My name is buzina; you might also know me as bog-rosmary or omeownis. I write beautiful things in co-authorship, and our main blog is here.
Sometimes I draw.
This blog is about sketches, experimental works, and characters that are dear to me. Sometimes it’s about searching, sometimes just warm pauses along the way.
I allow myself to explore and to try: my style may change, and that’s okay. I draw because I want to, and because it helps me remember what it feels like to breathe through brushes again.
Thank you to @sepawstian , @littlejony , and @meriiii for the support and kind words along the way 💚
me, writing: details? absolutely. i will feast on them. i will build entire structures out of them. i will shake them around like alan wake with a shoebox full of evidence, add a healthy dose of dadaism and erratic prose. bring me mooooooore 🌚🌚🌚
me, drawing: ...details...my ancient enemy...these three strokes are the peak of my current abilities...i am done...i cannot 🫠
tbh, i'm in love with this little dnd hl project so dearly (and secretly feel very proud of it) 🙈
i’ve never really been involved in the oc community, and to be honest, i never planned to be, i usually prefer observing from the sidelines and working with canon characters instead, but…
i’ve fallen so deeply in love with what i’m doing right now. i think i finally found the visual language for this story, and i love weaving in that sort of game master narration, mentioning certain other… figures here and there...
and i know it’s such a small, chamber little thing, but… somehow i’ve become so painfully fond of it. help. 🙈
just concepts of characters i'm working with now so beatifull that i wanna cry
im kinda nervous but anyway... great tnx to @sepawstian and @shelovesmewhynott for all conversations and support. it matters a lot to me
to @shanethehufflepuff
She peers over your shoulder: small, wreathed in the halo of an early Trieste summer, in the wind from the gulf and the faint citrus scent; a mess of tousled blond hair brushes against your shirt, and she hurriedly tucks the thick curls behind her ear, still studying the watercolor sketches with purely childish innocence and eyes full of delight.
Summer is lighting up in Trieste, and the sun rattles softly against the awnings of open-air cafés; the water by the pier lies perfectly smooth, and it feels like, just a little more—and you could get lost: which reflections in the water are real, and which are only reflections of reflections.
She peers over your shoulder and, strangely enough, sparks neither that dull irritation from someone crossing boundaries, nor aggression, nor surprise; as though she was always meant to appear here: the final brushstroke on an almost transparent sky, the smile at a finished study, the threshold of a break and something inexplicable waiting ahead.
It is strange: ahead still lie several days of lazy rest mixed with plein-air practice; ahead lies the evening and a promised date with someone dear to your heart, ahead lies a night full of walking and laughter; there should be nothing inexplicable here. But something strange drifts from her, and with her presence, it feels as though something shifts.
“Whoa,” she says, rising onto her tiptoes and leaning on the table scattered with art supplies, “These are almost like real!”
In the watercolor sketches—private yachts, the smooth water, and a sky so clean, so clean. In the graphite sketches—a portrait of the barista, a funny sailor with an enormous nose, two seagulls viciously fighting over a couple pieces of fried potato. In the sketches—life, and she absolutely loves all of it.
She asks, “Can I?”
She opens her eyes wide, wide and folds her hands against her chest in pleading.
She climbs onto the chair beside you and, after getting permission, carefully flips through every sketch.
She talks, actually. Talks, and talks, and talks. “And remember when after yesterday we went and my favorite color is green and back then I didn’t see you and you wanted to say…”
It all feels absurd and unreal, but for some reason it only makes you laugh.
“You bothering people again, Metha?” The voice falls over both of you—calm, relaxed, soft.
You turn around.
She—the other one—stands a couple steps away: tall, with a long dark braid, squinting a little in the sunlight, wearing a simple terracotta jumpsuit over a light shirt with rolled sleeves. She seems very gentle, but something tells you that with intonation alone she could calm a storm. Even the one on the neighboring chair.
“No I’m not!” Methamosa sticks out her tongue, shakes her head with childishly excessive enthusiasm, and points at the sketches. “He was already done when I came! And anyway, I got permission, and anyway, Deli!”
She jumps from her seat, grabs the girl by the wrist, and pulls, pulls her toward the table covered in drawings.
Delia smiles softly, restrained, looking at you with apologetic eyes before politely glancing over the sketches.
“Well? WELL?” Metha pesters her.
“They’re very beautiful,” she laughs softly. And if Methamosa’s laughter feels like the ringing of early morning sunlight against your skin, then Delia’s laughter is the pleasant coolness of flowing water after a long day.
“See, I told you he draws just like a fairy!” Metha raises a finger importantly toward the sky. She tilts her head to the side, narrows one eye as she studies your face. For a moment, her gaze becomes not-childishly serious and piercing, as though she is looking through you, examining the very core and finding something inexplicable there. But the feeling passes quickly.
Metha tugs at the edge of Delia’s shirt.
“I like him,” she says.
“Let’s draw him too,” she says.
Delia smiles softly and tilts her head as well. Touches the tip of Metha’s nose with her index finger. Methamosa snorts in a funny little way.
“Only if nobody minds.”
Metha looks at you, makes hilariously pleading little eyebrows, and whispers very loudly, “PLEEEASE, PLEEEASE, PLEEEASE.”
And maybe the cards are simply falling right today, or maybe the universe rolled a critical success on some mythical dice, but for some reason, you agree. You even let them use your paints.
Delia nods gratefully, while Metha joyfully circles the table several times before landing back on her chair.
The sun rings softly as it filters through the leaves. Methamosa chatters without stopping, asking about the details of a student artist’s university life. For some reason, she is interested in completely different things: why you choose those particular brushes, why not sleep until ten in the morning, where paintings go after reviews, what your favorite flowers are and how to weave a flower crown from them… Delia smiles softly and occasionally glances at you while working quickly with pencil and brushes. Everything feels so unreal, strange, and at the same time natural, that all it can bring is a sincere smile. And sometimes—laughter in return.
Eventually, Delia nods with satisfaction and sets the brushes aside.
“Done,” she says, squinting one eye for some reason.
Methamosa peeks over her arm and nods too.
“Turned out good. I mean, I see him differently, but it turned out good.”
Delia raises an eyebrow.
“You can always…”
“…I can,” Metha nods. She throws you a quick glance and flicks the drawing with her index finger.
“That’s better!” she declares with satisfied importance. Delia does not object.
“Well,” she says, “thanks for the company! Come on, Metha, let’s not bother him anymore. Oh, and yes—the drink’s on us.”
“Yes!” Methamosa chimes in. “I liked it a lot too, thank you!”
You do not even have time to ask about the drink, or anything else: they leave the drawing behind, Methamosa takes Delia by the hand, and the two of them walk away together.
Fragments of their conversation drift to you at the edge of hearing.
“And Nima’s coming with us? Please say she got tired of scaring fish and tourists and she’s coming with us, please say…”
“Definitely. Time to save the poor tourists from the pink shark.”
“They’re not poor at all, by the way! And anyway, everybody has their own hobbies, and Nimona said...”
They keep talking about something else, but by then you cannot hear them at all anymore. It feels as though they dissolve into the haze of the sunny day, as though they had never been there.
The drawing before you shimmers with golden light, doubling, doubling, doubling. And it feels as though the world along with it—is doubling too.
The barista places some incredibly delicious seasonal drink in front of you, and when you glance after him, it suddenly seems that his tousled copper hair is crowned with horns covered in countless ornaments.
im kinda nervous but anyway... great tnx to @sepawstian and @shelovesmewhynott for all conversations and support. it matters a lot to me
to @shanethehufflepuff
She peers over your shoulder: small, wreathed in the halo of an early Trieste summer, in the wind from the gulf and the faint citrus scent; a mess of tousled blond hair brushes against your shirt, and she hurriedly tucks the thick curls behind her ear, still studying the watercolor sketches with purely childish innocence and eyes full of delight.
Summer is lighting up in Trieste, and the sun rattles softly against the awnings of open-air cafés; the water by the pier lies perfectly smooth, and it feels like, just a little more—and you could get lost: which reflections in the water are real, and which are only reflections of reflections.
She peers over your shoulder and, strangely enough, sparks neither that dull irritation from someone crossing boundaries, nor aggression, nor surprise; as though she was always meant to appear here: the final brushstroke on an almost transparent sky, the smile at a finished study, the threshold of a break and something inexplicable waiting ahead.
It is strange: ahead still lie several days of lazy rest mixed with plein-air practice; ahead lies the evening and a promised date with someone dear to your heart, ahead lies a night full of walking and laughter; there should be nothing inexplicable here. But something strange drifts from her, and with her presence, it feels as though something shifts.
“Whoa,” she says, rising onto her tiptoes and leaning on the table scattered with art supplies, “These are almost like real!”
In the watercolor sketches—private yachts, the smooth water, and a sky so clean, so clean. In the graphite sketches—a portrait of the barista, a funny sailor with an enormous nose, two seagulls viciously fighting over a couple pieces of fried potato. In the sketches—life, and she absolutely loves all of it.
She asks, “Can I?”
She opens her eyes wide, wide and folds her hands against her chest in pleading.
She climbs onto the chair beside you and, after getting permission, carefully flips through every sketch.
She talks, actually. Talks, and talks, and talks. “And remember when after yesterday we went and my favorite color is green and back then I didn’t see you and you wanted to say…”
It all feels absurd and unreal, but for some reason it only makes you laugh.
“You bothering people again, Metha?” The voice falls over both of you—calm, relaxed, soft.
You turn around.
She—the other one—stands a couple steps away: tall, with a long dark braid, squinting a little in the sunlight, wearing a simple terracotta jumpsuit over a light shirt with rolled sleeves. She seems very gentle, but something tells you that with intonation alone she could calm a storm. Even the one on the neighboring chair.
“No I’m not!” Methamosa sticks out her tongue, shakes her head with childishly excessive enthusiasm, and points at the sketches. “He was already done when I came! And anyway, I got permission, and anyway, Deli!”
She jumps from her seat, grabs the girl by the wrist, and pulls, pulls her toward the table covered in drawings.
Delia smiles softly, restrained, looking at you with apologetic eyes before politely glancing over the sketches.
“Well? WELL?” Metha pesters her.
“They’re very beautiful,” she laughs softly. And if Methamosa’s laughter feels like the ringing of early morning sunlight against your skin, then Delia’s laughter is the pleasant coolness of flowing water after a long day.
“See, I told you he draws just like a fairy!” Metha raises a finger importantly toward the sky. She tilts her head to the side, narrows one eye as she studies your face. For a moment, her gaze becomes not-childishly serious and piercing, as though she is looking through you, examining the very core and finding something inexplicable there. But the feeling passes quickly.
Metha tugs at the edge of Delia’s shirt.
“I like him,” she says.
“Let’s draw him too,” she says.
Delia smiles softly and tilts her head as well. Touches the tip of Metha’s nose with her index finger. Methamosa snorts in a funny little way.
“Only if nobody minds.”
Metha looks at you, makes hilariously pleading little eyebrows, and whispers very loudly, “PLEEEASE, PLEEEASE, PLEEEASE.”
And maybe the cards are simply falling right today, or maybe the universe rolled a critical success on some mythical dice, but for some reason, you agree. You even let them use your paints.
Delia nods gratefully, while Metha joyfully circles the table several times before landing back on her chair.
The sun rings softly as it filters through the leaves. Methamosa chatters without stopping, asking about the details of a student artist’s university life. For some reason, she is interested in completely different things: why you choose those particular brushes, why not sleep until ten in the morning, where paintings go after reviews, what your favorite flowers are and how to weave a flower crown from them… Delia smiles softly and occasionally glances at you while working quickly with pencil and brushes. Everything feels so unreal, strange, and at the same time natural, that all it can bring is a sincere smile. And sometimes—laughter in return.
Eventually, Delia nods with satisfaction and sets the brushes aside.
“Done,” she says, squinting one eye for some reason.
Methamosa peeks over her arm and nods too.
“Turned out good. I mean, I see him differently, but it turned out good.”
Delia raises an eyebrow.
“You can always…”
“…I can,” Metha nods. She throws you a quick glance and flicks the drawing with her index finger.
“That’s better!” she declares with satisfied importance. Delia does not object.
“Well,” she says, “thanks for the company! Come on, Metha, let’s not bother him anymore. Oh, and yes—the drink’s on us.”
“Yes!” Methamosa chimes in. “I liked it a lot too, thank you!”
You do not even have time to ask about the drink, or anything else: they leave the drawing behind, Methamosa takes Delia by the hand, and the two of them walk away together.
Fragments of their conversation drift to you at the edge of hearing.
“And Nima’s coming with us? Please say she got tired of scaring fish and tourists and she’s coming with us, please say…”
“Definitely. Time to save the poor tourists from the pink shark.”
“They’re not poor at all, by the way! And anyway, everybody has their own hobbies, and Nimona said...”
They keep talking about something else, but by then you cannot hear them at all anymore. It feels as though they dissolve into the haze of the sunny day, as though they had never been there.
The drawing before you shimmers with golden light, doubling, doubling, doubling. And it feels as though the world along with it—is doubling too.
The barista places some incredibly delicious seasonal drink in front of you, and when you glance after him, it suddenly seems that his tousled copper hair is crowned with horns covered in countless ornaments.
a month of work no one saw. too many additional pinterest' references. five different visual and narrative concepts, replacing one another again and again.
long days spent deep in tilt. because there’s already so much beautiful dnd work out there that somehow it makes everything both easier and infinitely harder at the same time.
stubbornness. frustration. fatigue.
but… something changed.
the image in my head is finally coming together, the project stops feeling static, words fall onto the keyboard almost on their own now, and the story — a whole story, not just scattered fragments — starts weaving itself together naturally.
there’s still so much ahead, but… the first step has been made.
i’ve been thinking about this for a while and doubting a lot, to be honest. but i was given a very simple and elegant push, so i’d love to try this again, together with you.
ready?
warrior? mage? ranger? tiefling? half-elf? human? i don’t really have answers, that part is up to you.
1 person - 1 character
6 HL main or original characters. 3 female. 3 male.
if there will be more requests then 6, i’ll roll the dice and let them decide the final party 🔮
dnd / baldur’s gate–inspired vibes. this part matters, because, well… i’m a little bit obsessed with it lately, and i’d love to explore it more
if you’d like to work with me, please read this first cause mutual comfort in the process is very important to me 🌿
1. this will not be fast. i’m still learning and finding my way back into drawing, so my process is quite slow and time-consuming. real life and personal work are also part of the balance.
2. i work from visual references, specifically screenshots. this is important. i need a clear visual base to start from. this project is also about rethinking characters in a slightly different context, so references are just the beginning – we’ll build further together.
3. please don’t expect it to work from just a name and a single image. i care about capturing the feeling of a character, so i will most likely come back with questions.
4. priority will go to people i haven’t drawn for yet. i’ll make a separate post with more detailed info for participants if this goes forward.
and one more small but important note.
please don’t be surprised if i post other works in between. i still have my own projects, and i want to stay connected to them too.
if your character didn’t make it this time, please don’t take it personally – this wasn’t about choosing “better” or “worse”. just the limits of the party (and of me) 🫠
thank you for trusting me with your characters – i really do appreciate it.
what now?
1. please message me directly. this is important — there’s a high chance i’ll talk to each of you individually to clarify details and shape things together
2. send me screenshots, or links to posts with screenshots of your characters. this is essential – i really need a semi-real visual base to work from, since i’m aiming for a more realistic approach
3. since this is d&d-inspired, i’ll also need some basic information about your character. race, class, preferred weapons, any distinctive details (tattoos, jewelry, etc.), usual clothing – anything that helps build a clearer picture
4. as some of you may already know, i always try to capture a certain feeling, a moment, or a piece of story behind each portrait. so i’d really appreciate it if you could write a few lines (or more) about your character – their personality, traits, or something that feels important to you. even if you’ve written about them before, it would help me a lot if you could send it to me directly cause large posts can be easy to get lost in
as for timing... i’ll start working on these after i return from my vacation.
it won’t be fast. i’m still learning and finding my rhythm, so thank you in advance for your patience with me.
i’ve been thinking about this for a while and doubting a lot, to be honest. but i was given a very simple and elegant push, so i’d love to try this again, together with you.
ready?
warrior? mage? ranger? tiefling? half-elf? human? i don’t really have answers, that part is up to you.
1 person - 1 character
6 HL main or original characters. 3 female. 3 male.
if there will be more requests then 6, i’ll roll the dice and let them decide the final party 🔮
dnd / baldur’s gate–inspired vibes. this part matters, because, well… i’m a little bit obsessed with it lately, and i’d love to explore it more
if you’d like to work with me, please read this first cause mutual comfort in the process is very important to me 🌿
1. this will not be fast. i’m still learning and finding my way back into drawing, so my process is quite slow and time-consuming. real life and personal work are also part of the balance.
2. i work from visual references, specifically screenshots. this is important. i need a clear visual base to start from. this project is also about rethinking characters in a slightly different context, so references are just the beginning – we’ll build further together.
3. please don’t expect it to work from just a name and a single image. i care about capturing the feeling of a character, so i will most likely come back with questions.
4. priority will go to people i haven’t drawn for yet. i’ll make a separate post with more detailed info for participants if this goes forward.
and one more small but important note.
please don’t be surprised if i post other works in between. i still have my own projects, and i want to stay connected to them too.
saw a scene from a comic — sparks, chaos, and i don’t remember anything after that…
well, okay, not really. i actually spent a long time working with him, and with all due respect, molly, but your damn tattoos are going to kill me someday…
...well [2] i'm not obsessed i'm not obsessed i'm not...
…but the wizard notices – and looks back at you.
fire flickers in his palm, washing away age, and time itself seems to fall back.
or maybe it’s only his eyes, coming alive, when they meet yours, Essek?
