Self-Portraits by Andy 2025

Self-Portraits by Andy - 2025

Note: these use Andy's actual face edited post-processing onto AI bases; he does not consent for anyone other than Fin or our friend Molly (SemperViridis) to borrow his likeness.

Signs for Fin [July 2025]

Back when we used to comment to each other on DeviantArt, now this is just eye candy for Fin 😏

July 2025

A Dream in the Snow [July 2025]

On average, there are very few dreams I remember that don’t involve Fin, and those that do stick with me tend to be... strange. Not frightening, not joyful, just odd. Elusive, like something meaningful wrapped in fog.

This one has recurred a few times over the past year. Not frequently, but often enough that it lingers.

I’m walking through snow, which is peculiar in itself, considering I’ve only seen snow a handful of times in my life.

My hands brush past pine boughs and soft furs, though the path isn’t overgrown. It's open, silent.

The world around me is hushed. There’s very little sound, save for a soft tune playing somewhere in the distance, haunting and beautiful, just out of reach.

Eventually, I arrive at a fairground. It should be a place of joy: bright lights, wonder, colour. But it’s completely deserted. Empty, like a forgotten memory. I feel afraid to touch anything, unsure if any of it is meant for me.

So I turn away and walk until I find a wishing well. I reach into my pocket, pull out a coin, and just as I’m about to make my wish..

I wake up.

As I said… it’s a strange dream. Not scary. Not happy. Just... mine. And maybe one day, I’ll understand what it means.

He Who Walked Alone, Drawn By Flame [July 2025]

From the Celtic Wastes, they speak of a man…
"He walked where none dared follow
not for glory, nor grief,
but because the silence suited him."

In the lands of ash and shattered stone,
he was a shadow draped in velvet,
cold-eyed and carved with prophecy.
The stars marked him,
but he felt no need to answer.

The earth beneath his feet was cracked and hollow,
mirroring the man himself
powerful, distant, untouched.

The old gods etched their runes into his bones
and left him to wander,
a legend unclaimed,
a name spoken only in whispers.

But the wind changed.

A warmth stirred at the edge of ruin.
A flicker of light,
not demanding,
but inviting.
Not consuming
but awakening.

And he turned.
For the first time in an age,
he turned.

Now he walks the broken heather, barefoot and unbound,
his runes aglow not with fury
but recognition.
The flame calls.
The song begins.

And the wasteland?
It watches him soften…
and dares not interrupt.

Radioactive: The Rise of the Radiant One
(Celtic Wastes Version)

I'm waking up to ash and dust,
the stones remember what they must.
I light my runes and wipe my brow
this cloak of gods, it fits me now.

I'm breathing in the chemicals,
the broken air, the bitter calls.
The land once burned, the sky once bled,
and now it hums beneath my tread.

This is it, the apocalypse.
I raise my glaive with sacred lips.
The chant returns, the light ignites,
my bones alight with ancient rites.

Welcome to the new age, to the new age,
they whisper in the stone and sage.

I’m radioactive, glowing gold,
not just reborn, but fierce and bold.
The old gods rise, the mists obey
the Radiant One has come to slay.

Whakaahua o te Koanga | Springtime Portrait [September 2025]

A special gift for the man who gives me so much peace and gives me my moments to sit in the sun quietly chatting away to him.
For Fin with all my adoration, devotion, and endless love.

Kāore ia e oma ināianei.
Kāore ia e kawe i ngā āwha katoa.
Ka noho noa iho ia,
kei reira tonu ngā manu e waiata ana,
ā, kāore te rā e tono kia waiho ia hei mea kē atu,
engari hei tangata pono noa iho.

He does not run anymore.
He does not carry every storm.
He simply sits,
where the birds still sing,
and the light does not ask him
to be anything but real.