Regine
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regiineak.bsky.social
Regine
@regiineak.bsky.social
17 followers 49 following 51 posts
I like coffee
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regiineak.bsky.social
I like to believe there's a little extra magic in birthday wishes when it's in the native tongue
June 29, 2025 at 12:54 PM
regiineak.bsky.social
Gratulerer med dagen 💜
June 29, 2025 at 12:40 PM
regiineak.bsky.social
💜
June 28, 2025 at 4:21 PM
regiineak.bsky.social
✌️✌️Happy pride 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️
June 27, 2025 at 9:06 PM
Reposted by Regine
crossroadart.bsky.social
Hey! Fuck yeah! Let’s see you through to 3K!
Thanki for the art share!

Hi, I’m Bear, a crytpid that doesn't usually bite, a fantasy illustrator and ‘The Henchmen’s Guide’ is my fault.

Here is my art feed if u want to try to make it make sense. Good luck 👹

bsky.app/profile/did:...
A master study of one of Leyedecker’s classic 1920’s menswear paintings featuring an example of smart casual winter wear, however, as per my usual practice when doing a master study, I have substituted the model in the painting for one of my own OCs. In this case I have gone with my OC Miles, the werewolf Sloan’s second henchmen or, according to some, her assistant or indeed secretary. Not an unfair assumption, it’s easy for Miles’ grace and upright academic nature to out shine his physical abilities. Here he stands before a backdrop of white brushstrokes, implying a clear, bright winter's day, with a fir tree branch braking up all the negative space behind him. He is standing with his attention contently occupied to his right, despite the black tail of his boss disappearing across the bottom left side of the canvas. His hands are in the generously sized pockets of a very well made, double breasted, mustard yellow, long coat. A white scarf with orange accents on its ends is bundled around his shoulders and neck, the pale shade of which brings out the soft warm browns of his first nations skin tone. On his head he wears an olive green flat cap, the band of which sits behind his one visible ear. It is not always noted just how large Miles’ ears are, his long black hair, even when braided or loosely tied back, as it is here, and his ever diligent gaze, tend to steal their limelight. All together the outfit suits Miles very well, for its practicality, upright yet approachable nature and general appealing charisma. On a wet road in a dim foggy forest, a werewolf so dark it could be described as a silhouette with white eyes, looms over a young man laying on the tarmac in a frozen state of fight or flight. The young man is in a dark pink hoodie which contrasts with the otherwise cool, dark pallet of the scene. It’s hard to convince yourself that everything is going to be ok in the face of someone like Sloan. Theo had tried to put up the arrogant front of a deeply unimpressed teenager, however his failure was evident in her shades, where he could see the reflection of his own uncertainty in his eyes. They watched the face of the predators before him with a primal calculation gear towards survival. Her smile was the foremost object of disturbance. It was distinctly wrong. A little too wide and crowded with jaggard hyena-like teeth. It could, arguably, hold a candle to the definition of a maw. The fact that her skin was scored with a hash of pale scars didn’t help the impression either, it told the story of someone not easily dissuaded from any given intention. All this set in the backdrop of a mane of black hair with webs of silver that Theo himself still had decades to possess. She raised one eyebrow behind her shades. Theo noted it too, and smoked his joint with a sinking feeling. Even in the bright, safe light of the beach they stood on, Theo estimated that he was the nameless victim in the prologue of a horror. If only he was so lucky. This is not in fact the prologue, this is chapter one and he is the P.O.V. Theo and Miles were doomed by a fried egg, and in a way this is an illustration of that egg. Its brown shell cracked open and dropping out of its opaque center falls two sunny orange young men in their early twenties; they are the hue of an egg yolk in every sense including their clothes. From within a glossy glop of descending albumen they reach for each other because they know if they hold onto each other they won’t break. Miles, a young man in his early 20’s with a slender figure and a handsome face, tumbles lowest, his hips and legs rolling over his chest, his long hair trailing up from his fall and his expression wide eyed, ready and hopeful in the face of Theo, whose forearm he has gripped just above Theo’s various bracelets. In turn Theo, also a young man in his twenties with a strong compact body, a soft torso and blunt squarish face, looks down at Miles with an expression of sureness, haste and of course his ever present edge of annoyance. His grip on Miles arm is firm while he too falls, and though there is nothing they can do about of their evident demise, Theo’s body language does not suggest he is unaccustomed to the fall, and is positioned like a surfer that has just been thrown from his board before being heavily dumped into a folding wave. In fact neither of them appear to be especially panicked, though the stress of their situation is not absent. Whatever happens will happen, but it will happen to them together (an unfortunately dim silver lining in the scheme of things). The egg shell itself has a faded red stamp on it. The stamp reads, ‘The Henchmen’s Guide. Prologue.’ This is the title of the book series and the chapter that condemned these two young men to their villainous werewolf boss, Sloan.
June 25, 2025 at 9:44 AM