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as it is in heaven

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| A R I E S |

Emerged from a newborn star directly from the flame of God

| D I E G O |


It’s a kick to the back of the throat, bursting in and seeing the head of a perpetrator spin around, eyes ablaze with wonder directed at who dare take him on.

Diego dares.

He reaches back, pulls a sharpened knife out of his harness. It gleams despite the witching hour, polished and prepped, ready to make sinners sorry.

“Put it down, asshole,” he warns, voice carrying weight like a priest in an empty church. The windows hide nothing of their interaction, the noise of Mustangs driving by, Ukrainian chatter interrupting their silent stand-off. If you raise your eyes to the midnight sky and squint you can see Mars spinning, God’s red warrior. The thief assesses his loot and looks back at the masked man in leather.

“Yeah, I’m good, Zorro,” he pants, thick set eyebrows almost covering beady eyes, out of breath and too old for late-night sneaking yet still fancying his chances against the pretender.

Superheroes don’t exist anymore .

Diego throws the knife with a sharp twist of his wrist, taking out a knee.

Tonto, ” he mocks, “superheroes do exist.”


| L E O |

Emerged from a golden solar flare streaking across the heavens
in a crackling fireworks display

|  T H E   H A N D L E R |


Face tilted slightly, she brushes out the wave. It takes time to pin the curls and let them set, but time is something she has aplenty. Time is what everyone craves and time is what she has.

Red lipstick, swept across an open mouth, a bra that digs into the skin and pushes her cleavage up to Heaven. Does it hurt? Pinned, pushed, on display - it hurts - but she relishes in the subservient “ hello, ma’am ”s and her admirers’ lustful, appreciative glances.

“We’re going to change the world today,” she announces, loud, an elegant hand on a hip, commanding an entire Hall’s attention. They don’t question it.

No one questions it.


| S A G I T T A R I U S |

Emerged from Zeus's lightning bolt as a grand gesture of divine love
in a moment of high rapture

|  E U D O R A |


The station is bright and airy, the promise of a new day dawning. The hour’s ungodly but the adventure of crime awaits for no woman. She’s never been the heavy coffee sort, body in tune with the sun rather than caffeine, loading up the systems and admiring the emptiness of the office.

She’s first and she’s last, every day.

The familiar buzz of her personal phone makes it vibrate in her trouser pocket, pulling out to see her girl’s number. Smiling, she takes it happily, no listening ears to judge her.

“This is early for you, isn’t it?” she laughs.

“I’m on the walk of the shame,” Elena mutters back, the smile in her voice regardless.

“Oh yeah? Was he worth it?”

“You know he was,” her best friend giggles, the bustle of the city as she walks to her office ringing in Eudora’s ear too, “just as good as yours.”

“Oh,” Eudora scoffs, memories of Diego’s puppy dog arrogance flickering in her mind, “don’t remind me.”

“What? Batman? You said Batman was good , girl,” her friend cackles, an “ iced coffee, no milk ” order thrown in the background.

“Yeah,” Eudora smiles, strutting over to the panel window, “but I want more than that.”

Her eye line travels with the people; the officers, the lawyers, the homeless wandering for spare cash. Yellow cabs zoom by, small as she looks down on them, watchful and hopeful for the city she protects.


I want more.





| T A U R U S |

Emerged from a music note played by the divine heartstrings
in a melody conducted just for them

|  L U T H E R |


It’s bittersweet on his tongue, looking to the sky, these days. Tonight’s the longest he’s ever managed, eyes up high after escaping to find a snatched bit of peace in the chaos that is the Hargreeves siblings reunited.

He doesn’t notice how his heartbeat picks up, still astounded by the beauty he can see, the home he once had.

Reginald said it was all for nothing, in the end. It didn’t matter. Luther feels his chest expand, an action that would usually make him want to crawl in on inside, shrink himself, always too aware of his imposing physicality.

Not tonight. He’s infused with the gentle power of the moon, a reminder that you can take up all the space in the sky, and still be beautiful.



| V I R G O |

Emerged from a heavenly ritual of healing
in a cosmic cauldron of alchemic recipes

|  C H  A - C  H A |


Cha-Cha wipes the last bit of the blood from the mirror, undeterred when she finds the remnants of an eyeball in the bathroom basin. She fishes it from the plug and throws it violently into the toilet.

Another one off the to do list.

She’s not above cleaning up her own mess. Blood, split eyeballs, a yellow tooth, half a tongue - they’re just parts of flesh and muscle that make a person.

She’s a healer. She heals discrepancies within the timeline, she smooths over others’ poor efforts, turns shit into diamonds.

Stepping over the decaying corpse, sticking her head round, she finds him, morose as ever.

“Hazel,” she admonishes her less focused colleague, hearing him chomping on chips from the dingy bedroom, “I’ve finished.”



| C A P R I C O R N |

Emerged from a collision between chaos and reason,

a creation made of divine timing and the laws of the universe

|  R E G I N A L D |


It absolutely is, and always will be, a matter of life and death.

The human race is simple. They wake up, live in offices or schools, wired to a tablet, they sleep and they’re tired when they wake up, grey-eyed.

He took a gift. He was not given it. He took it in exchange for dollars, thousands, millions of them. The humans became malleable and weak when money was dangled in front of them, as distracted as vultures upon finding the open body of a rat.

He created a family out of dust. They were troublesome and ungrateful; unaware and careless about their role to play.

Their triumphs were celebrated once upon a time and Reginald is confident they will be celebrated once more.

Service is the highest form of creativity.





| G E M I N I |

Emerged from a book of magic and a gesture of abracadabra -
a great chronicle of the spells of spelling

|  A L L I S O N |


They don’t tell you how cold it is at the top. She’s there, at the place she’s always heard about, it’s fantasy glued to the mind of every individual in the world.

The top of the world.

She lied to get here. Nothing that led her to these lofty heights of fame, fortune, love, family, wealth came for free. She’s here by rumor only, Queen of the World, untouchable, high as the softest cloud.

It doesn’t compare to Vanya’s apartment, her battered old sofa, their knees knocking together as they ate hotdogs, jalapenos and mustard spilling out the sides. Vanya laughed and couldn’t stop, tears streaking down her face.

Love is the only cure when you feel empty.




| L I B R A |

Emerged from a pastel cloud in a misty and elusive vapour,
a manifestation of the Law of Love with every beautiful element combining together

|  H A Z E L  |


Their cottage is miles away from the nearest store. Hazel doesn’t mind. He’s taken to walking there every other day, trudging over fields and down silent roads. He never sees a soul.

He fishes for the list Agnes like to write, her pretty cursive handwriting reflecting back to him.

Oat milk
Strawberries (get the freshest ones!)

Love you! :-)

He smooths out the crinkles of the paper in his hand.

It’s too far to walk for so few ingredients, but the quiet miles are a stark contrast to his breathless, bloody days of before. Soon he’ll be home, in their home, baking love with his love. Everything is as it should be.


| A Q U A R I U S |

Emerged from a divine idea, a sudden rapture of cosmic inspiration and imagery
and the attempt of perfection

|  F I V E |


There is an answer for everything. Those who say differently are weak, unwilling to push themselves into a place of discomfort in order to find the truth. There are right answers and there are wrong answers because questions are unpredictable.

People who seek the truth, a higher intellect, will always be tarred as strange by the simple, uncomplicated minds of the masses.

Five strides into the kitchen, the equations almost complete. A perfectly made, fresh, delightful sandwich of peanut butter and marshmellow sits opposite the chair he’s claimed as his.

There’s no reasoning for his wolfing down of such a childish, ridiculous concoction, but the knowledge it was made with love might explain it.



| C A N C E R |

Emerged from a silver shell washing ashore on a Full Moon night
when the tides were high and the soul of heaven poured into the ocean

|  B E N |


Ben stirs the gloopy mix of flour and eggs, sprinkling more sugar after he swipes a taste of it from the back of his spoon. A little more sugar will do the trick. It’s become a bit of a thing, Ben traipsing down to the large, dark kitchen, sometime between night and morning. It’s silent, beautifully so. Reginald caught him once but let him be, by some mercy of God.

4.00am baking sessions to soothe the monsters inside of him is perhaps something his Father is willing to look past, in order to keep Ben as a good little soldier, crushing bones with his slithery eight legs.

Octopuses camouflage to avoid becoming prey. He’s good at that, most of the time.

There’s something satisfying about watching his creation rise, the heat filling out the ingredients into something fluffy and edible. The Horror, it turns out, can bring joy into this world.



| S C O R P I O |

Emerged from a violent sea storm in a sudden abduction
from a hidden cradle of security and directly onto the shore of battle

| V A N Y A |


Her hands have always been her most beloved part of her body. Vanya hasn’t thought much about her body and love in the same train of thought, but each morning after splashing her face with freezing cold water, she admires the palms she’s been gifted.

They’re small, with deep slices running in them, so-called heart lines and life lines. Hands which have mastered the violin, brought to life Bach’s Chaconne , Amy Beach’s Violin Sonata , Sarasate’s Zigeunerwisen . They’ve created life.

Vanya never expected they’d create death, either.

As she closes her eyes in Luther’s arms, the dark side of the moon twisting to fall into Earth, she’s mesmerized.

I’m more powerful than I know.



| P I S C E S |
Emerged from a pineal gland pearl in a cosmic cove
hidden deep in the vault of collective imagination
that reveals itself while everyone is sleeping


| K L A U S |


Weary bones collected in a tiny body, yet they feel as heavy as heaven. His eyes are closed but he can still see everything, waves of the bath licking at his naked skin, headphones on to drown out their voices.

He’s been dead for years yet he still survives, a beautiful cockroach, throwing Death a sultry glance over his shoulder. Catch me if you can . Death just smirks back, not tempted by his challenge.

Klaus’ curse is to see over this world for all eternity. The dead follow him and the living find him insufferable.

Sometimes, when the high trickles away and he’s standing looking over the river that stretches for miles he thinks about a different life. He spins a world of love, something to call his own. The water never stops running and neither does he.

Klaus has done everything you’ve ever dreamed of doing. The problem with duality is you’re never quite whole; you’re always split in half, unsure, waiting, curious. They say drowning is a painless death. Klaus hopes to find out.