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simpymf · 1 year

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𝐈𝐋𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐒 pt. 1/3

⌈ OBEY ME LUCIFER x OC ⌋

(n.) vision, apparition, manifestation; phenomenon, spectacle, sight; (religion) revelation

CONTENT WARNINGS: ROLEPLAY · DARK-ish · RELIGIOUS THEMES · CREEPY · PARANORMAL-ish · PARANOIA · CHURCH

Word count: 2976 words

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Hey, besties. I’m a simp. You’re a simp. This a simp space. This is me shamelessly posting a fic for, uhhhhhhhh, Lucifer from Obey Me and my 0.2% of wholesome OCs Destiny Calyx.

This ain’t an x Reader. If ya lookin’ for that... uh, it ain’t here. Have fun reading this first part though. Cha cha <3

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Nebulous clicks caused by heels reflect off the walls within the gloomy and cavernous hall. Rows upon rows of dark mahogany pews sit orderly, the curves of their frames reflecting a sharp, lustrous light that peers into the cathedral nave. Bordering the pews with considerable prestige are piers conceived of stones; if one would pay close enough attention, they would spot a plethora of tiny cracks denting the material—a telltale sign that age has taken its course over the cathedral’s interior.

Recurring footsteps fill the intramural of the massive cathedral, insinuating the sense of uneasiness that permeates the current occupant of the dismal church.

Traveling through the towering piers is a woman; skin a supple porcelain color and tender by nature cloaked by a gown of inky darkness that rustles over her moving limbs. The constant jingle of her silver crucifix aligns with her repeated footsteps, dangling on an authentic silver chain that briefly shimmers in the dark light that peers through the stained glass making up the clerestory.

Tanzanite eyes swiftly flash to their right, then to their left side before finally focusing ahead of themselves.

I should ignite the candles like the other sisters of church would.

She nods in favor of herself, palms in which were previously pressed together—discreetly hidden under her loose and baggy sleeves—parting from each other. A brief current of cool air rushes over the woman’s delicate and permissive hands, eliciting goosebumps over the span of her forearms.

Sister Destiny Calyx runs her tongue over her lips, moisturizing them as she approaches the wooden stand assembled adjacently to a pier. Ever so cautiously, the sister lowers her hands, curling her fingers around an unlit taper that remains settled on the solid surface.

Devotedly, the sister lifts up the taper, withdrawing a silvery lighter from the depths of her inky-black gown only to flick the cap open with the pad of her thumb. The surface of the lighter gradually warms up in Sister Destiny’s hand, her fingerprints staining the polished exterior that appears murky the longer it remains in her grip. The lighter does not ignite upon the first flick, lighter fluid coming out in mere sparks that simply crackle as they fade away.

Sister Destiny’s eyelids blink quizzically, her eyes falling down on the opened lighter cap that remains unlit. Her lower lip obtrudes above her upper lip, displaying her chagrin for the lack of flame her lighter produces.

How old is this again? she finds herself asking from the depths of her subconscious.

Disregarding the question with an aloof shake of her head, Sister Destiny fixates her attention back onto the exposed lighter cap. Her pale thumb curls down, firmly pressing itself against the metallic wheel. With hope for another chance at igniting the lighter, Sister Destiny flicks the wheel downward as precisely as she possibly can.

Crackling ever so quietly, sparks scatter from the cam, ultimately catching onto the exposed wick that hisses when a glinting scintilla hits it.

Able to briefly smell the butane as it ignites, Sister Destiny smiles in relief as she witnesses an enchanting flame sprout from the lighter. She tenderly guides the lighter beneath the taper, watching as the flame sways like a sanguine ribbon under the exposed wick.

Finally kindling the taper, Sister Destiny snaps the lighter cap shut and inherently sets the polished item down onto the wooden stand. Listening to it clink against the wooden surface, the sister who has streaks of short, white-to-blue hair peek out from her ivory-colored habit calmly turns in pursuit of enkindling all the other unlit candles dwelling on candelabras.

As Sister Destiny travels across the tiled floor designed with cimmerian and blanched diamonds alike, the constant tapping of raindrops fills the cathedral nave, occupying the silence with the occasional strike of thunder in the distance.

The hairs on the back of her neck rise even despite the coverage her black veil provides, her breath falling short as she encounters the first candelabra that stands as tall as she with five unlit candles. Overlooking the brief flash of paranoia that strikes her body, Sister Destiny—as calmly as she can—guides the burning taper end up to the first candle. She stands beside the black, iron candle holder, tilting her head high to peek at the first candle.

As much as she dislikes her rather insufficient height, the woman cannot find it in herself to curse her creator for gifting her with such physical traits as that would oppose her duties as a nun-in-training. Instead, the sister remains standing as tall as her knee-high boots permit her without teetering the possibility of falling over.

After catching the sound of the first candle hissing quietly, the nun cautiously guides the taper end to the next candle, repeating her previous movements with fluidity.

By the time all five candles are lit with radiant, vermilion flames that sway amiably, Sister Destiny moves on to the next posted candelabra, her heels clicking sedately and echoing inside the nave.

Strikes of thunder crackle outside the gothic building, becoming the cause for Sister Destiny’s feeble body to stiffen up for but a brief moment. Pouring rain continually taps at the massive windows designed with labyrinthine configurations surrounding a hooded man in white wearing a crucifix around his very own neck. It is evident that the cathedral windows exhibit the Son of the Holy Father; Jesus, whose face remains somewhat vague with specific physical traits.

Continuous tapping of Sister Destiny’s shoes occupies the bleak silence once again, revealing her to be encountering yet another candelabra made of iron bearing five unlit, waxen cylinders. Her tanzanite eyes study the crisp and dry wicks peeking from the small tunnel of wax, impulsively lifting her still-burning taper up to the first candle.

Hovering the wee flame beside the brittle and slightly curled wick, Sister Destiny unknowingly purses her lips in great focus, her petite hands lightly trembling, trying her best to keep it from quivering next to the unlit candle that gradually catches the heat of the flame. Hearing the little sizzle, the woman in black withdraws the taper, maneuvering the burning wick to the next awaiting candle.

As she patiently stands next to the thin, iron post, the eerie impression that a pair of malignant eyes are boring into the back of her head begins to increase, compelling the hairs on the back of her concealed neck to rise. Uneasiness settles in the pit of Sister Destiny’s chest, her breathing growing heavier the longer she keeps her back exposed to whatever or whomever is lurking in the immense halls of the cathedral.

Hushed whispers waft into the short woman’s ears, tickling her exposed baby hairs which—in turn—elicit more shivers down the flat of her back.

The sister is reluctant to recoil the quietly sizzling taper from the candle, but she does so, regardless. Anxiously, the woman turns with her heels clicking seldomly. Her breathing evolves into quivering inhales and exhales, lips parting subconsciously to gently exhale and focus more on the menacing sounds she may have potentially heard not too long ago.

A footstep. Just one.

Detecting the sound, the unnerved woman dubiously scans her surroundings, searching for any oddity that would stand out. Unknowingly, the taper gripped by both of Sister Destiny’s tender hands quivers ever so lightly.

She heard it. She knows she did.

“I-Is-… Is anybody there?” asks the nun, faintly.

Sister Destiny is answered with dead silence save for the continual taps of the rain along with the unusual dripping sounds coming from somewhere within the cathedral.

She stands there for a long pause, parted lips steadily closing themselves as she debates with herself.

The cathedral she currently stands in is notorious for abnormal occurrences and phenomenons; periodic footsteps that echo in the nave, mellow laughters akin to childrens’ filling the silence, items unnaturally falling over at random, the rumors go on and so forth. Other sisters of the church would prattle on and on about witnessing gloomy shadows flash by in the corners of their eyes as they did their duties at dead of night. These tales became common news amongst the priests and bishops, but they hardly ever did anything about the strange sightings and the uncanny events of solid, structural items toppling over with not a soul in sight.

As the rumors multiplied and cultivated into tales that gradually became more and more sinister, Sister Destiny recollects the moment she was approached by one of the nuns-in-training—much like herself—and being unfortunate enough to discover that she had to fulfill the duties the other sisters had no desire of doing as they were far too intimidated by the idea that a supernatural entity was toying with the church and its members.

While she was given the opportunity to refuse, the nun-in-training couldn’t find it in herself to deny the tasks assigned to her as she had hoped it would better improve her performance as a nun in the future.

Now, she stands with an uneasy look painting her face, her delicate body trembling ever so lightly underneath the dark gown that falls down to her ankles—threatening to brush against the floor.

Maybe it was just me imagining it… she tries convincing herself even despite the worry that thickens in her stomach. Ah! Nevermind that! Remember what you came here for, Destiny!

Brought back to her senses, Sister Destiny deliberately shakes her head. She’s quickly reminded of the reason for coming here in the first place, and she nods her head in determination, pursing her lips and, ultimately, fixing her grip on the burning taper.

It doesn’t matter if I hear weird noises! I need to finish lighting these candles, and start praying as soon as possible!

Influenced by a string of tenacity, Sister Destiny carries on forth with her calling, treading on the path toward another candelabra standing patiently alongside a stone pier that distinctly towers over everything.

She maneuvers the elongated candle in her hands to the curved wick previously lit by bishops and reverential priests. As she stands adjacent to the tall candle holder, she starts to mull over the ominous noises she’s been hearing during her time inside. Sister Destiny, at one point, wonders if she’s perhaps been psyching herself to believe in the ghastly rumors the sisters of the church have been spreading.

Excellency Adler has assured me and the church that no sinister apparition is haunting the cathedral. He told us that it was nothing but a gimmick procreated by the young seminarians.

As Sister Destiny lights the next candle, she subconsciously straightens her posture, more certain of herself. However, despite the assurance she was given by the leading bishop of the cathedral, Sister Destiny finds her faith in his words chipping ever so gradually.

Her tanzanite eyes flash with a hint of doubt.

Then-… Then why do I feel-… why do I feel a presence here? Her thoughts inquire.

She knows that, fundamentally, she should believe in Bishop Adler’s words and view them as nothing but the naked truth… but the biting notion that she is not alone here plagues her spirit.

Sister Destiny, as a desperate resort to her growing apprehension, deeply inhales, bringing relief to her nerves that tempt her limbs to tremble rigorously. She carries on to delude herself into thinking that her doubt in the bishop’s utterance must simply be from the stress she’s been enduring ever since she’s arrived.

No, no, there is no such thing as a ghost of some kind haunting this place. It was all just a little joke by the teenage seminarians! As this thought occupies her mind, the nun is seen to be nodding to herself in agreement.

Nevertheless, as the woman in black steps to the next lanky post bearing unlit candles, a corrupted pair of deceitful black-garnet eyes focus intently on the back of her veiled head before steadily descending over the scale of her virtuous back. A shine momentarily flashes in the entity’s eyes as they fixate themselves on Sister Destiny’s body, hunger swelling from the rooted crevices of diabolism.

…

Shuffling occurs, toying with the possibility that the sister, who busies herself with lighting the last black and gothic-styled candelabra, will hear. Muted at best, the shuffling of fabric is quick to stop when Sister Destiny peers over her shoulder, able to catch the curious glint in her eyes from the depths of shadows.

“Mmh?” hums out the veiled woman as her head instinctively turns to search for whatever may be the cause of the odd noises on the opposite side of the hall.

She sees nothing but the legion of pews sitting in the middle of the nave along with the newly ignited candelabras that provide a sliver of light, albeit tinted a murky, orange hue. Quickly dismissing it as the likelihood of it being the wind, Sister Destiny pulls her attention back to the remaining wax candle, eager to move her flame over the sprouted wick.

The burning flame of Sister Destiny’s taper sways beside the wick, heating up the crisp stem. It lightly hisses, seizing the warmth before the taper end is withdrawn, leaving the candle to burn on its own.

Sister Destiny smiles to herself, her thoughts expressing relief and joy for finally accomplishing one of her many duties. With discreet eagerness, she raises the blazing end of the taper to promptly blow it out. Sizzling ever so mildly, the taper releases a winding trail of smoke that eventually diminishes the higher it soars up. Catching a whiff of the smoke, Sister Destiny’s face briskly twists, repelled by the acrid scent that burns her nostrils.

Without a second thought, the sister purposefully sets forth toward the wooden stand in which holds her lighter and a four-sided tray designed for the taper after having ignited it. Setting down the slender and long candle coated with a layer of hot wax that gradually cools as she handles it, Sister Destiny sighs lightly—indicating her respite and keenness for her following task: pray to the Father above.

In a composed manner, Sister Destiny begins to travel across the tiled floor, eager to approach the apse and the grand altar. The rosary beads she keeps tied around her gold rope belt rattle from her hurried movement, a simple wooden cross dangling on the loop, flopping up each time Sister Destiny’s upper thigh hits it. As she approaches the set of compact stairs, Sister Destiny reaches down her gown, bunching up two handfuls of fabric only to gently lift the inky-colored gown so that she can easily walk up the steps without running the risk of snagging her dress and tripping.

She serenely climbs up the stairs, her crucifix jingling to the motion and peeking out from beneath her white bib collar—hints of silver flash from the metallic crucifix, nearly reflecting on a nearby surface before Sister Destiny advances past the wooden railings bordering the steps. Her veil flaps softly, delicate little wooshes coming from the dark fabric hanging from the back of her head.

Before Sister Destiny can take her final step, a loud crash with the sound of a metallic item skidding across the black and white tiled floor is quick to replace the silence.

“Eep-!”

Sister Destiny frightfully staggers over the last step; her fingers instinctively release her gown as she bats her attention to the source. Her heart races, alarm rushing through her veins and tempting to kick up her adrenaline.

Turning around, the sister frantically gazes in the general direction of the noise, recalling it to be more on her right side. She inspects her far right, porcelain eyelids squinting in her scouring.

Frankly enough, Sister Destiny is greeted by the far-flung sight of one of the many candelabras she’s lit lying on the floor; the previously burning candles now scattered apart with hot wax cooling down and hardening—steadily reverting back to its original milky shade.

Stupor crosses Sister Destiny’s face, lips parting subconsciously while her eyebrows lift up.

Nobody else is present in the cathedral. Not a soul dwells near the toppled iron post.

This realization brings raw horror to Sister Destiny, breath going thin. There is no such thing as ghosts! There isn’t! Yet despite this concrete awareness, the petite, fair-skinned woman cannot find it in herself to align with it as she discovers herself to be located inside of a cathedral that has repeatedly been rumored to be haunted. The longer she stands in her own terror, the more intrusively frightening her thoughts become.

There’s a killer here! He’s going to come out and attack me! H-He’ll- He’ll kill me! Maybe it’s an angry spirit? There isn’t much I can do against an angry spirit!

An involuntary whimper resonates in Sister Destiny’s throat, goosebumps riddling all over her skin even as it remains covered by her nun habit. Her eyes naturally tear up, limbs progressively shuddering from the imminent horror about to strike. As she wobbly breathes in, she discovers just how dry her throat has become ever since the candelabra toppled over.

Regardless, the petite woman takes an uneasy step back, her legs straining themselves to carry her weight while they shiver—only not from the cold. She feels as though her heart beat echoes within her eardrums, blood pressure increasingly rising the longer she remains standing near the altar where a Holy bible sits with a pure, white color; a golden cross witnessing the back of the terrified nun’s movement.

Compelling herself to overcome her growing fright, Sister Destiny forces a deep breath of air to fill her lungs. In spite of her obvious fear that causes her virgin body to quiver as a newborn horse does, Sister Destiny opens her mouth, preparing to speak up in hopes of locating the second presence inside the building.

“What an amusing, little human you are…”

𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝… (1/3)

#obey me #lucifer obey me #canon x oc #lucifer #obey me x mc #firstpost #ohboy #chacharealsmooth #like and subcribe haha #have fun with the demons #horknee asf #shameless simp

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