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Smth smth smth i just saw something with mumbo x skizz and all i want to say is that cheetas get emotional support dogs because they're so nervous n anxious, right? That's them.
Bundle of nerves mumbo x emotional support werewolf skizz <3
Dapper duo (mumbo/skizz) ? Or gem and the Scotts cuz I too love their dynamic :]
i had sm fun writing this one!! (vote gem and the scottâs at @scottsmajorshipbracket and iâll write you stufff)
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Mumbo wasnât particularly enjoying his shift at the graveyard. Sure, it was always fairly creepy, but with Halloween drawing close, more instances of people smashing pumpkins at headstones and teens hiding around skulls too realistic for Mumboâs taste surfaced.
A shriek of an owl sounded across the area as Mumbo replaced the sod of a grave. The chill breeze that swept past him caused goosebumps to arise on his arms, muscles in it straining as Mumbo worked his shovel into the ground.
His tongue peeked out of his lips, brows furrowed in concentration as his spade clanked against firm dirt. Mumboâs grip on the handle was tight, palms rubbed raw.
It was an odd occurrence; rainfall was heaviest this time of the year, and Mumbo often wore boots to protect himself from mud. Graves gave him easy access, too, a simple nudge of his shovel doing the trick. But for this one, it was like one of summerâs worst droughts.
Mumbo raised his arms over his head once. Then again. Then a third time, with no avail. He used his forearm to wipe the sweat dripping from his brow, bangs stuck to his forehead. âThis hasnât happened before,â he huffed. âCâmon, whatâs up with you?â
He took a moment to glance at the headstone. A chunk of the stone at the top was missing, like a bite had been taken out of it. Water damage and erosion left it a musty color, and seeds caked in orange goop were lodged in its lining, a clear victim of secondary school kids.
Mumbo squinted, bleary eyes attempting to identify the uppercase lettering carved into the headstone. He titled his head, and slowly, he read out the name:
Stephen âSkizzâ Man
His eyes trailed down.
1530 to 1575
Beloved BrotherÂ
He looked at it for a while before humming. âWell, Skizz,â Mumbo muttered, lifting his shovel, âIâve got a job to do, and it seems like youâre making it difficult.â
Again, he lifted his shovel over his head, and with all of his might, jabbed it into the ground.
The shovel broke through the dirt, and before Mumbo could celebrate, a bright green light erupted from the crack.
Mumbo gasped, stumbling backwards and falling onto his elbows, shovel abandoned completely. From the crack emerged a pale mist, wispy as it rose.Â
The air grew chillier, and the birds quieter.
As the last of the smoke came up, the light in the ground dimmed, then stopped completely. The mist, still glowing, started to curl together. Mumbo watched it swarm as one, spinning like a pinwheel in harsh winds. For a moment, he stared at it with wide eyes, gaping at the scene before him.
Suddenly, there was a groan.
âFinally, man! Iâve been waiting to be let out for ages.â
In front of Mumbo was the pale outline of a man, floating a few inches above the dug out grave. He wore pointed shoes with bells attached to the tips, and was cloaked in a vest with a pattern of rhombuses, sleeves puffy and large. On top of his head was a large hat, two ends curved in separate arches.
The man drifted down, eyeing the headstone and huffing. âTo think after all Iâve done, Iâve been narrowed down to a brother.â He crossed his arms and shook his head.
Mumboâs mouth was an ajar.
Not easing his nerves, the figure turned around a few seconds later. His gaze met Mumboâs. He didnât know what he was expecting, but it definitely wasnât friendly eyes paired with a couple of smoky marks on his face. âLook what we have here!â
If it was possible, Mumboâs eyes widened even more.
The man frowned. âWhat, youâre gonna leave me hanging?â
He swallowed. âY-you canâŠsee me?â
The man mimicked a motion that was similar to raising an eyebrow. âWere the streets of London grimier than anything else?â
âUhâŠâ
He cackled. ââcourse they were!â
To say Mumboâs mind was racing was an understatement; thoughts of confusion, denial, and panics blurred together. Surely this wasnât real, right?
Maybe it were a group of kids coordinating a top-notch prankâyeah, thatâs it! Teenagers pulling a practical joke, hiding behind a tree and waiting for the perfect time to pop out and laugh at him.
The man cleared his throat dramatically, arms folded behind his back. âGreetingsâŠmortal?â He tapped a finger on his chin. âNo, humanâs the word these daysâŠWell, hello, regardless! My name is SkizzâStephen to some, Skizzleman to others.â
He glided closer to Mumbo. âBack in the day, which, in reality was a couple centuries ago, I was the loyal jester to King Impulse Vance. Not a shabby job, yâknow, considering he was my best buddy, and all.â
Skizz groaned. âThat was until I got accused of spreading news of our kingdomâs planned attack to the enemy state. The outcome wasnât so pretty. I got publicly beheaded and everything!â
Mumbo winced, partly from the feeling of his elbows digging into the ground, and the other being at the story. âBut did you? Spread information, I mean.â
The ghost squawked. âOf course not! I didnât want a single thing to do with Mother Spore and lackeys.â Skizz shook his head. âBut that was then, and now, it seems that you, mortal, was brought the great Skizzleman from his dead.â
He brought up a green hand, swirling with haze. âAnd since youâve done a great deal to me, itâs only fair that I repay the favor, isnât it buddy?â
Mumbo could hear his heart palpitations in his ears. On one hand, he didnât mean to revive a ghost purposely. But this was a spirit he was talking to, something he wouldnât interact with  for a lifetime. He didnât think he could pass up this chance.
Slowly, he raised his hand and placed in Skizzâs. A nervous smile spread on his face. âDeal.â
The grin that he was given was toothy, yet the look in the jesterâs eyes was something Mumbo had never seen before; mischief and schemes hid behind murky irises.