when you found something to say.
“What's it like having a collapsed lung?” It wasn't what you wanted to say and it seemed like Gally knew that because he raised his brows in a way that basically asked, ‘Seriously?’
“Honestly? It really sucks.” He said plainly and kicked at dirt between you, coming closer. “It's not that different than watching someone you love leave.”
A sudden feeling of breathlessness that was sharp and held his entire body hostage. It wasn't foreign to him.
Gally's words didn't sound cold, but they made your whole body tense up like someone ran an ice cube up your spine. Once again, you tore your eyes from him in shame, but he didn't let you escape this time. Gally sat down beside you and forced you to see him, to take in his dirty face. If there was a competition between you both for who needed to wash and rest more, Gally would win.
“You were so cross with me for following Thomas…” A whisper was the best you could do, eyes tightening to keep tears from flooding in.
“No. No.” He shook his head, trying to whisper back. Quiet was not Gally's default. “I was mad at myself for trying to hold you back...” He said it urgently and like it was a promise.
“And then when Minho struck you, I didn't want to -” You were crying now, tears evaporating into your dry skin as soon as they dropped out of your eyes. It didn't stop Gally from shushing at you and pressing his calloused thumbs into your cheeks, gracelessly trying to wipe them away.
“Stop. I don't want to talk about it, ______. I don't want to go back there.” He half-sighed, dropping his head back before taking his touch for your face and picking up one of your hands in both of his. Gally held your palm up against his chest, keeping it close to where his bad lung was, where a scar sat as an everyday reminder of one of the worst days of his life as far as he could recall. The day he killed Chuck. The day he was stung. The day he lost his “family”. “Do you feel that?” He asked over the beat of his heart that was tangible beneath his sweater. “I'm okay. We’re both okay.” The fact that you two managed to find one another again was almost enough to make someone as abrasive and disillusioned as he was to believe in fate. He lacked the depth to say so, but it was the only thing he felt since seeing you in the crowd, standing beside Frypan and trying to see an inch in front of yourself.
Sucking in a deep breath, you tried to blink away a few remaining tears. The rhythm of his heartbeat was soothing so you kept your hand there, holding on to proof that Gally was alive.
“We’re going to get Minho and we’re going to get out of here. Together.” He sounded every bit as confident as he used to when he told everyone to stay in the Glade, that Thomas was lunatic. He sounded like your Gally. “We're going to take down WICKED.”
Jumping up to his feet, Gally extended a hand to help you stand. You didn't waste a second putting your hand back to where it had been on him once you were upright.
“I'm just reminding myself that you're really here.”
Gally smirked before leaning in and brushing his lips to yours. Slow at first, nervous for the count of one, and then his mouth opened up to pull you in. He had a hand on your back to fulfill his own need to feel your realness while the other covered your hand still on his chest.
“Out of practice, but I'm here.” Taking in a deep breath, Gally panted. He was going to have to get used to doing that with one lung, but the dyspnea felt worth it with you back in his arms.
