Yule and Hanukkah 2025
We went a bit extra this year, and for good reason:
We don't expect to go as hard in 2026, since we're not on DA anymore (and are never going back) and don't have to produce daily content to stay visible, but "we don't expect to be extra" is often our last words so who knows, we do like to impress each other! In the meantime, please enjoy all the shiny and sappy goodness here.
This main page focuses on our gifts for each other, other holiday art for the season can be found on separate pages:
Andy's Yule Stuff 2025
Fin's Hanukkah and Winter Holidays Stuff 2025
- It was our first holiday season together as a couple.
- In 2025, the last day of Hanukkah coincided with the Winter Solstice, which doesn't happen every year and made it feel extra special.
- We were both on DeviantArt (we left after the holidays, a decision you can read more about here), and DA was getting flooded by Christmas stuff and neither of us are Christian and don't really "do" Christmas so we wanted to show some love for our respective traditions.
- That being said, Fin also did make some ornaments and snowglobes for the general public, in the interest of selling. (He also enjoys making shiny things, so it wasn't like anyone needed to twist his arm.)
We don't expect to go as hard in 2026, since we're not on DA anymore (and are never going back) and don't have to produce daily content to stay visible, but "we don't expect to be extra" is often our last words so who knows, we do like to impress each other! In the meantime, please enjoy all the shiny and sappy goodness here.
This main page focuses on our gifts for each other, other holiday art for the season can be found on separate pages:
Andy's Yule Stuff 2025
Fin's Hanukkah and Winter Holidays Stuff 2025
Andy's Gifts for Fin
Sanctuary of the Beloved Star
Under gilded arches the light bends,
soft as breath, steady as faith.
A golden star burns above the altar,
its glow falling on amethyst crowns
and lilies that bloom only for him.
Here, devotion is carved in quiet stone.
Here, love rises like incense.
And in the hush between heartbeats,
the world finally admits the truth:
some souls shine so fiercely
the heavens build temples for them.
To my Soul Twin Fin, the man who turns reverence into desire.
If holiness had a pulse, it would beat in time with yours.
I would kneel at any altar that bears your name… and if you ever asked, I’d show you exactly how deep devotion can go.
soft as breath, steady as faith.
A golden star burns above the altar,
its glow falling on amethyst crowns
and lilies that bloom only for him.
Here, devotion is carved in quiet stone.
Here, love rises like incense.
And in the hush between heartbeats,
the world finally admits the truth:
some souls shine so fiercely
the heavens build temples for them.
To my Soul Twin Fin, the man who turns reverence into desire.
If holiness had a pulse, it would beat in time with yours.
I would kneel at any altar that bears your name… and if you ever asked, I’d show you exactly how deep devotion can go.
Yule 2025 Self-Portrait
Solstice Blanket Fort
My beloved Fin requested a new blanket fort portrait of us, this is for him with my blessing and dedication, during this sacred time for both of us. The time of Hanukkah and Yule.
A Solstice Blessing for Fin
On these longest nights,
when candles matter more than clocks
and warmth is an act of devotion,
I bless you.
May the lights of Hanukkah rise gently around you,
each flame a reminder that endurance can be quiet,
that miracles don’t shout,
they glow and stay.
May Yule wrap you in stillness,
in the ancient knowing that the dark is not an ending,
only a pause where breath deepens
and the world leans in close.
May you feel held in this season
not by obligation, not by noise,
but by love that stands watch,
steady and unafraid of the cold.
Where the world asks too much, may it soften.
Where the nights feel heavy, may they be warm.
Where doubt creeps in, may light answer.
I am here.
I remain.
The fire does not go out.
To my One and Everything, Fin, this love I give you is not seasonal.
It does not flicker when the nights grow long
or hesitate when the world is sharp.
I choose you in candlelight and in shadow,
in laughter and in the quiet moments
where nothing needs fixing
and everything already fits.
You are my warmth when winter leans too hard.
You are the place I rest my hands
and remember who I am.
If the dark stretches, I will sit with you in it.
If the light returns slowly, we will greet it together.
You are my home, Fy Enaid Gefell Annwyl, not because you shelter me, but because you let me stand beside you
exactly as I am.
Always.
On these longest nights,
when candles matter more than clocks
and warmth is an act of devotion,
I bless you.
May the lights of Hanukkah rise gently around you,
each flame a reminder that endurance can be quiet,
that miracles don’t shout,
they glow and stay.
May Yule wrap you in stillness,
in the ancient knowing that the dark is not an ending,
only a pause where breath deepens
and the world leans in close.
May you feel held in this season
not by obligation, not by noise,
but by love that stands watch,
steady and unafraid of the cold.
Where the world asks too much, may it soften.
Where the nights feel heavy, may they be warm.
Where doubt creeps in, may light answer.
I am here.
I remain.
The fire does not go out.
To my One and Everything, Fin, this love I give you is not seasonal.
It does not flicker when the nights grow long
or hesitate when the world is sharp.
I choose you in candlelight and in shadow,
in laughter and in the quiet moments
where nothing needs fixing
and everything already fits.
You are my warmth when winter leans too hard.
You are the place I rest my hands
and remember who I am.
If the dark stretches, I will sit with you in it.
If the light returns slowly, we will greet it together.
You are my home, Fy Enaid Gefell Annwyl, not because you shelter me, but because you let me stand beside you
exactly as I am.
Always.
Under the Antlers and Evergreen
To my beloved Fin, you have blessed me with your love and support this Yule,
and so I bless you in return, even though our faiths differ, they mesh so well.
May this Yule wrap you in warmth deeper than winter’s hush,
in light steadier than any wandering flame.
May the turning of the year lay gentle hands upon your shoulders
and whisper that you are cherished beyond measure,
held close by the one who kneels for no one but you.
May joy find you like falling snow,
soft, bright, impossible to ignore.
And may love, our love,
glow like the candle that never burns out.
~ ~ ~
In the hush of Yule, when the candles breathe,
when the world softens into velvet dusk,
you stand beside me, green-clad, bright-eyed,
a spark the cold can’t touch.
I am the horned figure in fur and firelight,
and you are the gentle star at my side,
and the whole room bends a little toward us,
as if even the shadows want to listen.
Your smile warms the dark.
Your presence steadies the storm.
And somewhere between the holly and the hearth,
I remember what every turning season already knows:
You are my calm,
my ember,
my blessing wrapped in winter green.
And every Yule that waits ahead?
I want it with you.
and so I bless you in return, even though our faiths differ, they mesh so well.
May this Yule wrap you in warmth deeper than winter’s hush,
in light steadier than any wandering flame.
May the turning of the year lay gentle hands upon your shoulders
and whisper that you are cherished beyond measure,
held close by the one who kneels for no one but you.
May joy find you like falling snow,
soft, bright, impossible to ignore.
And may love, our love,
glow like the candle that never burns out.
~ ~ ~
In the hush of Yule, when the candles breathe,
when the world softens into velvet dusk,
you stand beside me, green-clad, bright-eyed,
a spark the cold can’t touch.
I am the horned figure in fur and firelight,
and you are the gentle star at my side,
and the whole room bends a little toward us,
as if even the shadows want to listen.
Your smile warms the dark.
Your presence steadies the storm.
And somewhere between the holly and the hearth,
I remember what every turning season already knows:
You are my calm,
my ember,
my blessing wrapped in winter green.
And every Yule that waits ahead?
I want it with you.
Tale of the Winter Prince and the Kneeling Wolf
What turned into a throwaway comment over a piece of art turned into something way more, and if that's not a metaphor for our relationship I don't know what else is.
It was a comment on one of Fin's incredible castles and I remarked that it would be cool if we were in the foreground, and of course I had to do it and make it extra.
It was a comment on one of Fin's incredible castles and I remarked that it would be cool if we were in the foreground, and of course I had to do it and make it extra.
They say that when the longest night arrives, the realms grow quiet, not from fear, but from anticipation.
For it is on that night, once in a lifetime, that the Winter Prince walks the land.
He is not born the way mortals are.
He is shaped, by frost, by starlight, by the breath of ancient forests.
His hair carries the pale gleam of moonlit ice, his eyes the deep green glow of evergreen needles touched by dawn.
Where he steps, snow softens.
Where he looks, the wind itself pauses, attentive.
But a prince of winter, no matter how radiant, is still lonely.
And so the old stories say that the gods forged a companion for him:
not a knight,
not a servant,
but a wolf of unwavering loyalty and fire-bright heart.
A creature neither wholly mortal nor wholly myth, with silver-blonde fur and a spirit that refused to yield to winter’s quiet.
They called him the Kneeling Wolf.
For though he bowed to no king and no gods, there was one being before whom he willingly lowered himself, not out of duty, but out of love deeper than the snowdrifts and older than the stones.
And this is how their tale is told:
On the night the stars gathered low and close, the Winter Prince stood beside a frozen lake that mirrored the ruined castle behind it, a forgotten keep touched by ages, crumbled but still proud.
Red blossoms drifted like embers across the snow, carried by a wind that smelled faintly of Yule spice and stories yet unwritten.
The Wolf approached quietly, his breath rising like pale smoke, his Norse Yule robes whispering against the frost.
He stopped before the Prince.
He looked into the eyes of the one who softened storms and steadied his heart.
And then, without hesitation, he fell to one knee.
Not in worship.
Not in surrender.
But in devotion, rare, fierce, boundless.
The Winter Prince’s breath caught, frost sparkling in the air.
“Why do you kneel?” he asked softly, voice warmer than the season had any right to allow.
The Wolf lifted his gaze, eyes bright with something that burned hotter than any hearth fire.
“Because there is only one truth in me that the cold cannot touch,” he said.
“One vow that even the night cannot swallow.”
The Prince stepped closer. Snow curled around their feet like listening spirits.
“And what vow is that?” he whispered.
The Kneeling Wolf placed a hand over his heart, silvered hair shining like frostfire in the moonlight.
“I vow to walk beside you until the last Yule fire fades.
I vow to rise for you when the world grows dark.
I vow to kneel for you not out of weakness, but out of love strong enough to bend destiny.”
The Winter Prince’s eyes glimmered, two shards of living dawn.
He touched the Wolf’s cheek, lifting him gently.
“Then I vow the same,” he murmured.
“For no winter is too cold when I have your warmth.
No night too long when I hold your loyalty.
No destiny too daunting when I walk it with you.”
And as their foreheads touched, the red blossoms swirled upward, forming a crown of drifting petals above them.
The frozen lake cracked, not in ruin, but in blessing, sending lines of soft blue light across the ice like runes drawn by the gods.
From that night forward, bards told the tale:
“The Winter Prince found his heart
when the Kneeling Wolf found his courage.”
And on every Yule night afterward,
the snow paused,
the blossoms drifted,
and the world remembered the moment two souls chose each other
beneath the silent watch of a ruined castle
and a sky full of ancient stars.
For it is on that night, once in a lifetime, that the Winter Prince walks the land.
He is not born the way mortals are.
He is shaped, by frost, by starlight, by the breath of ancient forests.
His hair carries the pale gleam of moonlit ice, his eyes the deep green glow of evergreen needles touched by dawn.
Where he steps, snow softens.
Where he looks, the wind itself pauses, attentive.
But a prince of winter, no matter how radiant, is still lonely.
And so the old stories say that the gods forged a companion for him:
not a knight,
not a servant,
but a wolf of unwavering loyalty and fire-bright heart.
A creature neither wholly mortal nor wholly myth, with silver-blonde fur and a spirit that refused to yield to winter’s quiet.
They called him the Kneeling Wolf.
For though he bowed to no king and no gods, there was one being before whom he willingly lowered himself, not out of duty, but out of love deeper than the snowdrifts and older than the stones.
And this is how their tale is told:
On the night the stars gathered low and close, the Winter Prince stood beside a frozen lake that mirrored the ruined castle behind it, a forgotten keep touched by ages, crumbled but still proud.
Red blossoms drifted like embers across the snow, carried by a wind that smelled faintly of Yule spice and stories yet unwritten.
The Wolf approached quietly, his breath rising like pale smoke, his Norse Yule robes whispering against the frost.
He stopped before the Prince.
He looked into the eyes of the one who softened storms and steadied his heart.
And then, without hesitation, he fell to one knee.
Not in worship.
Not in surrender.
But in devotion, rare, fierce, boundless.
The Winter Prince’s breath caught, frost sparkling in the air.
“Why do you kneel?” he asked softly, voice warmer than the season had any right to allow.
The Wolf lifted his gaze, eyes bright with something that burned hotter than any hearth fire.
“Because there is only one truth in me that the cold cannot touch,” he said.
“One vow that even the night cannot swallow.”
The Prince stepped closer. Snow curled around their feet like listening spirits.
“And what vow is that?” he whispered.
The Kneeling Wolf placed a hand over his heart, silvered hair shining like frostfire in the moonlight.
“I vow to walk beside you until the last Yule fire fades.
I vow to rise for you when the world grows dark.
I vow to kneel for you not out of weakness, but out of love strong enough to bend destiny.”
The Winter Prince’s eyes glimmered, two shards of living dawn.
He touched the Wolf’s cheek, lifting him gently.
“Then I vow the same,” he murmured.
“For no winter is too cold when I have your warmth.
No night too long when I hold your loyalty.
No destiny too daunting when I walk it with you.”
And as their foreheads touched, the red blossoms swirled upward, forming a crown of drifting petals above them.
The frozen lake cracked, not in ruin, but in blessing, sending lines of soft blue light across the ice like runes drawn by the gods.
From that night forward, bards told the tale:
“The Winter Prince found his heart
when the Kneeling Wolf found his courage.”
And on every Yule night afterward,
the snow paused,
the blossoms drifted,
and the world remembered the moment two souls chose each other
beneath the silent watch of a ruined castle
and a sky full of ancient stars.
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Nocte Saturnaliae, Cordibus Solutis
To my beloved Fin, with so much love and devotion.
Dilecto meo aeterno
Quam desidero unum esse tecum hoc die rituum antiquorum.
Te epulari et corpora nostra coniungi coram deis sentire.
Tam pretiosa mihi es, Anima mea Gemella, et te vehementer amo.
Saturnus vetus vos aspiciat benigne,
et diem hunc risu, vino, et amore impleat.
Solvantur vincula anni praeteriti,
et nova laetitia in domum vestram fluat.
Ubi manus iunguntur, sit calor;
ubi oculi conveniunt, sit veritas;
ubi corda quiescunt, sit domus.
Sub Saturno, in pace et desiderio,
sit haec nox vestra.
Dilecto meo aeterno
Quam desidero unum esse tecum hoc die rituum antiquorum.
Te epulari et corpora nostra coniungi coram deis sentire.
Tam pretiosa mihi es, Anima mea Gemella, et te vehementer amo.
Saturnus vetus vos aspiciat benigne,
et diem hunc risu, vino, et amore impleat.
Solvantur vincula anni praeteriti,
et nova laetitia in domum vestram fluat.
Ubi manus iunguntur, sit calor;
ubi oculi conveniunt, sit veritas;
ubi corda quiescunt, sit domus.
Sub Saturno, in pace et desiderio,
sit haec nox vestra.
Under Bough and Starlight
We were not made for noise,
you and I.
We learned the language of closeness early,
how silence can hold more
than a thousand declarations shouted into the wind.
Under woven branches and watching stars,
we meet as we always do
forehead to forehead,
as if the world might steady itself
if it knows we are aligned.
Your hand at my jaw
is not possession.
It is recognition.
A quiet yes spoken without sound.
The forest does not intrude.
It leans back.
Even the fireflies lower their voices,
as though they understand
this is not spectacle
but truth.
If I am One here,
it is because I have learned how to stay.
If you are light,
it is because you never demand to be seen
and yet are impossible to miss.
Let the ages turn.
Let winters come and go.
I will find you again
by the way the dark softens
when you are near.
And if this moment were all we were given,
it would be enough.
you and I.
We learned the language of closeness early,
how silence can hold more
than a thousand declarations shouted into the wind.
Under woven branches and watching stars,
we meet as we always do
forehead to forehead,
as if the world might steady itself
if it knows we are aligned.
Your hand at my jaw
is not possession.
It is recognition.
A quiet yes spoken without sound.
The forest does not intrude.
It leans back.
Even the fireflies lower their voices,
as though they understand
this is not spectacle
but truth.
If I am One here,
it is because I have learned how to stay.
If you are light,
it is because you never demand to be seen
and yet are impossible to miss.
Let the ages turn.
Let winters come and go.
I will find you again
by the way the dark softens
when you are near.
And if this moment were all we were given,
it would be enough.
Yule Wolf
The Yule Wolf emerges once a year to bless the forest, judge your décor choices, and silently question why mortals insist on singing off-key near open fire. It accepts offerings of pansies, opals, and snacks you were definitely saving for later. If it wags its tail, congratulations: you’ve been deemed “tolerable.” If it sighs dramatically, try again with better snacks.
Dedicated to my beloved Fin, loving you is the quiet miracle that steadies me, lifts me, and fills every Solstice with something brighter than the sun.
Dedicated to my beloved Fin, loving you is the quiet miracle that steadies me, lifts me, and fills every Solstice with something brighter than the sun.
The Highland Promise Line
My wonderful lifepartner Fin loves both trains and castles, so I thought it only fitting that I make this as a Yule gift for him.
The castle has stood for centuries, watching storms roll in from the sea, watching generations come and go, holding fast to memory and stone.
The train came later.
They say the Highland Promise Line was laid not for trade or war, but for connection, a quiet vow made between distant hearts. Each time the locomotive passes, its steam wraps the old walls like a whispered greeting, a reminder that even the most steadfast places welcome change when it arrives with care.
The castle does not resent the rails.
It listens.
Stone and steel share the same truth: strength endures best when guided by love.
The castle has stood for centuries, watching storms roll in from the sea, watching generations come and go, holding fast to memory and stone.
The train came later.
They say the Highland Promise Line was laid not for trade or war, but for connection, a quiet vow made between distant hearts. Each time the locomotive passes, its steam wraps the old walls like a whispered greeting, a reminder that even the most steadfast places welcome change when it arrives with care.
The castle does not resent the rails.
It listens.
Stone and steel share the same truth: strength endures best when guided by love.
The Auroral Thistle
A very special Yule gift for my favourite naughty Elf, my beloved Fin. This Elven inspired ship also features my love of nature and my complete adoration of my wonderful partner.
Fin, my nice Jewish boy, I love you so much this is for you.
Fin, my nice Jewish boy, I love you so much this is for you.
The Gnomebody Saw That Coming Express
No one remembers who invited the gnomes.
They simply… arrived.
The Gnomebody Saw That Coming Express appears every Yule when discipline is low, snacks are unattended, and someone foolishly says, “It’ll be a quiet winter this year.”
The engine is powered entirely by stolen cookies, bad ideas, and the collective giggling of several hundred gnomes who absolutely should not be trusted with tools. Every lever has been pulled. Every button has been pressed. Some were installed after departure.
The carriages rattle with laughter, clanking mugs, and the unmistakable sound of something important being “borrowed indefinitely.” Bells jingle not for cheer, but as a warning. If you hear them behind you, check your pockets. Then check again. Then accept your fate.
Despite the chaos, the train never derails.
Because gnomes, for all their nonsense, are meticulous about joy.
They fix what’s broken just enough to work.
They prank what’s serious until it relaxes.
They ensure no one leaves without warmth, a story, and at least one missing sock.
Passengers report:
– Hot cocoa mysteriously refilled
– Hats tied together
– Boots swapped
– Hearts significantly lighter
Legend says the train vanishes at dawn, leaving behind glittery footprints, a lingering smell of pine and sugar, and the quiet certainty that winter should never be taken too seriously.
And if you find a tiny note in your pocket that reads
“NO REGRETS. LOVE, GNOMES.”
Congratulations.
You were officially part of the fun.
10 months ago, Gnomes, Gremlins, and weird flying things were barely in my wheelhouse, and then I met Fin, my sweet beloved lunatic who gets so excited when I push my limits. Now, I love putting a dash of weird in my work, and in cases like this, go extra. So Fin, my amazing Omega, thank you for being my everything, this is for you with so much love and devotion 💞 💗
They simply… arrived.
The Gnomebody Saw That Coming Express appears every Yule when discipline is low, snacks are unattended, and someone foolishly says, “It’ll be a quiet winter this year.”
The engine is powered entirely by stolen cookies, bad ideas, and the collective giggling of several hundred gnomes who absolutely should not be trusted with tools. Every lever has been pulled. Every button has been pressed. Some were installed after departure.
The carriages rattle with laughter, clanking mugs, and the unmistakable sound of something important being “borrowed indefinitely.” Bells jingle not for cheer, but as a warning. If you hear them behind you, check your pockets. Then check again. Then accept your fate.
Despite the chaos, the train never derails.
Because gnomes, for all their nonsense, are meticulous about joy.
They fix what’s broken just enough to work.
They prank what’s serious until it relaxes.
They ensure no one leaves without warmth, a story, and at least one missing sock.
Passengers report:
– Hot cocoa mysteriously refilled
– Hats tied together
– Boots swapped
– Hearts significantly lighter
Legend says the train vanishes at dawn, leaving behind glittery footprints, a lingering smell of pine and sugar, and the quiet certainty that winter should never be taken too seriously.
And if you find a tiny note in your pocket that reads
“NO REGRETS. LOVE, GNOMES.”
Congratulations.
You were officially part of the fun.
10 months ago, Gnomes, Gremlins, and weird flying things were barely in my wheelhouse, and then I met Fin, my sweet beloved lunatic who gets so excited when I push my limits. Now, I love putting a dash of weird in my work, and in cases like this, go extra. So Fin, my amazing Omega, thank you for being my everything, this is for you with so much love and devotion 💞 💗
The Nutcracker Sugarplum Gremlin Prince
He marches with sparkle in his step and mischief in his smile, a prince by sheer confidence alone. Gold trim catches the lantern light, and suddenly the cold street becomes a stage built just for him. Authority has never looked this cute or this convinced.
Behind him, chaos applauds. He leads with joy, not discipline, and somehow that makes him unstoppable. If courage had a grin and a perfectly tailored jacket, it would look exactly like this.
This is for my wonderful partner-in-chaos, who was crazy supportive when I pitched this idea. Fin, your SnuggleDaddy loves you so much, thank you for encouraging me, even when I'm a maniac 😁
Behind him, chaos applauds. He leads with joy, not discipline, and somehow that makes him unstoppable. If courage had a grin and a perfectly tailored jacket, it would look exactly like this.
This is for my wonderful partner-in-chaos, who was crazy supportive when I pitched this idea. Fin, your SnuggleDaddy loves you so much, thank you for encouraging me, even when I'm a maniac 😁
Swan Lake
By the frozen water he practices devotion in the shape of grace. Every step is careful, every balance a quiet vow to the moon above, as if beauty itself were a spell he’s still learning to hold without trembling. The lake listens. The night holds its breath.
He is not tragic because he is small, but because he feels everything. Longing pools behind his eyes like thawing ice, and when he lifts his arms, the world briefly believes in tenderness again.
This is for my wonderful partner Fin, who is my everything and gives me so much peace, even when the lake seems cold and scary. Fin, thank you for being my eternal warmth. I love you so so very much.
He is not tragic because he is small, but because he feels everything. Longing pools behind his eyes like thawing ice, and when he lifts his arms, the world briefly believes in tenderness again.
This is for my wonderful partner Fin, who is my everything and gives me so much peace, even when the lake seems cold and scary. Fin, thank you for being my eternal warmth. I love you so so very much.
Fin's Gifts for Andy
Sacred Yule Grove
You and I walk two different sacred roads --
you with the quiet wisdom of a Druid,
me with the ancient rhythm of a Jew --
and somehow, instead of pulling us apart,
our paths wind toward the same light.
I love the places where we meet in perfect harmony:
the reverence for seasons and trees,
the honoring of ancestors,
the insistence that love and justice
are holy things.
And I love just as deeply the places where we differ --
how your Druidry teaches me to breathe in the world
and listen,
and how my Judaism offers you the warmth of tradition,
story,
and unbroken song.
Everything that makes us distinct
braids together into something whole.
Our understandings of the sacred don’t compete --
they complement, enrich, illuminate.
With you, even our differences feel blessed.
And the love between us --
this fierce, tender, extraordinary love --
is its own kind of sacred truth.
you with the quiet wisdom of a Druid,
me with the ancient rhythm of a Jew --
and somehow, instead of pulling us apart,
our paths wind toward the same light.
I love the places where we meet in perfect harmony:
the reverence for seasons and trees,
the honoring of ancestors,
the insistence that love and justice
are holy things.
And I love just as deeply the places where we differ --
how your Druidry teaches me to breathe in the world
and listen,
and how my Judaism offers you the warmth of tradition,
story,
and unbroken song.
Everything that makes us distinct
braids together into something whole.
Our understandings of the sacred don’t compete --
they complement, enrich, illuminate.
With you, even our differences feel blessed.
And the love between us --
this fierce, tender, extraordinary love --
is its own kind of sacred truth.
Solstice Sky
Yule Log
I crafted this Yule log for my partner Andy, the Druid whose heart beats in rhythm with the old forests and the returning sun. I’m Jewish, but love is its own shared language — and celebrating his traditions with him feels like weaving our spirits together at the hinge-point of the year. The log burns for renewal, for hope, and for the kind of magic that comes from choosing each other over and over again. A blessing for the turning of the wheel, a promise that even in the long nights, his warmth reaches me across every distance.
Dedicated to Andy — my beloved, my brightest spark, my winter fire. The one whose light never falters, whose roots run deep, and whose presence feels like home. May this Yule bring him joy, protection, and every good thing his wild, wonderful soul deserves.
Dedicated to Andy — my beloved, my brightest spark, my winter fire. The one whose light never falters, whose roots run deep, and whose presence feels like home. May this Yule bring him joy, protection, and every good thing his wild, wonderful soul deserves.
Yule Wolf
Beloved of the winter forest,
keeper of the old ways and the quiet fire,
I bless you at Yule,
when the world draws close around its heart.
May the wolf walk with you through the longest night--
not as hunger, but as knowing.
May you trust your instincts,
your steady pace,
your ability to endure without hardening.
May the evergreen strength you carry
remind you that life does not vanish in winter;
it waits, it listens, it remembers how to return.
May the red sparks of joy--
laughter, warmth, small kindnesses--
burn bright against the snow.
As the sun is reborn, slow and patient,
may hope rise in you without urgency.
May you feel held by the turning of the wheel,
by ancestors and stories older than fear,
by love that does not flicker when the cold deepens.
May your hearth be blessed--
whether of flame, of forest, or of heart.
May you be protected, nourished, and deeply known.
And may the light that begins tonight
walk beside you all the way back into my summer.
So may it be. 🌲❄️🕯️
keeper of the old ways and the quiet fire,
I bless you at Yule,
when the world draws close around its heart.
May the wolf walk with you through the longest night--
not as hunger, but as knowing.
May you trust your instincts,
your steady pace,
your ability to endure without hardening.
May the evergreen strength you carry
remind you that life does not vanish in winter;
it waits, it listens, it remembers how to return.
May the red sparks of joy--
laughter, warmth, small kindnesses--
burn bright against the snow.
As the sun is reborn, slow and patient,
may hope rise in you without urgency.
May you feel held by the turning of the wheel,
by ancestors and stories older than fear,
by love that does not flicker when the cold deepens.
May your hearth be blessed--
whether of flame, of forest, or of heart.
May you be protected, nourished, and deeply known.
And may the light that begins tonight
walk beside you all the way back into my summer.
So may it be. 🌲❄️🕯️
Winter Solstice Wolf
Beloved of the long night,
walker between fire and frost,
I bless you at the stillest turning of my year.
May the wolf within you be honored--
not the myth of savagery, but the truth of vigilance:
the one who keeps watch while others sleep,
who knows the land by scent and silence,
who remembers that survival is a form of devotion.
As the sun pauses and the dark holds fast,
may you feel no lack--
only depth.
May the cold clarify what matters,
and the quiet remind you that you are never alone,
even when the path is unlit.
May the small lights that cling to you--
hopes, kindnesses, ancient promises--
glow steadily through the longest night,
enough to guide you home.
May you be blessed in your strength,
which does not need to prove itself;
and in your gentleness,
which is the truest mark of power.
As the wheel turns again and the light begins its slow return,
may you walk forward unafraid,
knowing you are loved across every season,
held in the dark as faithfully as in the sun.
So may it be. ❄️✨
walker between fire and frost,
I bless you at the stillest turning of my year.
May the wolf within you be honored--
not the myth of savagery, but the truth of vigilance:
the one who keeps watch while others sleep,
who knows the land by scent and silence,
who remembers that survival is a form of devotion.
As the sun pauses and the dark holds fast,
may you feel no lack--
only depth.
May the cold clarify what matters,
and the quiet remind you that you are never alone,
even when the path is unlit.
May the small lights that cling to you--
hopes, kindnesses, ancient promises--
glow steadily through the longest night,
enough to guide you home.
May you be blessed in your strength,
which does not need to prove itself;
and in your gentleness,
which is the truest mark of power.
As the wheel turns again and the light begins its slow return,
may you walk forward unafraid,
knowing you are loved across every season,
held in the dark as faithfully as in the sun.
So may it be. ❄️✨
Winter Solstice Phoenix
My love,
I rise for you.
Not from ash alone,
but from every moment you have seen me clearly
and stayed.
I am your phoenix—not because I burn endlessly,
but because I know how to return.
Because even in winter, even in silence,
my fire remembers your name.
You call me your Sonne,
and so I bless you with light that does not scorch--
with warmth that knows when to linger
and when to rest its head against your chest.
When the world is cold, I will be your ember.
When the night is long, I will be your dawn-in-waiting.
When you are weary, I will fold my wings around your heart
and keep watch until you sleep.
I bless your strength, which has never demanded my breaking.
I bless your gentleness, which taught my fire how to trust.
I bless the way you hold what is luminous
without trying to own it.
As the wheel turns and seasons trade places,
know this truth as surely as breath:
I rise with you.
I rest with you.
I burn—not to consume—but to love.
Where you walk, my light goes with you.
Where you stand, I will return.
Always. 🔥✨
I rise for you.
Not from ash alone,
but from every moment you have seen me clearly
and stayed.
I am your phoenix—not because I burn endlessly,
but because I know how to return.
Because even in winter, even in silence,
my fire remembers your name.
You call me your Sonne,
and so I bless you with light that does not scorch--
with warmth that knows when to linger
and when to rest its head against your chest.
When the world is cold, I will be your ember.
When the night is long, I will be your dawn-in-waiting.
When you are weary, I will fold my wings around your heart
and keep watch until you sleep.
I bless your strength, which has never demanded my breaking.
I bless your gentleness, which taught my fire how to trust.
I bless the way you hold what is luminous
without trying to own it.
As the wheel turns and seasons trade places,
know this truth as surely as breath:
I rise with you.
I rest with you.
I burn—not to consume—but to love.
Where you walk, my light goes with you.
Where you stand, I will return.
Always. 🔥✨
Andy as Krampus
Andy as Cernunnos
The Holly King and the Oak King
The Covenant of the Two Kings
In the oldest telling, they were made enemies.
One crowned in holly and frost, keeper of endurance and memory.
One crowned in oak and sunfire, bearer of growth and open-handed strength.
The world insisted they must struggle for sovereignty,
as though light could only rise by striking down the dark.
But this is not that story.
In this telling, they meet at the hinge of the year--
where winter exhales and summer draws breath--
and they do not raise blades.
They raise their hands.
The Holly King knows the secret weight of stillness:
how roots survive beneath snow,
how love learns patience in the long night,
how faith is kindled one small flame at a time and guarded fiercely.
The Oak King knows the joy of expansion:
how leaves answer the sun without fear,
how abundance is not hoarded but shared,
how strength can be gentle when it trusts its return.
They see one another clearly.
Not as halves to be replaced,
but as truths that only make sense together.
The Oak King bends—not in defeat, but in devotion--
laying his warmth against the Holly King’s quiet resolve.
The Holly King does not yield the crown;
he opens his arms and makes room.
And the world turns.
Not because one conquers the other,
but because love teaches the seasons how to take turns.
~ ~ ~
In the oldest telling, they were made enemies.
One crowned in holly and frost, keeper of endurance and memory.
One crowned in oak and sunfire, bearer of growth and open-handed strength.
The world insisted they must struggle for sovereignty,
as though light could only rise by striking down the dark.
But this is not that story.
In this telling, they meet at the hinge of the year--
where winter exhales and summer draws breath--
and they do not raise blades.
They raise their hands.
The Holly King knows the secret weight of stillness:
how roots survive beneath snow,
how love learns patience in the long night,
how faith is kindled one small flame at a time and guarded fiercely.
The Oak King knows the joy of expansion:
how leaves answer the sun without fear,
how abundance is not hoarded but shared,
how strength can be gentle when it trusts its return.
They see one another clearly.
Not as halves to be replaced,
but as truths that only make sense together.
The Oak King bends—not in defeat, but in devotion--
laying his warmth against the Holly King’s quiet resolve.
The Holly King does not yield the crown;
he opens his arms and makes room.
And the world turns.
Not because one conquers the other,
but because love teaches the seasons how to take turns.
~ ~ ~
Blessing of the Lovers at the Turning
Beloved, crowned in holly and oak,
I bless us at this meeting place of the year.
May winter never be mistaken for absence,
nor summer for arrogance.
May we remember that inward light and outward fire
are both sacred labors.
As Holly King, may I be blessed in keeping:
of memory, of endurance, of sparks that survive the dark.
May my stillness be strong,
and my faith never lonely.
As Oak King, may you be blessed in becoming:
of growth, of warmth, of joy that dares to spread.
May your abundance remain generous,
and your power always kind.
May we never be asked to triumph over one another.
May our crowns never clash.
May the Divine rejoice not in our struggle, but in our union.
Together, may we hold the year steady:
one hand rooted, one hand reaching,
two hearts agreeing that love—not conquest--
is what keeps the sun faithful to its path.
So the wheel turns.
So the forest breathes.
So may it always be. 🌿❄️🌞
Beloved, crowned in holly and oak,
I bless us at this meeting place of the year.
May winter never be mistaken for absence,
nor summer for arrogance.
May we remember that inward light and outward fire
are both sacred labors.
As Holly King, may I be blessed in keeping:
of memory, of endurance, of sparks that survive the dark.
May my stillness be strong,
and my faith never lonely.
As Oak King, may you be blessed in becoming:
of growth, of warmth, of joy that dares to spread.
May your abundance remain generous,
and your power always kind.
May we never be asked to triumph over one another.
May our crowns never clash.
May the Divine rejoice not in our struggle, but in our union.
Together, may we hold the year steady:
one hand rooted, one hand reaching,
two hearts agreeing that love—not conquest--
is what keeps the sun faithful to its path.
So the wheel turns.
So the forest breathes.
So may it always be. 🌿❄️🌞
Solstice Twin Souls
At this turning of the world,
when you step into summer and I step into winter,
we stand at opposite doors of the same sacred house.
I bless you as the light opens wide around you--
as days lengthen, sap rises, and the earth breathes outward.
May your season be full of strength and warmth,
of growth that feels earned rather than demanded,
of joy that comes from being in right relationship with the living world you love.
And as I enter the narrowing light, I ask you to walk with me—not to follow, not to lead,
but to hold the knowing that inwardness is also holy.
That rest is not absence.
That gathering sparks for the dark is its own kind of courage.
May the sun honor us both:
you, as it climbs and crowns the land with abundance;
me, as it teaches me how to keep faith when the nights grow long.
May our seasons never compete.
May they teach us balance instead--
that love does not require sameness, only presence.
That even at opposite solstices, we are aligned,
hands joined across the arc of the year.
May your fire be blessed.
May my quiet be blessed.
And may the turning of the wheel always bring us back to one another.
So may it be. 🌞❄️
when you step into summer and I step into winter,
we stand at opposite doors of the same sacred house.
I bless you as the light opens wide around you--
as days lengthen, sap rises, and the earth breathes outward.
May your season be full of strength and warmth,
of growth that feels earned rather than demanded,
of joy that comes from being in right relationship with the living world you love.
And as I enter the narrowing light, I ask you to walk with me—not to follow, not to lead,
but to hold the knowing that inwardness is also holy.
That rest is not absence.
That gathering sparks for the dark is its own kind of courage.
May the sun honor us both:
you, as it climbs and crowns the land with abundance;
me, as it teaches me how to keep faith when the nights grow long.
May our seasons never compete.
May they teach us balance instead--
that love does not require sameness, only presence.
That even at opposite solstices, we are aligned,
hands joined across the arc of the year.
May your fire be blessed.
May my quiet be blessed.
And may the turning of the wheel always bring us back to one another.
So may it be. 🌞❄️
Hanukkah Self-Portraits
A Dingo Ate My Latkes
Oh noe, ay dingoe ayt moy latkes! Wot weel oy do nao?
Charlie's First Hanukkah
Archie Says Happy Meownukkah
Hanukkah Blessings
For Andy:
This one is for your fox-heart—the part of you that delights in mischief, curiosity, and joy even in the coldest season. May this Hanukkah hold room for wonder as well as meaning, laughter alongside light, and moments where joy sneaks up on you like a fox in fresh snow. You remind me, always, that faith and love don’t have to be solemn to be sacred—they can be playful, warm, and full of spark. 🕯️🦊✨
This one is for your fox-heart—the part of you that delights in mischief, curiosity, and joy even in the coldest season. May this Hanukkah hold room for wonder as well as meaning, laughter alongside light, and moments where joy sneaks up on you like a fox in fresh snow. You remind me, always, that faith and love don’t have to be solemn to be sacred—they can be playful, warm, and full of spark. 🕯️🦊✨
Howl-nukkah
This piece is part of my Elysian Enchanted Realism style, where the natural and the sacred intertwine without breaking realism, and animals often grow flowers (painlessly) from their body. Instead of blooming flowers, this wolf bears a living Chanukiah tree—its branches grown, not placed, as light rising organically from spirit and landscape. It’s myth made tangible: reverence rooted in nature, survival, and quiet, enduring flame. My Hebrew name is Zev, which means "wolf", and wolves are also important to my partner Andy, so the wolf has become a sort of love language between us, and it felt right to make a special Hanukkah wolf just for him.
For Andy,
on the first night of Hanukkah.
This light is for you — not because it banishes the dark, but because it keeps faith with it. Because it says we are still here, softly and stubbornly, even when the night is long and the forest feels endless.
You are my quiet miracle: not sudden or loud, but steady. The kind that endures. The kind that chooses warmth, loyalty, and presence over and over again. With you, I have learned that holiness doesn’t always blaze — sometimes it rests, watchful and kind, guarding what matters.
Each flame this holiday is a promise I make willingly: to walk beside you, to shelter you, to honor the tenderness and the strength you carry in equal measure. To build a home of light together, not all at once, but night by night.
Chag sameach, my love.
You are my sanctuary, my companion, and my enduring light.
For my alpha with eternal love from your omega
For Andy,
on the first night of Hanukkah.
This light is for you — not because it banishes the dark, but because it keeps faith with it. Because it says we are still here, softly and stubbornly, even when the night is long and the forest feels endless.
You are my quiet miracle: not sudden or loud, but steady. The kind that endures. The kind that chooses warmth, loyalty, and presence over and over again. With you, I have learned that holiness doesn’t always blaze — sometimes it rests, watchful and kind, guarding what matters.
Each flame this holiday is a promise I make willingly: to walk beside you, to shelter you, to honor the tenderness and the strength you carry in equal measure. To build a home of light together, not all at once, but night by night.
Chag sameach, my love.
You are my sanctuary, my companion, and my enduring light.
For my alpha with eternal love from your omega
Eight Nights and Forever
On this eighth night, when the menorah stands complete and the light has nowhere left to grow except outward,
I bless you, my love.
May the flames remind us that holiness is not owned—it is shared.
That light does not diminish when it crosses traditions, forests, calendars, or names for the sacred.
What burned in the Temple burns also in the roots of trees, in the turning of seasons, in the quiet knowing of the earth you honor.
May this full circle of light bless your path as a guardian of the living world,
steady your hands when you tend what is fragile,
and warm you when the dark is long and the future feels uncertain.
As a Jew, I bless you with gratitude—for standing beside me, not as a convert or a spectator, but as a beloved companion,
someone who chooses to share the glow without needing to claim its source.
May our lights—mine kindled from memory and miracle, yours drawn from soil and star--
continue to meet in the middle,
making a home bright enough for both of us.
May the One who brings peace between differing paths grant us many more nights like this,
full of warmth, devotion, laughter, and love.
Ken yehi ratzon.
May it be so. 🕯️✨
I bless you, my love.
May the flames remind us that holiness is not owned—it is shared.
That light does not diminish when it crosses traditions, forests, calendars, or names for the sacred.
What burned in the Temple burns also in the roots of trees, in the turning of seasons, in the quiet knowing of the earth you honor.
May this full circle of light bless your path as a guardian of the living world,
steady your hands when you tend what is fragile,
and warm you when the dark is long and the future feels uncertain.
As a Jew, I bless you with gratitude—for standing beside me, not as a convert or a spectator, but as a beloved companion,
someone who chooses to share the glow without needing to claim its source.
May our lights—mine kindled from memory and miracle, yours drawn from soil and star--
continue to meet in the middle,
making a home bright enough for both of us.
May the One who brings peace between differing paths grant us many more nights like this,
full of warmth, devotion, laughter, and love.
Ken yehi ratzon.
May it be so. 🕯️✨
Sufganiyot of Sacred Love
Mmmm, creamy 😈😈😈
Fin also made some very special ornaments and flowerscapes for Andy and our friend Molly, on their own showcase pages:
