datadiving | local angel gets bullied by ruler of greed asmr

It's perilously easy to talk to Sisyphus, but then Cassiel has always felt they had more in common with Hell - with its misbegotten sinners, with the entity itself - than with Heaven.

Still. They don't forget themselves entirely. Sisyphus is not a confidant or a friend; this is the first time they have spoken more than a handful of rote sentences to him.

"As long as he does not hear it, he will not be troubled by it." As much as they would want to say it to him. As much as they would want to give him affection, to have it received, to...

There is...so much that they want.

They do not delude themselves that it is the exposure of Hell that makes them flare with desire; this poison has been within them all along.

That gets a slight laugh. "He would ask if the orders have changed, and send me back. You know as well as I that he will not countermand the orders he is given." Which implies, of course, that Cassiel would - and that this weakness is something the angel does not mind admitting to in Sisyphus' presence.

They are indeed far wordier than usual, that in and of itself suggested things were growing perhaps a little dire in heaven. Or else why would they bother sharing so much? And Cassiel had indeed shared much already.

"Why would he be troubled? I'm sure he's grown very accustomed to being told how admirable he is." Unless of course it was more. It was of course more. He was blind and he could see it was so much more and yet his tone remained even and casual, sitting upon the very edge of innocent. "Even Minos has complimented him. You would hardly be the first."

It didn't surprise him at all now, hearing Cassiel admit they'd disregard heaven itself, if it were for the right reasons. The angel couldn't have been more obvious about their less than professional desires, save unless they just outright stated them plainly. Sisyphus hummed, "No, you're correct. He is ever a loyal soldier of the Father. I could cause a great commotion for you, you know." He could, but he had an idea as to what Cassiel would say to that offer.

"Manufacture a crisis too great to handle alone. Make the case that its frequency is too common to be reliably handled by a single pair of hands." Oh, it was duplicitous sure. All smoke and mirrors for the sake of contriving a reason to keep the two together. Would that even tempt them?

It ultimately wasn't that important, regardless of the answer. His curiosity lay only in how Cassiel would respond to such an open suggestion of deception.

Edited 2026-03-24 04:58 (UTC)

Another slight, self-deprecating laugh. Cassiel has shown more emotion in this one conversation than all their other conversations with the king combined, but certainly they wouldn't speak so candidly if Gabriel was present. Perhaps it's the knowledge that there is no reason at all for this to be reported to Heaven that loosens their tongue this much.

"Here, temptation and generosity are two sides of the same coin...but I will have to decline the use of it. I would hate for anyone to take it seriously, and I would not be able to hold him back if he did."

They have no strong feelings on humans - their affection for living creatures is more in the realm of insects and plants - but it would be a waste of effort, in their eyes. There is quite a bit of suffering already in Greed, as was Hell's purpose. There is no reason to add to it.

"As for your first question...some things are better left where they lie. At least in my case." I would not be able to stop myself, maybe. Or perhaps, one sin leads to many more, as they'd said before.

Greed is a sin to which they've already succumbed; that emptiness caving in their chest where purpose should be, never to be filled, never sated. A wound that bleeds hungrily and without end. All it does is want. All they do is want.

Perhaps it's fitting to confess such things to the one who rules the layer in question. Amusing if they can look past how much it hurts, lodged like a blade in their ribs forever.

Sisyphus would surely perish if Gabriel smelled even a whiff of deception, this much was true. While the king could certainly contrive of a great many ways to cause a ruckus in Greed that didn't appear to directly involve him, he was well aware that Gabriel was no fool, and his Virtues dotted the burning landscape. A thousand, thousand eyes and ears and mouths that would report their findings in a heartbeat if they could.

It wouldn't have been worth the effort, and he'd been hedging his bets on their reply being no. He was, naturally, correct.

"You love him." Though it was said with the same relaxed tone, one could almost imagine it an accusation. "And you find the emotion unfitting for your station in regards to him." The knife scraped against the bone of the leg, the last slivers of meat fully peeled off.

"And you will do nothing of it, will you?"

Would it be more merciful for Greed to be laid waste, to be wiped clean and made empty? Would they prefer the certainty of death and oblivion to an eternity of a second life spent in torment? They don't know; they've never asked.

Is it even within Heaven's power to empty Hell that way? They don't know either. Hell can twist the manifestation of one's soul until it breaks, keep them alive in the most punishing of conditions.

But they do like Sisyphus. It is not exactly care, for that is not their purview, but they are fond of the man, in their own way.

The simple words flay their true feelings open; they flinch, halo burning white. Not the incandescent golden colour of indignation or irritation, but the pale fire of something like fear.

"It is not for my sake that I hold back, but his." Their voice is tight, drawn taut like their bowstring. The indicators of their feelings before had been soft, subtle, even gentle; this is simply raw, a stretched nerve, a slashed-open vein.

"If I could tear it out of me, I would, but not even the Father could do that." It would be better - easier - if they did not care. About Gabriel. About their place in the world. About anything.

Edited 2026-03-24 12:34 (UTC)

The sight of their fear, that flinch, was beyond Sisyphus. The sound of it, however, was all he needed. The shift was subtle, but obvious, a lion moving from casually circling to honing in on a wounded animal.

"You pine for him." A smile had started to creep across his face, toothy and sharp. "Trapped by burden of duty, separated by breadth of station." A chuckle followed it, the white flash of teeth like lightning and the sound of laughter as distant thunder.

"How horrifically human of you. What poetry, what song, what art you could make, were you mortal." He went to drain his cup, before reaching for the bottle again, another soft chortle rumbling from him.

"All wasted, in those dry and loveless halls of Heaven. You'd make the priests cry, Cassiel."

Who could not love Gabriel? is the almost automatic retort on their tongue, defensive and reflexive. It wasn't uncommon, radiant and magnetic as he was. It could easily be dismissed as nothing more than the kind of adoration an archangel of his standing deserved. A safe kind of devotion, a measured form of worship.

But they know this is not what this is. They know the man in front of them knows that is not what this is.

What actually comes out of their mouth is a laugh. It doesn't sound like the way an angel should laugh or the way they usually do, light and pealing like a bell ringing; it sounds wounded and animalistic in form, though in sound it resembles something more like metal being rent apart in a hurricane.

"That is blasphemy, you know," they say, but there's no pride in the tone. No indignation. "That you would describe the Lord's creations in such a way."

They pick up an empty cup, tilting it towards him. They're not so discourteous as to silently demand he fill the cup for them, though.

"If you would be so kind." It is not a demand. They'll pour for themselves if he doesn't wish it; they won't impose.

It wasn't uncommon, as he'd already indicated! But Cassiel's reaction to the humble suggestion that they merely tell their superior of their feelings betrayed the truth, and everything said after that was only more evidence on the pile. His accusation struck true, and the sound that they made could only be considered a laugh in passing. Were Sisyphus a kinder man, he might have withdrawn in guilt, and a more pious man might have felt sicked to hear such a wretched noise from someone so holy.

Sisyphus only filled his glass, as if he heard nothing at all, awaiting the expected response; no argument, no denial. That in and of itself was as good as an admission of guilt. Guilt, at experiencing love. He snorted, heaven is a wretched place.

"We reside within one of those creations at present, I shall describe them precisely as they are." He moved without hesitation, as if he could tell from how their armor clinked and their cloth rustled precisely what they wanted. Without error he found their glass and filled it for them.

"Are you all so terrible at lying? You couldn't manage even some light principled indignation. I'd almost think you agreed with me, angel."

They would have rejected kindness, in truth. That Sisyphus continues to drive forward, continues to pursue that weakness in them, it feels terrible. It burrows under their skin, squeezes at their heart; it hurts.

It's perfect.

Cassiel can only marvel silently at how easily Sisyphus can navigate physical space despite being blinded. Despite him not being able to see them, and thus being protected from the effects of looking upon an angel's face, they pull their hood further down so it casts them in shadow completely before they lift the helmet up to drink.

"If you want indignation and defense, you need only speak to one of the others for that," they murmur. "I thought you'd enjoy a change of pace."

It's not quite an answer - still with that evasiveness - but it's certainly not denial.

"How kind of you to entertain me then. Since you seem so shy to answer, I'll assume that it is yes." The shuffle of fabric, the gentle sound of metal against metal again, with the barest sound of a gulp.

"Hell was oddly gracious today, was it not?" Of course Hell would have had to craft this reward, Heaven certainly wasn't about to deliver any wine down here. "Take as much as you like, it's plain to see you're in need of the charity.

Would that I could, I'd grant you the gift of mortality. Rip the wings from your back and send you earthward. You could live out your days free to pine to your empty hearts content, and then in death perhaps be graced by heaven with blissful, beast-like subservience." The Virtues were clever, the same way a well trained hawk was. As were the Providences, if slightly moreso. Unlike the others in Hell, Sispyhus did not ache for heaven or for redemption, and Gabriel's repeated claims of such felt more like a vague threat than a promise of salvation.

Edited 2026-03-27 06:26 (UTC)

"It can be, when it is in a decent mood," Cassiel says, that heretical admission coming easily from them with no weight to it at all. A gentle clink as they set the glass down with delicate precision. "Though it is never so for long."

That gets another torn-metal laugh, quieter and less desperate this time. Oh, if it was that simple...if it was even possible, they would be sorely tempted. Having to live with this pain, never being able to ease it...

They love Gabriel. They are bereft of purpose. It torments them without end. And if they were to confess, they know nothing would change, or they would be looked on with sympathy, maybe pity - not love. As it had not changed for all those who loved, worshipped, him. He was not for the Ferrymen, nor the mortal who lingered in Limbo's halls. Not for an angel made to stand at his side.

(They wonder if he feels the way they feel - not in love, but in loneliness. How far Heaven had placed him, exulted him, poured praise upon him. How far they had raised him above the rest until nothing could ever reach him, not even the feelings of another.)

"It is a sweet thought, though I am sure even the lesser angels grow tired in their own way." There is a wryness to their tone again. "At least angels simply stop existing upon death. It is one of the few benefits, I have come to think."

When I die, there will be nothing at all.

Minos would be sorely disappointed, to see him behave like this towards Cassiel. Granted, he'd have been disappointed if he aimed his mockery at Gabriel too, but at least God's Will fought back. This was akin to kicking a downed animal, with barely the energy to whimper at each blow.

If his experiences with divinity were any different, he might have even felt bad for them. Instead, the husk swirled his wine about in the cup, listening as they set their own down to gauge from the noise how much they had drained. A sweet thought.

"For all that I hear that heaven is an endless paradise, it seems as if it has broken you far more than Hell ever could, angel." In fact, judging by their earlier comment about the superorganism's temperament... "I wonder if you wouldn't prefer it down here instead." There was an interest here, in finding just what might ignite a proper reaction from them, he'd admit. Not necessarily an intense one, this cruelty presented itself less as a hunter stalking prey and more like a child prodding a dying fly. Buzzing helplessly around on its back, each little spurt of motion and energy a mildly entertaining reaction.

Except that Cassiel was presently even failing to do that, these tragic little heartwrenching twitches were barely enough for him. Oh he could hazard a guess as to what might set them off, but that would be cheating.

Presently, anyway.

That, surprisingly, gets another laugh - not torn and distorted, but simple amusement. The sound rings like a bell, properly angelic. It's something they've contemplated before, but never been brave enough to really commit to.

But they are still an angel, and they do not belong in Hell, no more than a demon belongs in Heaven. Not even a sinner should be in Hell, really...

"Heaven is still a paradise, for most. You truly shouldn't take my word for it." They shift in their seat, taking another quiet sip. "I came out wrongly at creation, that's all. Or I was made to be unloved, perhaps."

What other explanation could there be, to feel like this? To be cracked open until everything spilled out, to be perpetually bleeding and empty. It cannot be a flaw with God, so it must be some impurity within them. It's not as if they could ask Him, even if He was still here.

Another slight laugh. "Are you enjoying all this, King Sisyphus? Am I entertaining enough for you?"

local angel gets bullied by ruler of greed asmr

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