#sebek zigvolt pulls

[nemisisnemi]

I have an alt acc for TWST and...I pulled

and uhh, guess who got Sebek?

THE LUCK TRANSFERS??? PLS I'M ACTUALLY GETTING SCARED SOMETHING WILL HAPPEN TO ME NOW THAT I'VE BEEN HAVING SUCH GOOD GACHA LUCK

[sleepypandazzz09]

A terrible quick sketch of malleus singing. I just really love the song ok

[ryllen]

i have no other reason of drawing this, other than i just want to

[suntails]

progression

[chernabogs]

ERLKÖNIG

Inc: Malleus (/Reader later on), Reader/Prefect, Lilia, Silver, Sebek, Ace, Deuce, Grim, and a lot of fae who should not be in this dimension yet somehow are. Wc: Roughly 9k (Currently sitting at chapter 2/23). Warnings: Violence, reference to war, kidnapping, rituals that fae allegedly did in mythology (wild), psychological horror, body horror (not until much later), and the boys are fighting... a lot. Relies heavily on ancient Celtic and Welsh lore (Tam Lin, Thomas the Rhymer, and Oisin I owe u my life) Summary: Your first encounter with the fae was not in Twisted Wonderland, but rather on the coast of a village your grandmother once lived in—where stones bit into your bare feet and the water poured into your lungs as you were pulled to a world so different from your own. It was by cunning alone that you managed to escape, having since pushed those memories aside. But the fae do not forget—not even when you cross dimensions once more—and as Beltane looms, the time for collecting is near.

Chapter 1 (Prologue) below the cut. Check out the work up to chapter 2 here!

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,

With horrid warning gaped wide,

And I awoke and found me here,

On the cold hill's side.

-  La Belle Dame sans Merci, Keats

19??, Dunhill, Ireland. October.

There is an unsettling truth behind the superstitions we hold. After all, why else do we face horseshoes upright, or close our blinds when the sun begins to set? We did not learn to play mute when we hear our names get called at night for no reason, nor did we discover on a whim that blackbirds circling are harbingers of ill outcomes.  

Your grandmother was a woman of superstition. Because she lived in Dunhill, Ireland, you very rarely had the opportunity to see her growing up. This didn’t mean that you weren’t occasionally shipped out to arrive at her doorstep for a few weeks at a time over the summer months.

Your memories of her appearance are mostly flashes of the few moments you saw her. Knotted joints on her body, silver hair hidden behind a headscarf she always wore, and the way her shoulders would stoop with each shuffling step she took. What you remember more vividly was the way she acted when the two of you went out. Her trembling hands—Parkinson’s, you think your parent may have mentioned—would always press an iron nail into yours to put in your pocket before you departed.

“They like to wait on the coastlines,” she had murmured when you asked why she gave this to you. “And they’ll like you the most.”

She would not offer any further information, nor would she let you out until the nail was securely tucked away. Despite how slowly she would move on your many walks along Benvoy Beach, you never once failed to miss the way her sharp gaze would always be fixated on the unruly seas beyond.

She dies when you’re ten years old. Her funeral is a vivid affair. Your grandmother’s humble home has been transformed into a centre of traffic within a matter of hours since her passing, barely giving your family a moment to breathe despite catching the red-eye flight earlier that day. People you have never seen before shaking your small hand and offering their condolences. The strong fragrance of unknown flowers and cheap perfume fills each room, suffocating out any last semblance of your grandmother that may have still lingered. It feels more like they’re spitting on her memory than honouring it. You know your grandmother—she is, was, a quiet woman, and not one for all this pomp and circumstance.

Perhaps this is why no one notices when you sneak out and down the rocky hills.

You slip on several rocks and scrape up your hands really good by the time your feet hit the familiar sandy beach below. With the way the sun is beginning to set, the waters seem to be a wine-red color, swirling in their chaotic fervour to reach the earth you stand on. You pause to take several breaths before kicking your shoes off and stepping forward into that hungry sea.

Your parent will be furious at you for dirtying up your formal garb, but this isn’t at the forefront of your mind right now as your eyes slide shut and you stretch your arms wide. You feel the wind rush along your body and the fragrance of salt overtake you as you spill your grief into the vast waters, letting it mix and swirl into that abyss for a moment of catharsis.

It’s when the wind carries the scent of something pungent that your eyes snap open again. The foulness is brief, and for a moment you write it off as simply a byproduct of the ocean, until it returns again stronger than before. It smothers the brine and has your head turning to look around for the source. You look over your left shoulder at the empty beach around you. The sun continues to set, and your gaze tracks the path of a gull flying overhead before you look over your shoulder once more.

This time, someone is waiting.  

There is an unsettling truth behind the superstitions we hold. The reason why we are scared of things that try to look like us, why we try so hard to ward them off, is because we know that anything that wants to be like a human certainly has no good intent in their heart. This is the case for the figure you see standing on the beach.

They’re wearing the same dark funeral garb you had seen the others in your grandmother’s home wearing. A wide-brimmed hat sits upon their head to conceal most of their features, although you can see scarlet hairs peeking out, and their hands appear to be clasped behind their back as they stand stoically ahead. Despite the winds that bite at your cheeks, not a single scrap of fabric on the figure’s body moves. It’s as though they’re cut from a painting and placed in real life.

You both observe each other in silence. You can feel your body locking up as your mind chants to you wrong, wrong, wrong, over and over again like a mantra. Your right hand drifts down to your pant pocket—you did not take a nail with you before you left the home.

They like to wait on the coastlines, and they’ll like you the most.

Your breath catches in your throat.

The figure smiles—black, sharp, and not quite human. 

Something in your gut tells you to run and you, even as a rebellious child, do as you’re told. Your body twists around to scramble towards the rocks as your feet slip in the wet sand. You completely discard grabbing your shoes in your haste to get away, fully accepting the agony that the stones ripping into your soles will bring as consequence.

You don’t get very far. Whatever is on the beach with you is far quicker than you will ever be. Within moments of you turning, its cold fingers dig into your shoulders. You scream—cry—as the figure leans down and the pungent aroma of rotting fish emanates with each breath it exhales. You thrash and twist in its grip until you face each other, and you lock eyes with her.  

She looks exactly as she did the last time you saw each other. Same knotted limbs, same silvery hairs, same stoop of her shoulders.

She stares down at you. The wind whips the loose strands of her hair around her face, and her eyes are the cloudy blue of the dead as something begins to claw in your mind. You watch as her thin and cracking lips form the syllables to your name—but it’s lost to the roar of an ever-cacophonous sea. The ground surges up around you, wrapping thorns—thorns? —around your legs. They bite into your skin, draw ruby gems from beneath your frigid flesh, and when you lift your head again, your grandmother merely continues to wear her blackened smile at the sight.

You cry out once more, but just like your name, your pleas are stolen away by the winds.

Everything lasts all but a few moments before the sea finally reaches what it has been clawing for. 

[flipppyflopp]

I love Sebcroc so much 😭 he’s such a sweet baby and the fact I saw your great dorm card version of him then pulled his dorm card makes me so happy I love your art so much 🥺 I just thought you should know

Thank you for sharing this! I’m glad Sebcroc could bring you luck on your pulls!! 🐊✨

The amount of love everyone gives to Sebcroc is more than I ever expected and it makes me so happy 😭 If only Sebek could love Sebcroc as much…I don’t think he’d like the competition for Malleus’s attention.

[onegianthotmess]

Pull Yourself Together!

The Three Weddings Lilia Sobbed At

Sebek: *crying at Malleus’s wedding*

Lilia: *smiling* Oh, pull yourself together, Sebek!

Lilia: *silently sobbing in proud adoptive dad*

Lilia: *walks Mealodie down the aisle at her wedding*

Sebek: *crying as the ceremony proceeds*

Lilia: *smiling* Come, now, Sebek! What did I say about pulling yourself together, hm?

Lilia: *quietly sobbing in proud adoptive dad*

Silver: *getting married*

Lilia: *sobbing* OH, I THOUGHT I COULD HANDLE A THIRD TIME!! MY BABIES ARE ALL GROWN UP AND DON’T NEED ME ANYMORE!! I’M JUST GOING TO WITHER TO DUST AND DIE ALONE NOW!!!

Lilia: *sobs even more*

Sebek: Lilia-san, didn’t you tell me to pull myself together?

Mealodie: He was silently crying at mine and Brother’s weddings, Sebek. He was trying to act fine so no one would worry.

Lilia: *sobs in adoptive dad that no longer has any precious babies to take care of*

[jester-lover]

The universe sees my pleas for Sebek Zigvolt cards and gives me Trey Clover, the other guy with green hair.

[ambagel]

THEY ALL LOOK SO SOFT!!!

Everyone stop everything and appreciate his little ribbon

[my-memed-tw-adventures]

Book 3 — Chapter 37

—

FUCK MY SAD THOUGHTS ITS MALLEUS! MY BABY!

Also damn thanks. Appreciate the compliments. How doe eyed will it take for you to date me tho djalaldnfjje im normal. I’m surprised Malleus knows about Azul being a big scheming guy tho since he’s so isolated

—

Daaaaamn Mal. I wasn’t expecting this side of him but I’m here for it. I mean Azul did less contorting in frustration and crying screaming overblotting but hey. It’s still something different

—

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO COME BAAAAACK

Rip. Good night to you too mysterious horny boi

—

Ah so that’s why Malleus ran off. I’d be running from Sebek too if I were him. Also rip Silver having to deal with this. No wonder he’s always so exhausted

—

Yeah no shit. Dealing with robbery, the tweels, an overblot, and now a sleep talking cat. We’ve got our work cut out for us and we’ve only just begun

—

BRUH MICKEY?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE SIR?!?! I WAS NOT EXPECTING HIS ASS HERE SO SOON I WAS EXPECTING ANOTHER DUMB DREAM WHAT HE WANT

Masterlist

[nymphilily]

Sebek when the First Year Friend Group does a "Hear Me Out Cake" and Lottie pulls out an image of Baul:

[sussysatann]

sebek sweetie ily but,, malleus,,, ;_;

[ryllen]

When he saved me on Glorious Masquerade, I finally understand why people like him (so thoughtful huhu .. TT TT)

[syun0acute]

I was surprised to get these 4 from the 2nd Anniversary Dorm Uniform Showcase, and I'm only 80 pulls in. I'll wait till I get the free x20 keys and pull again. Then, I'll use the 100 Anniversary coins to redeem a Birthday Jacket card. I still haven't decided who to pick.

I got Lilia and Trey in the same x10 pulls. I was lost for words. Hope I can get more new Dorm Uniforms in the next x20 pulls.

[mentallyshattered]

Me: *does a ten pull on the Epel & Sebek banner to get Sebek's SR like I always do when there's an available event SR I don't already have*

Deuce: *shows up twice in his labwear*

Sebek: *absent*

Me: Ugh, I guess I need some more gems... *gets the last few I need for another ten pull*

Sebek: Hello, human!

Me: sweet, guess I can just skip the rest of-

Epel:

[eydi-andrius]

Why is he so silly? Grooming? Help??? 😭 I LOVE HIM. HSHSHS