Vel

17 | flambert expert | wowowowow | i’m actually if robert and flambae fused into one person

[cam-orange]

somebody save him (also can you guys rec some cool flambert/mechabae fics? Imma have some free time this weekend to binge-read Feel free to rec your own fics too And the people not reccing better go down to the comment to check out the cool fics there)

[pinkparagram]

Robert is woken up at ass-o’clock in the morning by a call from Flambae's phone. When he picks it up, it’s an emotionally exhausted bartender telling Robert to come pick Flambae up before he causes any more trouble. And Robert’s confused, because what the fuck is his contact name in Flambae’s phone that the bartender chose to call him?? 

But still, Flambae’s part of his team and Robert’s responsible for him, so he drags himself out of bed, throws on some ratty clothes and makes his way to the bar, where he finds Flambae slumped over the bar with far too many empty glasses in front of him. 

Robert’s never seen him this drunk—messy and red-faced, not quite able to stay upright on his own. He takes his latest drink away from him, sliding it back toward the bartender, and tells Flambae he’s had enough. Flambae, stumbling over his words a little, tells Robert to fuck off. And then, uncharacteristically sheepish, he mutters something about how he’s not usually such a messy drunk. 

“Hey, I’m not in any place to judge,” Robert tells him. “I have my own track record with—”

“I already know about your Mezcal breakup,” Flambae interrupts, casually waving his hand.

Robert dodges the uncoordinated limb. “You do?” 

“Phenona…Phenom…anan…Phenonanan—Phen told everybody,” Flambae says, giving up on using the hero’s full name. “Fucking gossip girl.” 

“I guess I’m not surprised,” Robert says dryly. “He’s got a weird sense of bounda—” 

“Did you actually fuck him?” Flambae asks before Robert’s even gotten his whole sentence out.

Robert sighs heavily. “No, we didn’t ‘make love,’ if that’s what he’s been saying. There’s been some confusion on his part about what that phrase mea—”

“So you didn’t kiss him?” Flambae insists, weirdly dogged for how hazy his eyes are. “He was lying?” 

“Okay, technically, he kissed me,” Robert defends himself. “And he only did it because he was worried that—well it’s kind of convoluted, but there were no feelings involved.”

And then Flambae, Mr. You’re Not My Type, who’s basically Robert’s frenemy at this point, asks for a kiss of his own. 

Robert, completely thrown by the sudden pivot in Flambae’s attitude toward him—and understandably assuming it’s alcohol-inspired—says no.

And then Flambae puts his arms down on the sticky bar top, rests his face in them, and actually starts to cry. 

Loudly. Like, embarrassingly loudly. 

“Okay,” Robert says frantically, tossing an apologetic grimace at both the bartender and anyone close enough to see and hear the spectacle Flambae’s making. “Let’s not—”

But it’s too late. Apparently the reason Flambae never gets wasted around the team—besides the fact that it takes more alcohol to get him there than a regular person—is because he’s a weepy drunk. 

Robert manages to talk him down from his tears, acutely feeling the judgmental stare of the bartender the whole time, but Flambae’s still stubbornly arguing for that kiss. 

“You kissed Phenomanan,” he protests, almost but still not quite getting the hero’s name right. 

“Okay, again, I didn’t kiss him,” Robert says, exasperated. “He kissed me. And it didn’t mean anything.” 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything if we kiss,” Flambae wheedles, and it would be cute if he wasn’t half a foot taller and a good deal heavier than Robert. And a thirty-six-year-old man. “We can just do it once and then you can forget about it!”

Yeah right, Robert mentally scoffs. It would take one hell of a whack to the head for him to forget a kiss with Flambae. 

He declines, and Flambae actually starts sulking. 

“Nobody wants me,” he says pitifully. Which is fucking ridiculous, because Robert knows damn well there are at least fifteen people in this room who would have him in a heartbeat if he offered.

“Oh come on, that’s not true,” Robert tells him flatly. “What about that British guy you made out with the other night? You talked about it all morning shift.”

“I lied,” Flambae sniffles. “We didn’t make out. He wanted to but I didn’t.” 

“Why not?” Robert asks quizzically. “You love British guys.”

“Not any—more,” Flambae hiccups. “Now I like stupid skinny bitches with brown hair and deep voices.” 

“Well—” Robert hedges, but Flambae cuts him off. 

“Real asshole types who cut off my fingers and knock out my fucking teeth and shit,” he continues, as if to really make sure Robert can’t possibly mistake Flambae’s type for anyone but him. 

Robert feels the bartender’s assessing stare travel up and down his body and cringes, trying to quiet Flambae before he gives away any other damning information. “Okay, please don’t say it like that.” 

Flambae gives him the stink eye. “That’s how it fucking happened, Rob. You fucked up my fingers and my teeth, and now you're fucking up my dick.”

“I promise it’s not what it sounds like,” Robert tries to tell the bartender, who’s now casually holding the bar phone like she’s prepared to have to call the cops. 

“It’s actually worse,” Flambae says unhelpfully. “He’s also my boss.”

"I'm technically in charge of him, but I'm definitely not his boss," Robert tries to explain, but even he has to admit that the whole thing sounds fucked, and he's extremely annoyed with Flambae for choosing to air all of this out in a noisy bar at four am when Robert's head is already pounding from exhaustion.

By the time he manages to ease the bartender’s suspicion, Flambae’s crashing, and Robert practically has to drag him out of the building. He helps him fold his ridiculously big body into the passenger side of the repaired Firebird parked outside, and then he slides into the driver’s side, adjusts the seat, and drives Flambae home. 

He tweaks his back half-carrying Flambae into his apartment, but he's able to get him settled him into his bed, and does his best to take care of him. He gets him out of his suit and into some pajamas (by Flambae’s request), finds and helps him into some fuzzy socks (again, by Flambae’s request), and makes him drink some water (definitely not by Flambae's request, as demonstrated by the fight he puts up).

“Okay,” he huffs, propping his hands on his hips. “You’ve got your socks and your pajamas, and I put some more water and painkillers on the bedside table for later. Is there anything else you need before I go?” 

“A kiss.” 

“Flambae—”

“No no, look, I’m completely sober, I swear,” Chad says, hauling himself up out of the bed—presumably to show Robert how coordinated he is. He trips over his own (fuzzy socked) foot instead, and Robert has to catch his entire weight with a strained grunt. Fuck, his back is going to be useless tomorrow.

Finally, he manages to wrestle Flambae back into his bed, the hero whining and complaining the whole time about how unfair it is that Robert will kiss some team members and not others, and how he’s actually creating like, a super toxic workplace environment if you think about it. 

Robert sighs, looking down at him. Despite the bitching and complaining being very on-brand, he seems a lot more vulnerable than he usually is, and it pulls on Robert’s heartstrings a little. 

“Tell you what,” he says finally. “If you still want a kiss from me when you wake up tomorrow—and if you can manage to ask me in a polite, non-insulting way—I’ll kiss you. Okay?” 

“Promise,” Flambae demands, flinging his hand at Robert. 

Robert huffs, manually separating Flambae’s pinky from the rest of his fingers and wrapping his own pinky around it. “There, I promise. Now go to sleep.” 

“Tuck me in.” 

“Flambae—”

“Yeah no that was weird,” Flambae mutters sleepily, turning over and pulling his pillow closer. “Nevermind.”

Robert snorts. 

He stays for a few minutes to make sure Flambae falls asleep safely, and then he lets himself out and orders a ride home.

He’s not really thinking much about the promise he just made—mostly he’s just exhausted and in pain and more than ready to be back in bed. Besides, he's sure Flambae won’t remember a single moment of this.

[velvetdaydream1]

yo why is he looking at me like that

[chek4rdd]

i think he kinda cares

[velvetdaydream1]

work had drained me so much, but i’m officially back in my dispatch brainrot, currently working on my flambert fics and comic! everyone clap

[flamberttext]

My nightly ritual is not to check your blog and I'm never disappointed. Love your writing you capture everybody's voices so well!!

I'd like to request Chad and Robert being softly affectionate with each other during an early work meeting. Forehead kisses are my kryptonite lol.

Bonus points if they're not a couple yet.

In one of SDN's conference rooms, projectors cast dispatch routes, emergency alerts, and mission assignments across the walls while the low hum of side conversations gradually grows too loud for Robert to ignore. He clears his throat, once again drawing his team's attention.

His appearance isn't doing him any favors today. He's trying very hard to look like he didn't get maybe three hours of sleep last night.

"Unless one of you is planning on ignoring direct orders again," Robert says dryly as he switches off the projections with the remote, "that wraps up this morning's briefing. Get to work."

The room instantly erupts into noise.

Chairs scrape across the floor. Someone dramatically complains about clients. Sonar tosses a crumpled twinkies wrapper toward the trash but accidentally nails Prism instead, who immediately throws it back without even looking up from her phone. Coupé is already halfway out the door, arguing with Punch Up about mission routes, while Mal and Visi trail behind them, still deep into whatever conversation has somehow kept them entertained through the entire meeting.

Flambae stays seated for another moment, quietly watching the team's dispatcher.

Robert pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh that sounds far too exhausted for eight in the morning. The dark circles beneath his eyes are slightly accentuated by the fluorescent lights overhead, and once again, half of his button-down shirt is tucked into his pants while the other half hangs loose, like he completely gave up fixing it.

When Robert finally drops heavily into the chair at the head of the table, Flambae stands.

He doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't make one of his usual sarcastic comments about how terrible Robert looks.

He simply walks out.

Robert silently watches Flambae's silhouette disappear through the doorway before finally looking away.

With the first shift only just beginning, Robert reaches for the folder stacked beside him, pulling a thick pile of reports closer before clicking his pen open. He plans to finish as many as he can before heading back to his cubicle to start dispatching the day's calls.

By now, he's long since gotten used to the pace of the job and everything that comes with it. Morning briefings, though, are still one of his least favorite parts of the day. They're early, boring, bureaucratic, and they barely leave him enough time for a decent breakfast.

So when the rich, roasted smell of freshly brewed coffee suddenly tickles his nose, Robert can't help taking a slow, deep breath, almost hypnotized by the warmth of it.

"Here. Drink."

The order comes from above him.

More specifically, from directly behind him, and so suddenly that Robert hadn't even noticed Flambae had come back.

As he swiveled in his chair to look at the pyrokinetic, his sense of smell quickly pinpointed the source of the scent: the still-steaming mug with the three letters of SDN in Flambae's hand.

The exhaustion on Robert's face instantly melts into something much softer. His surprise is almost childlike.

"You made coffee for me?" he asks, genuine skepticism coloring his voice.

Flambae clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes.

"Yeah. And it's getting cold."

Without another word, Flambae sets the mug right in the middle of the stack of reports Robert was about to work on.

Before Robert can even reach for it — and before Flambae himself has time to process what he's doing — Flambae leans down over Robert's chair, closing the space between them.

His warm lips hover only millimeters away for a brief second before gently pressing against Robert's forehead in a lingering kiss.

Flambae doesn't think before doing it. It's completely automatic.

Nothing more than the kind of affectionate gesture he reserves for family and the people he cares about. The same thing he'd do for his sister or his niece after taking care of them.

A quiet, wordless 'I've got you'.

The realization hits him a second later.

Flambae pulls away, not abruptly, just quickly enough that maybe, somehow, it won't feel quite as painfully embarrassing as it suddenly does.

When he looks back at Robert, he finds the dispatcher blushing. Pink spreads from Robert's cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

Neither of them could ever say who clears their throat first, but they both do it.

Flambae awkwardly takes a step back, pushing his ponytail behind his shoulder.

Robert stands as well, picking up the mug. The warmth against his hands seems to finally pull him out of the dazed fog the forehead kiss left behind.

He raises it to his lips and, peeking at Flambae over the rim, quietly murmurs, "...Thanks."

Flambae grumbles something under his breath, waving the gratitude away.

"Just stop skipping breakfast because of those damn meetings, Bob Bob," he mutters, pretending to sound annoyed.

To his surprise, the comment draws a laugh from Robert as he sets down his mug after taking a big sip. A genuine, warm laugh.

Partly because of Flambae's teasing, but also because of something that has been sitting tight inside Robert's chest ever since the forehead kiss. The laugh comes out rough enough to make something in Flambae's own chest tighten in an embarrassing way.

"...Or," Robert says, gripping the mug a little tighter as he casually leans one hip against the table, "you could just keep bringing me coffee."

Flambae narrows his eyes, planting both hands on his hips.

"I'm not your damn servant, bitch."

Robert chuckles again before taking another sip.

Then he shrugs, looking a little more awake now.

"You know..." he says. "That's exactly how workplace rumors start."

Completely thrown off by the entire interaction, Flambae heads for the door.

But not before pointing a finger at Robert first, opening and closing his mouth — finding absolutely nothing to say — and only then turning on his heel and walking out, leaving the dispatcher alone in the room.

Robert can't help smiling to himself. For once, he'd managed to leave Flambae too flustered to argue back.

As reality slowly settles in again, Robert remembers the reports still waiting for him and sits back down.

Only then does he notice the small paper bag sitting on the table beside the coffee.

Outside the conference room's glass walls, the rest of Z-Team has very clearly stopped walking several minutes ago.

They've spontaneously organized themselves into a perfectly silent line along the hallway, every single one of them staring through the glass at everything that has unfolded since the meeting ended.

Visi watches with crossed arms and a smug grin tugging at one corner of her mouth.

Golem tries to stay perfectly still despite barely fitting in the hallway, but he's so delighted by the scene that a small rose quietly blooms from the palm of his left hand.

Perched on the mud giant's shoulder, Punch Up raises both arms, flexes Theresa and Susan in celebration before muttering, "Fuckin' finally."

Sonar — the one with the best hearing among them — is responsible for relaying what Robert and Flambae had been saying back inside the conference room. His white eyes are wide with shock, looking equally scandalized and delighted.

Standing beside him, Mal doesn't look surprised in the slightest. If anything, she, too, wears a smug grin as she watches Robert through the glass. "I knew it."

Even Coupé, lingering near the hallway shadows, has her entire body leaning toward the glass wall, with obvious interest.

Prism is by far the happiest.

Trying very hard not to squeal, she has spent the entire conversation secretly recording everything on her phone.

Without taking her eyes off the screen, she extends her free hand toward the rest of the team.

Waiting to collect the money they all owe her now.

[s0rinarl]

💤💤💤

[flamberttext]

Text exchange after the media started to go crazy over them dating or a paparazzi photo taken of them making out in an alley (both in superhero uniforms) gets plastered all over the Internet

Below the texting and under the cut are the pics I used in the convo for better readability.

[greenlaut]

civvy clothes flambae send tweet

ft. the most diabolical thing my partner ever said to me as i drew this

[flamberttext]

Hi there~ love your texts! They give me so much joy! 🥰❤️

Id love to request them planning for their anniversary or wedding or smth! I just love the idea of them becoming husbands and be giddy about it🥹🙂‍↕️❤️

Hope you have a wonderful day❤️

Omg hello???? Droggel? ahdajfnajfnajfna I literally love your artwork so much I've been obsessed with your Flambert art forever??? The one where they're married???? Ok bye I'm screaming. Hope you like this and have a wonderful day too aisjafjaf

[y00bi]

[mechabert]

Save a horse, ride a cowboyyyy

[dapperdoodlenoodle]

More short Mechabae smut heheh.

Might make this into a longer, more detailed fic sometime. Who knows.

Wrote this half asleep and didn’t proofread it. Apologies for any errors or inconsistencies.

Being a super has its perks, including a relatively short refractory period. For Chad, this meant he often left hookups with normies not quite satisfied. He’d found workarounds. He could have multiple hookups in one night, hookup with other supers, have threesomes (or moresomes), or find a normie who was into overstimulation.

All that was to say that he was more than prepared for his night with Robert to end after one orgasm. He was prepared for that. Robert was not only a normie, but a normie who had been through the metaphorical garbage disposal.

He was a bit disappointed when Robert came down his throat before he could get properly fucked, but oh well. As much as he whined to Robert, there was always next time (and boy, was that a concept to think about).

Chad was pleasantly surprised at Robert’s talent when it came to returning the favor. Robert Robertson was not the man he expected to get the best blowjob of his life from.

But every time he thought Robert would tap out, he kept going.

Robert mauled every inch of his skin with an animalistic vigor. He teased Chad’s cock with deft fingers as he licked and sucked at his sensitive nipples until he spilled into his hand with a cry.

His skill with his tongue wasn’t reserved for blowjobs only, it seemed. He licked into Chad’s ass like a man starving. The pyro had to resist setting the sheets gripped in his fists alight as he came for a third time that night, bucking his hips back against Robert’s face.

Chad let out a broken whine when Robert’s tongue retreated, only to be replaced by fingers slicked with lube. He hadn’t even processed the sound of him retrieving the lube, too dazed in post-orgasmic bliss. Chad barely had the energy to keep his hips raised as Robert’s fingers methodically fucked him open. His upper body had long melted into the mattress.

He could tell Robert was avoiding his sweet spot on purpose. Uselessly, he tried to move his hips so Robert would rub against it, but Robert simply put his hand against the small of his back, keeping his pliant body in place.

Then he was on his back, legs folded against his shoulders as Robert, finally hard again, pressed against his rim. Chad saw stars as he was fucked to tears. He came for the fourth time clenching around Robert’s cock.

He begged for Robert to keep going.

His final climax came when he felt Robert’s cum pooling inside of him.

Chad’s limbs felt like jelly as Robert cleaned them off. He was so unused to being the one taken care of; the one left so pleasantly sore and spent.

Robert kissed the crown of his head as he drifted off to sleep, and Chad found himself thinking that he could get used to this.

[flamberttext]

PLS PLS PLS A HONEY MOON🙏🙏🙏 like, not specifically sex, just them after Getting married and being hypersoft ☹️☹️

The hotel suite sat high above the coastline, bathed in the soft gold of late afternoon. Beyond the open balcony doors, the ocean stretched endlessly beneath a watercolor sky, waves rolling lazily toward the shore far below. A warm breeze drifted through the room, carrying the scent of saltwater and tropical flowers from the gardens surrounding the resort.

Inside, however, neither of them paid much attention to the view for the better part of an hour.

The king-size bed looked thoroughly lived in, its champagne-colored silk sheets tangled across the mattress. Pillows had migrated in every direction, one abandoned near the foot of the bed and another half hanging onto the floor. Between them lay a glossy hotel brochure detailing honeymoon excursions, opened and almost completely ignored.

Robert was making a considerable effort to focus on it anyway.

“They have several excursion options...” he tried to say, frowning down at the colorful pages covered in photographs.

The attempt failed almost immediately.

Chad still had both hands cupping Robert’s face, completely unconcerned with schedules, planning, or logistics. He pressed another kiss to Robert’s cheek, then his jaw, then the corner of his mouth.

“...and we need to decide what we actually want to do.”

Chad kept trailing kisses along Robert’s temple, forehead, and beneath his eyes.

Robert let out a dramatic sigh, despite the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth — a smile that Chad immediately kissed.

“Are you even listening?”

“Everything.”

The answer came muffled against his skin.

Chad’s lips found the cluster of three small freckles beneath Robert’s left eye, a spot he had apparently been fascinated with for quite some time.

“Everything?” Robert echoed incredulously.

“Everything.” Chad kissed the freckles again. “We should do all of it.”

Robert laughed.

The sound filled the suite effortlessly, warm, and heartfelt.

Finally giving up on pretending to read, he snapped the brochure shut and tossed it onto the wrinkled sheets beside them.

“SDN was generous with our honeymoon leave,” he said, reaching up to wind one of Chad's thick curls around his finger, “but not that generous.”

The dark curl bounced free when he released it.

“There’s no way we’ll have enough time to do everything before we go back.”

For the first time in several minutes, Chad pulled away.

Not far enough for Robert to stop feeling his warmth. Just enough to look properly into his eyes again.

The distance couldn't have been more than a few inches, but suddenly Robert found himself staring directly into those familiar amber eyes.

The same eyes he had watched walking toward him at the altar.

The same eyes that had gone glassy with tears during the vows.

The same eyes that now held such overwhelming softness that Robert immediately suspected he might actually pass out from emotional overload.

Chad smiled.

Not one of his usual teasing grins.

Not the mischievous expression that normally came before a pick-up line.

Just something small, affectionate, and incredibly sincere.

“We’ve got way more than those three weeks, Bob Bob.”

The nickname alone nearly made Robert groan. How could something he'd heard for years somehow sound even more attractive now?

Then Chad reached up and brushed a thumb across Robert’s cheek.

"We've got our whole lives now."

The words struck Robert directly in the chest with devastating precision.

Robert stared at him for one second. Two. Three.

It felt as though his brain had completely forgotten how language worked. How was he supposed to speak again? Or even react?

Because the truth was, the wedding had been days ago.

Days.

And somehow, the reality still hadn't fully settled in.

Every morning, he woke up and remembered.

Every time Chad smiled at him, he remembered.

Every time he looked at the ring on his hand, he remembered.

Whenever someone referred to Chad as his husband, he remembered.

And every single time, it felt brand new all over again.

The butterflies in his stomach hadn't gone away. If anything, they'd gotten worse.

His chest tightened with that ridiculous, overwhelming warmth that had been ambushing him since the ceremony. His eyes stung.

“Oh, come on baby,” Chad murmured weakly, his smile widening.

Robert could feel himself losing the battle. Again.

The heat that rushed into his face was immediate and impossible to hide.

“No.” Chad's grin widened into a soft laugh. “Don’t cry.”

Apparently, that was enough to break whatever spell had left Robert frozen.

“Shut up.”

Despite the tears gathering in his eyes, Robert pressed his palm against Chad’s forehead and pushed him back a few inches.

“I won’t. I've cried enough since the wedding. Just... don’t make me even more emotional...”

Chad laughed harder, his chest shaking warmly against Robert’s.

Robert immediately ruined the effect of the shove by grabbing Chad’s shoulders, pulling him right back into his space, and wrapping him in an embrace.

Chad settled against his husband's chest, still wearing that dreamy smile that hadn't left his face since hearing Robert say, "I do."

Robert covered his face with one hand, but he couldn't stop smiling anyway.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

They simply lay there together, tangled up in each other, listening to the waves crashing beyond the balcony.

The curtains swayed in the breeze. Wind whistled through the open doors, making the wooden frames rattle softly.

Somewhere far below, distant music drifted up from the beach.

Chad reached over and gently took Robert’s left hand.

The wedding band caught the orange glow of the setting sun.

Both of them looked at it automatically.

Robert felt Chad’s thumb brush over the ring. In return, he planted a kiss to the top of his husband's head.

From the outside, it might have seemed simple. Ordinary.

But for them, that small gesture somehow carried the weight of everything that had happened, and everything still to come.

The years before. The wedding. The future. All of it.

Everything known, and everything waiting to be discovered.

When Chad looked up again, Robert was already watching him.

They kept looking at each other as though the other had become the most important thing in the world.

And, to Robert’s embarrassment, that almost made him cry again.

“So that's a yes?” Chad asked softly, pressing a kiss against Robert’s knuckle, right over the wedding band.

“A yes to what?” Robert asked, smiling back at the perfect sight before him.

“Doing everything.”

Robert rolled his eyes, laughing now. “You’re impossible.”

“So that's a yes.”

Robert glanced toward the abandoned brochure.

Toward the endless list of excursions.

Boat tours. Island hikes. Scuba lessons. Sunset cruises. Rock climbing. Museum visits. Cooking classes. Dance classes.

Dozens of experiences waiting for them beyond the hotel walls.

Robert considered it.

Then he looked back at Chad.

At the curls sticking out in every direction.

At the bright smile.

At the hand still holding his.

At his husband.

The word still felt unreal. Wonderful. But unreal.

Robert sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

Chad’s face lit up instantly. “Awesome. We can try.”

“Try?” Robert frowned.

“Yeah. We definitely aren't making it very far down that list.”

“Why not?”

Chad gestured vaguely at the bed.

At themselves.

At the fact that they'd barely managed to leave the room all day.

Robert followed the gesture.

Then looked back at Chad.

A slow smile spread across his face.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Chad grinned mischievously.

“Fair point.”

Robert lifted a hand and gently stroked the back of Chad’s neck.

For several seconds, they simply stared at each other.

Then both of them started laughing.

And somewhere beneath that lovely sound, beneath the teasing and warmth and the ridiculous butterflies still fluttering through Robert’s chest, there was the quiet certainty that Chad was right.

Three weeks wasn't the point.

They had time.

All the time in the world.

[itsflambaebitch]

I hate these sons of bitches

[artbytosin]

old man yaoi, dispatch edition 🤖🔥 | vers without text below!

[cainivorous]

Some fanart for my Flambert fic ‘A heated family reunion’

I need to learn how to draw backgrounds

Also ignore Robert is a head