A poem about trauma and betrayal. If you are struggling through abuse, please reach out. You are not alone. We are here to help you
Cosmic Funnies

Origami Around

Product Placement
One Nice Bug Per Day
Fieri Frames

if i look back, i am lost

Love Begins
ojovivo
Monterey Bay Aquarium

Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
Cookie Run:Kingdom Official!
EXPECTATIONS
todays bird
Color Me Curious

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The Bright Sessions

shark vs the universe
Claire Keane

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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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@writersaraheriksson
A poem about trauma and betrayal. If you are struggling through abuse, please reach out. You are not alone. We are here to help you
Short Story - The Mistress of Silence
YEAR 402
Illustration by S. Eriksson using Midjourney.
The others were mere pinpricks on the clear horizon of the never-ending grasslands. Thankfully, the battle raging in the heated basin below the surrounding hills endured despite the coming storm.
Nogi let the blood of the slain soldier at her feet linger on her hands. A layer of scarlet goo peeled off with her fingers' movements. She had thought this would bother her. Her first, but it did not. It would be the first of thousands.
The unrelenting winds sweeping across the grasslands whipped at her ears. No doubt, her intricate hairstyle, which took hours to perfect with its braided updo, had become a tangled mess: a fact that would have mattered if not for the historic deeds she was about to let seep into the blood-stained history books of the great countries.
A Vesilian flag, blue canvas with a silver stitched double-headed hawk, flapped with the breeze as if sending a warning to its countrymen trapped in the basin. At least, it would have if only the slain bannerman had managed to lower the signal flag beneath. For all the soldiers down below knew, all was in order. They were solely there to deplete the Burrousie and Drelorian forces before claiming the lands theirs, if only for a few more years.
Against the wind, Nogi's words drowned, but she sang them regardless, like a well-known prayer.
"The roaring, the thunderous. The unuttered, the quiet. Master of Gust, Mistress of Silence."
The folly was endless, and the viciousness accompanying it abhorrent. Every misdeed and travesty befalling Eckros fueled her being. The soul-crushing pleas of a people violated for hundreds of years tore at her eardrums. The horrific deed she was about to put in motion was the last desperate wail of a dead country. Her country. Her lands. Her resolve would not falter, even if it meant a greeting of the Mistress of Silence.
On the far edges of the basin, where bannermen of the other countries resided, five followed by six signals, soared into the air. Arrows with tails made of colorful silk caught the gleaming sun.
Nogi's fingers stroke along the arrow's shaft, coming to a halt at its fletching. Unbothered by the strain it took to send the arrow on its way, she continued the song.
"Master of Gust, Mistress of Silence Take heed Those once quelled, let birth anew."
With a hushed whistle, the arrow and its tail took flight. She was ready. The cold world would be set ablaze.
The asymmetrical satin garment flowing over her exposed dark skin tickled her calves just as much as the crisp blades of grass. She undid the straps of a leather bag, withdrawing a metal contraption doused with sulfur. Aleca had assured results.
With a quick jab of the identical metal pieces, a spark kindled. Nogi held it near a torch drenched in oil. The heat was immediate, vile ... dreadful. Deciding to drown out the conflicting voices igniting within, she kept singing.
"Master of Gust, Mistress of Silence Once roaming, later idle Legends ashen
Reignited We will never forget."
The fire starter fell to the ground beside her. Her hand squeezed the torch with renewed conviction as grey plumes of smoke began enclosing the armies below. Their mission started with tiny sparks.
She lowered the famished flames to the parched grass. With a longing embrace, the fire licked a straw of grass.
"Bear witness: Master of Gust, Mistress of Silence This shall never be forgiven."
She was a butcher; she was vengeance. She had the fire and unleashed it. The torch followed her stride. Slowly, she brushed the flames against the grass.
The pinpricks in the middle of the basin below scattered. Groups of soldiers split off in desperate sprints to escape their impending, unrelenting death. But the fire spread ferociously. Pearls of sweat vaporized along Nogi's skin. She shut her eyes, wanting nothing more than to hear the call to retreat and pleas for mercy, knowing fully well she would ignore them.
This was the sound of freedom. This was the sound of peace.
Nogi turned her head toward the darkening sky and spoke to the wind: "Never forgotten, nor forgiven."
--- THE END ---
Thank you for reading this short story. Hopefully you enjoyed it! Please feel free to vote, share this story with your community and perhaps give this little aspiering writer a follow :)
This story is the forth short story in a collection within the Silver & Crimson universe created by Sarah Eriksson. Silver & Crimson is a gritty fantasy series. My debute novel "Forged in Crimson" is looking for representation.
Meanwhile, I write stories and share them on this platform. The stories take place in the same universe as Silver & Crimson.
Husband, son, famous sculpture - kidnapped, prisoner, slave These are the Journals of Kowèn - a story of a husband, son, famous sculpture turned prisoner and slave, who tries to find his way back to his former life in the loving embrace of his husband and family waiting for his return.
Like to have quick fiction? Here you can read some of my work in a more visual way with pictures and text displayed :) Hope you’ll enjoy it!
Part III - Ensnared - Journals of Kowèn
The capital of the Holy Darian Dominion. Redilla. Three cities united beneath the watchful eyes of the sultan's ancient keep atop a large hill. Although my work brought me beyond the weathered city walls countless times, the city remains foreign and a mystery. The streets crowded with people within the Commoners' Ward never ceases to amaze and confuse me. An odd feeling haunts me as I walk the busy streets. I feel smothered yet alone. Thankfully, Yorah accompanied me most of the time. Leaving Baster and entering the metropolis seems to have amazed Yorah. His dark eyes glistened with life while tasting rich wine and eating a plate full of shredded beef. Luckily, the cuisine offers alternatives for men like myself who choose vegetables over meat.
Social structures and gestures hold a firm grasp over Redilla. One's blood means everything. Greet or converse in what is considered a distasteful manner; one does not live long. Certain people are refused entry to the upper districts, housing nobles and rich people with important family names. Stepping into their courts, their shining mansions, and stunning estates for the first time is quite overwhelming. Each step, each breath a commoner or craftsman like me takes in a highborn's presence is observed and watched vigilantly.
Armored guards walk beside even the scrawniest-looking people inside the highborn area of Redilla. I undertook several contracts to exhibit their power and wealth for any visitors roaming their halls. I sculpted numerous reliefs picturing the Holy Darian Dominion's grandeur and might. Quite a couple of noble families sought my expertise to get life-sized sculptures and busts depicting their families. I sculpted hours on end, from morning to evening but was never allowed to remain among greatness. Not that I minded. I've found men and women of high birth enslaved and controlled by strife to always stay on top. Returning to the Commoner's Ward, enjoying a simpler life suited me perfectly where I could relax in the comforting embrace of Yorah.
Part of the Darianise wedding tradition involves custom waistbands the couple wears as a token of their love. I remember it vividly when we found a craftsman to fashion ours, a couple of weeks ahead of the wedding. My insides filled with the same tickle and excitement as when Yorah promised to love me. As tradition has it, each waistband is unique. My talents came in handy to engrave drawings and words on the leather; however, I was pretty skeptical of my future husband's talents in regards to the arts. Boy, did he prove me wrong.
I engraved a phrase I often spoke as a testament to our love.
You are the air fueling my spirit. You are the ground on which I stand. I love you, Yorah.
On the waistband made for me, he engraved the reply that followed.
You are the wind caressing my skin. You are the fire that never dwindles. I love you, Kowèn.
Once we joined together in marriage, the waistbands have not left our bodies. We wear it with pride. Honoring my husband and the reality that he fell in love with me of all people ... At times, I forget why. Why would he choose me? I can't be the best he could end up with. But whenever thoughts of my inadequacy taunt me, Yorah shakes his head and showers me with praise and the infectious chuckle that always seems to get me in a better mood.
I wish it was his chuckle I heard as I woke from the nightmare about to ensue. Unfortunately... I doubt I will hear it for many years, if ever.
I'm unaware of how many days passed since my capture. After the first night, meeting Dimos and his thugs, they kept me hidden away on the cart inside the crate. The days were excruciatingly hot. Sweat soaking my skin evaporated in the dizzying heat, leaving me parched and weak. Whenever the caravan stopped, and the slight breeze reached me through tiny cracks, I pleaded for mercy or someone to pity me. Occasionally, I questioned my sanity when my words met utter silence. Had I actually reached the Well of Life, or was I trudging the depths of the desert? I touched the waistband secured around me, the only possession I managed to keep. My fingertips trailed along the gorges of the engravings letting my mind escape back to where Yorah's warm breath licked my skin.
Voices different, yeller, and more than Dimos and his crew called me beyond the cage. I yelled and screamed to get help. I had worked in the city several times before, and when entering Redilla, one must converse with the city guards. Surely someone would hear my cry, cutting my misery short. Despite screaming myself hoarse, nothing helped. My cries drowned in the sounds of the busy city.
"Shut your fucking mouth, slave." I heard Dimos' calm yet frightening voice speak.
Like hell I was. I was fighting for my robbed freedom and making sure people knew I wasn't a slave. In utter defiance, I yelled to the guards... but no words came. I moved my lips, forming the words, but my vocal cords unwound. Attempt after attempt failed.
"What's in the crate, sir?" Another foreign voice spoke. Probably a city guard inspecting the cart. This was my chance.
"A slave for the Lord and Lady La'n'terre," Dimos dragged out each word to mock my forced silence.
Instead of speaking, I screamed, but again, nothing appeared. My body shivered despite the raging heat. Not only did they imprison me psychically, but Dimos ensnared my psyche. Spellweavers, those in control of magic in all their forms, were not the kind of people I engaged with. Occasionally, a few wizards and learned magicians ventured to Baster. Yet, their talents were mere parlor tricks compared to the likes of Dimos.
The cart rushed back into motion without further complications or delays, and we passed the thick gates. The walls dropped a shadow on me as I slumped lower into the crate. No one bothered. Despite being told I was a slave, the guards didn't bat an eye or question who I was. To them... I was Dimos' property. A thing without a voice.
I lived a life sheltered, protected from the cruel knowledge of slaves and slavers. Spending time with Yorah in these streets, certainly, my path crossed paths with slaves. But I paid them no mind. They were but extras in a play. Being told I was one, people I once ignored... cut deep.
Before long, they cracked open the lid and hauled me down to the cobblestone street. I could tell by the slightly more polished facades of the surrounding houses that we were close to, if not inside the upper parts of Redilla. Before I had a chance to locate the enormous keep, a kick knocked me off my wobbly feet, and my face brushed against the rough ground. Had my voice not been stolen from me, a loud grunt would accompany my fall. Instead, I breathed quietly as a boot pressed down on my neck.
"Has it sunk in yet? You are nothing, nothing but a pathetic slave," Dimos said. My gaze fixated on his dirt-brushed shoes. "Cat caught your tongue?"
My cough rang loud in my head as my voice returned as suddenly as it left. "How many times do I need to tell you? I'm not a slave."
Oh," Dimos gave a dry chuckle, "You've got some spunk in you, don't you?"
My muscles tensed, and my hand curled into fists at his touch. He pinched my cheek as though I were a child.
"To be fair, I was hoping to get a challenge. Seems my judgment wasn't off one bit."
Someone brought me to my feet and held onto my shoulders to stop my sway. Dimos corrected one of many green pieces of fabric draping his body. "Now, let's get you cleaned up for the lord and lady. Times are wasting."
"Get ready, for what?" My lips cracked to make room for my words.
Dimos tilted his head to the side as if looking at me with pity. "Your purpose of course. They demanded a sculpture and that's where you fit in, slave."
---------------------- To be Continued ----------------------
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Part II - No Way Out - The Journals of Kowèn
It was a typical morning. When I collected the last of my bags, the sun barely touched the sand dunes to the east of Baster. The travel to the Well of Life can be quite a hassle for the inexperienced. The heat was one thing. But I have heard tales of giant scorpions and worms buried within the sand... waiting to catch its prey unaware. Having traveled to nearby hamlets, villages, and the capital itself, I never was unfortunate to step into their paths. Nevertheless, my mother and father convinced me to hire a troupe of mercenaries to accompany me on my journey. Not that I minded. Being alone was nothing I took pleasure in.
Had I known of the looming five years apart, I would have held onto my loving husband a bit longer. However, we made no big fuss about this. In a week or two, I would return with another pouch of coin to sustain the family for another month. Our lips touched, and I got into the saddle of my mount. The hidden oasis, my home, soon disappeared as we pressed forward.
Ironically, the Well of Life would bring me no more than death and suffering. Word reached me at my home of a merchant seeking my craftmanship. From what I understood, it would depict an important figure. That's usually how it is. People seek to let their names echo through eternity no matter the cost. And cost, it would, just not the way I thought.
After trudging through the landscape and braving sand storms and the like, the Well of Life appeared. Like a cauldron filled with water, it glistened in the dying light to the west. A local establishment housed our mounts, and we slept near my cart to be ready in the early hours to head straight into my work. Of course, my cup filled with delicious wine, and I munched on pickled apples, feeling the drought leave my skin.
I awakened to the sound of the mercenaries drawing their final breaths. Seeing as I was unfamiliar with the sound of blood pooling and leaving bodies, I stepped out from my cart. A group of ruffians entered our camp and slit the throats of... my companions. I have never been much of a fighter; I've never seen the appeal of harming another soul. So when the ruffians came for me, I did what little I could to defend myself. I tried to escape them, but before I knew it, they pinned me to the ground and beat me to a bloodied pulp. All I heard was: "Keep this one alive."
Their attack terrified me. Of course, I heard stories and tales of such things but never experienced it on my own. It was like trying to swim with shackles around my feet. My body tried desperately to stay afloat. I wished I could have passed out, letting my body forget. But I was wide awake.
When I was a young boy, my parents found me in the yard with a set of utensils between my muddied fingers. I assume they grew tired fast with my theft of knives for my projects as they purchased a mason's kit. Since that day, the tools have accompanied my travels. Like part of my arms, I refused to part from the tools. But... as the ruffians used the tools against me...
Using one sharp chisel after the next, they carved into my skin, completely ignoring my plead and whimper. My skin parted and pooled with blood that formed horrid puddles beneath me, reeking with iron. Someone pointed out the irony of my tools resculpting their owner.
Someone dragged me away. I followed limply in their grasp, only observing as others destroyed my belongings. They lit the cart on fire and tossed chisels, hammers, and towels into the inferno.
I remember waking up inside a crate, a crate just big enough to hold my body in a hunched-over position. I looked for a way out, I shouted and yelled for help, but no one answered my call. Through one of the slits of the wooden container, I saw the endless golden landscape passing us by. I was stuck in a box loaded onto a caravan, like a caged animal.
The caravan came to a halt for the night, and the cage's lock came undone. I threw myself out into the arms of my captors. I wriggled my way past them and took up running, heading into the darkness of the desert. The sand, still radiating heat from the hot sun as I did all in my power to put distance between the monsters and myself. I cared not of the scorpions or worms. Anything had to be better to face than sadistic people.
I didn't get far before my captors tripped me, and I fell head-first into the sand. They dragged me by my ankles back to the campsite, where they tied me up with ropes around my wrists. It became clear that they had done this before, or at the very least that they were in the business of handling all kinds of people through force.
Grains of sand rubbed my eyes raw as I faced a group of five people. A campfire forced the shadows of the chilly night away. I asked them to let me go. I pleaded, I begged. In that regard, I've never had self-respect or any form of dignity. I just wanted to leave. My words fell on deaf ears.
Under the orange light, I saw my captor. Using a knife to slice into strips of dried jerky, he demonstrated his iron will. A slightly reclining hairline revealed more of his oval-shaped face. What struck me most, however, were the luring and exciting green eyes that looked into mine. Underneath his long and bulky nose, a trimmed mustache moved together with his narrow lips as he grinned.
"Now that's taken care of, let me introduce myself. My name is Dimos Vidadelis," he said in a smug and gentle manner as he neared me.
I had only heard of him before. Rumors of the infamous trader and merchant who could acquire nearly everything for the right price. My mother, who worked as a merchant, had some dealings with him long ago, and I remember hearing of the name in passing. But I never could have imagined that I would meet him personally.
"I work for the La'n'terre estate of Redilla, and you, well, you're the newest addition to their pristine collection of trinkets and treasures," Dimos continued. I gaped at him, mouth wide open... this had to be a prank. "Good for you. I need to get back home. Would you be so kind as to release me so I may be on my way? I'll let this slide as a very distasteful joke and let bygones be bygones." "And let you wander the desert where bandits and all kinds of dangerous beings roam? I think not. I'm simply doing my civic duty keeping a watchful eye on you." I grunted. "You've had your fun, sir. Now please cut these ropes and let me leave." "Did you hurt his head, Jon? He doesn't seem to understand what I'm saying," Dimos said to a tanned, short, and orange-haired fellow nearby. Jon raised his eyebrows at my confused gaze. "You work for the La'n'terre estate." "Look, I don't know where you've gotten these delusions from, sir," I spoke to all of them surrounding me but focused mainly on Dimos. "But that is not how I conduct business. I decide which households I complete a project for. What you're implying is simply not how I do things. I would be pleased to work for the La'n'terre estate if given the offer and a good amount of money for said work."
"You will not leave me, Kowèn."
"Oh, I will," I said and turned to leave him right away. As I stepped back into the darkness with my hands bound, a strange tingle took over within me. I... I really didn't want to leave Dimos. For some reason, I was drawn to him, and leaving him felt like a betrayal... but I kept going either way. They would not keep me as a pet or a possession. A soul-tearing and exploding pain shot through my mind. Like a migraine on drugs, the pain overtook me, and I lay squirming from torment. I knew I paid the consequences of going against him. I've heard of magic used against people, but I never thought I would experience it this way. They pulled me back in front of Dimos, although I was barely able to stay awake through the painful haze.
"I don't think you understand. You are not going anywhere. You belong to the La'n'terre. You belong to me. You will do what I tell you, and you will work when and where I decide." "I'm not a slave. I'm a free man," I spat at his feet. Fresh blood from a wound on my upper lip accompanied the saliva. "I'm going back to my family and my husband, and you're gonna reimburse me for the pain you've cost me." Dimos laughed, and the goons joined in. The night's chill grabbed me tighter. "That's exactly what you are, Kowèn. You're a slave."
Dimos Vidadelis - Portrait
Thank you for reading <3 Hope you enjoyed it!
Hi! I found you under the writeblr tag and I wanted to tell you about a free service I’m providing, which pairs up writing critique partners! Let me know if you’re interested :)
Hi there!
Oh? What does that entail? I have written a book and am writing different smaller stuff. ☺️
Short Story - Ghosts Beyond the Mirror
The Journals of Kowèn - a D&D story
Part I: Ghosts Beyond the Mirror
Husband, son, famous sculpture - kidnapped, prisoner, slave
These are the Journals of Kowèn - a story of a husband, son, famous sculpture turned prisoner and slave, who tries to find his way back to his former life in the loving embrace of his husband and family waiting for his return.
Beyond writing fantasy novels and short stories set in my fantasy world I play tabletop roleplaying games. Dungeons and Dragons (5e) is the game and is the birthplace of this story that follows Kowèn.
I introduced this character into my friend's homebrew campaign called Tales of TPK streamed over on Twitch.
For you RPG geeks like me, I have hidden several spells in this story. Perhaps you can find them and name them even? Can you figure out what class Kowèn belongs to?
Comment, vote, leave feedback, share - whatever warms this heart of mine and helps me get excited to bring you more of this story to life. <3
CONTENT WARNING - Some of the topics and themes of this story may be disturbing for some readers. Violence, manipulation, anxiety and harassment occur.
Assassin's Creed
As I grew up, I was unfortunately not one who played a lot of games. Mostly I was stuck building things in the Sims and Roller Coaster Tycoon. Instead, I watched my little brother as he played the very first Assassin's Creed game. It captured my interest and, years after, took over a lot of my life during my 20s.
Every game that followed Assassin's Creed 4 - Black Flag ended up on a heavy rotation as I deleted and replayed the save files. Why? Because the games were amazing!
The storytelling was, in many regards, simple and filled with troupes. Man loses his family and wants revenge, the assassins recruit him, and the plot is resolved. However, the protagonists' setting and goals managed to keep it fresh and interesting. Sure, there were a lot of issues with AC Unity (technical), but overall, that story was so interesting and nice to explore.
With AC Syndicate the troupe started to take over a little bit too much for me. It was the same rehashed story with beautiful mechanics. But my interest faded in the franchise.
Then there came a game called ASSASSIN'S CREED ODESSY
It. Blew. My. Mind. Away!
It takes place in ancient Greece and with the first-ever choice for the players to play as Alexios or Cassandra, a brother or sister. What I found exciting and amazing about this was that no matter what choice you made, the story was the same. Just because you chose Cassandra did not affect how she was in the world or how she was spoken to. Not only was this a great idea, but there were also multiple choice options. You could decide what path to take if you wanted a good, bad or neutral ending.
Aside from this, both characters were believable - and pretty good-looking :)
This story focused on the siblings trying to reunite. Thankfully, they had not lost their parents, like in previous AC games. It was refreshing and breathed new life into the franshice.
Then along came AC Vallhalla. I will admit I was very excited about it. Unfortunately, it did not win my admiration.
The visuals and music are outstanding. But they reverted to the "dead parents" cliché, which immediately threw me off. I have tried several times to return to the game but have been unsuccessful. Instead, I focus on Odessy and want to replay it over and over again.
The Hunger Games Book Review
Let's talk about the Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins.
The narrative is told in a first-person perspective. Until recently, I have had major issues with such stories as it brings me in too close to the story and the characters. This series is one of the first books I've read with the first-person narrator.
Although I had already watched the four movies and thoroughly enjoyed them, the books captured my interest quickly. The details which were overshadowed and sped through in the cinematics helped describe the horrific world in an even grimmer light. It went into describing how their starvation and desperation were taken advantage of for the games. Everything weighed heavier.
The moral dilemmas and the call for change were handled with great care, and like the guys over at @ Cinema Therapy explained, Suzanne avoided the troupe of a single rioter and the sacrifices of one "chosen one." She showed the enormous efforts made by the characters in the background.
The meme with Katniss always said Peeta's name was not as annoying in the books as in the movies. Her conflicting emotions swaying between Gale and Peeta were well-written and believable.
I loved, absolutely loved, how Suzanne managed to make Haymitch a likable and relatable douche. As she went further into his backstory, I was flabbergasted and just wanted to hear more.
In general, I misjudged this series. I believed it was for teenagers, but to be honest, I would categorize it into the new adult shelves. All in all, I rate this series at ★★★★☆
The fifth story of the collection is public now! :)
Legends Steeped in Red - Short Story Collection - The Sergeant and the Captain (on Wattpad)
Look here! A small little story for your eyes! Fun fact about this story - the Sergeant and the Captain, it is written one day after the events that happened in the streamed Twitch game - the Crimson Slums. These are the conversations happening in the background of the players’ actions! Please follow, share and spread the word.
RPG Campaign in the Silver & Crimson Universe!
I am so excited! Together with my roleplaying buddies, we will start streaming a campaign set in my universe: Silver & Crimson! I have five outstanding players from Sweden, the UK, and the US.
We will stream on twitch.tv/geekierknights Tuesdays at 7:30 PM (GMT+1). Starting November 1st 2022.
Today we went through the characters and the setting in general. We're getting everything ready for you to enjoy <3
Words for Skin Tone | How to Describe Skin Color
We discussed the issues describing People of Color by means of food in Part I of this guide, which brought rise to even more questions, mostly along the lines of “So, if food’s not an option, what can I use?” Well, I was just getting to that!
This final portion focuses on describing skin tone, with photo and passage examples provided throughout. I hope to cover everything from the use of straight-forward description to the more creatively-inclined, keeping in mind the questions we’ve received on this topic.
Standard Description
Basic Colors
Pictured above: Black, Brown, Beige, White, Pink.
“She had brown skin.”
This is a perfectly fine description that, while not providing the most detail, works well and will never become cliché.
Describing characters’ skin as simply brown or beige works on its own, though it’s not particularly telling just from the range in brown alone.
Complex Colors
These are more rarely used words that actually “mean” their color. Some of these have multiple meanings, so you’ll want to look into those to determine what other associations a word might have.
Pictured above: Umber, Sepia, Ochre, Russet, Terra-cotta, Gold, Tawny, Taupe, Khaki, Fawn.
Complex colors work well alone, though often pair well with a basic color in regards to narrowing down shade/tone.
For example: Golden brown, russet brown, tawny beige…
As some of these are on the “rare” side, sliding in a definition of the word within the sentence itself may help readers who are unfamiliar with the term visualize the color without seeking a dictionary.
“He was tall and slim, his skin a russet, reddish-brown.”
Comparisons to familiar colors or visuals are also helpful:
“His skin was an ochre color, much like the mellow-brown light that bathed the forest.”
Modifiers
Modifiers, often adjectives, make partial changes to a word.The following words are descriptors in reference to skin tone.
Dark - Deep - Rich - Cool
Warm - Medium - Tan
Fair - Light - Pale
Rich Black, Dark brown, Warm beige, Pale pink…
If you’re looking to get more specific than “brown,” modifiers narrow down shade further.
Keep in mind that these modifiers are not exactly colors.
As an already brown-skinned person, I get tan from a lot of sun and resultingly become a darker, deeper brown. I turn a pale, more yellow-brown in the winter.
While best used in combination with a color, I suppose words like “tan” “fair” and “light” do work alone; just note that tan is less likely to be taken for “naturally tan” and much more likely a tanned White person.
Calling someone “dark” as description on its own is offensive to some and also ambiguous. (See: Describing Skin as Dark)
Undertones
Undertones are the colors beneath the skin, seeing as skin isn’t just one even color but has more subdued tones within the dominating palette.
pictured above: warm / earth undertones: yellow, golden, copper, olive, bronze, orange, orange-red, coral | cool / jewel undertones: pink, red, blue, blue-red, rose, magenta, sapphire, silver.
Mentioning the undertones within a character’s skin is an even more precise way to denote skin tone.
As shown, there’s a difference between say, brown skin with warm orange-red undertones (Kelly Rowland) and brown skin with cool, jewel undertones (Rutina Wesley).
“A dazzling smile revealed the bronze glow at her cheeks.”
“He always looked as if he’d ran a mile, a constant tinge of pink under his tawny skin.”
Standard Description Passage
“Farah’s skin, always fawn, had burned and freckled under the summer’s sun. Even at the cusp of autumn, an uneven tan clung to her skin like burrs. So unlike the smooth, red-brown ochre of her mother, which the sun had richened to a blessing.”
-From my story “Where Summer Ends” featured in Strange Little Girls
Here the state of skin also gives insight on character.
Note my use of “fawn” in regards to multiple meaning and association. While fawn is a color, it’s also a small, timid deer, which describes this very traumatized character of mine perfectly.
Though I use standard descriptions of skin tone more in my writing, at the same time I’m no stranger to creative descriptions, and do enjoy the occasional artsy detail of a character.
Creative Description
Whether compared to night-cast rivers or day’s first light…I actually enjoy seeing Characters of Colors dressed in artful detail.
I’ve read loads of descriptions in my day of white characters and their “smooth rose-tinged ivory skin”, while the PoC, if there, are reduced to something from a candy bowl or a Starbucks drink, so to actually read of PoC described in lavish detail can be somewhat of a treat.
Still, be mindful when you get creative with your character descriptions. Too many frills can become purple-prose-like, so do what feels right for your writing when and where. Not every character or scene warrants a creative description, either. Especially if they’re not even a secondary character.
Using a combination of color descriptions from standard to creative is probably a better method than straight creative. But again, do what’s good for your tale.
Natural Settings - Sky
Pictured above: Harvest Moon -Twilight, Fall/Autumn Leaves, Clay, Desert/Sahara, Sunlight - Sunrise - Sunset - Afterglow - Dawn- Day- Daybreak, Field - Prairie - Wheat, Mountain/Cliff, Beach/Sand/Straw/Hay.
Now before you run off to compare your heroine’s skin to the harvest moon or a cliff side, think about the associations to your words.
When I think cliff, I think of jagged, perilous, rough. I hear sand and picture grainy, yet smooth. Calm. mellow.
So consider your character and what you see fit to compare them to.
Also consider whose perspective you’re describing them from. Someone describing a person they revere or admire may have a more pleasant, loftier description than someone who can’t stand the person.
“Her face was like the fire-gold glow of dawn, lifting my gaze, drawing me in.”
“She had a sandy complexion, smooth and tawny.”
Even creative descriptions tend to draw help from your standard words.
Flowers
Pictured above: Calla lilies, Western Coneflower, Hazel Fay, Hibiscus, Freesia, Rose
It was a bit difficult to find flowers to my liking that didn’t have a 20 character name or wasn’t called something like “chocolate silk” so these are the finalists.
You’ll definitely want to avoid purple-prose here.
Also be aware of flowers that most might’ve never heard of. Roses are easy, as most know the look and coloring(s) of this plant. But Western coneflowers? Calla lilies? Maybe not so much.
“He entered the cottage in a huff, cheeks a blushing brown like the flowers Nana planted right under my window. Hazel Fay she called them, was it?”
Assorted Plants & Nature
Pictured above: Cattails, Seashell, Driftwood, Pinecone, Acorn, Amber
These ones are kinda odd. Perhaps because I’ve never seen these in comparison to skin tone, With the exception of amber.
At least they’re common enough that most may have an idea what you’re talking about at the mention of “pinecone."
I suggest reading out your sentences aloud to get a better feel of how it’ll sounds.
"Auburn hair swept past pointed ears, set around a face like an acorn both in shape and shade.”
I pictured some tree-dwelling being or person from a fantasy world in this example, which makes the comparison more appropriate.
I don’t suggest using a comparison just “cuz you can” but actually being thoughtful about what you’re comparing your character to and how it applies to your character and/or setting.
Wood
Pictured above: Mahogany, Walnut, Chestnut, Golden Oak, Ash
Wood can be an iffy description for skin tone. Not only due to several of them having “foody” terminology within their names, but again, associations.
Some people would prefer not to compare/be compared to wood at all, so get opinions, try it aloud, and make sure it’s appropriate to the character if you do use it.
“The old warlock’s skin was a deep shade of mahogany, his stare serious and firm as it held mine.”
Metals
Pictured above: Platinum, Copper, Brass, Gold, Bronze
Copper skin, brass-colored skin, golden skin…
I’ve even heard variations of these used before by comparison to an object of the same properties/coloring, such as penny for copper.
These also work well with modifiers.
“The dress of fine white silks popped against the deep bronze of her skin.”
Gemstones - Minerals
Pictured above: Onyx, Obsidian, Sard, Topaz, Carnelian, Smoky Quartz, Rutile, Pyrite, Citrine, Gypsum
These are trickier to use. As with some complex colors, the writer will have to get us to understand what most of these look like.
If you use these, or any more rare description, consider if it actually “fits” the book or scene.
Even if you’re able to get us to picture what “rutile” looks like, why are you using this description as opposed to something else? Have that answer for yourself.
“His skin reminded her of the topaz ring her father wore at his finger, a gleaming stone of brown, mellow facades.”
Physical Description
Physical character description can be more than skin tone.
Show us hair, eyes, noses, mouth, hands…body posture, body shape, skin texture… though not necessarily all of those nor at once.
Describing features also helps indicate race, especially if your character has some traits common within the race they are, such as afro hair to a Black character.
How comprehensive you decide to get is up to you. I wouldn’t overdo it and get specific to every mole and birthmark. Noting defining characteristics is good, though, like slightly spaced front teeth, curls that stay flopping in their face, hands freckled with sunspots…
General Tips
Indicate Race Early: I suggest indicators of race be made at the earliest convenience within the writing, with more hints threaded throughout here and there.
Get Creative On Your Own: Obviously, I couldn’t cover every proper color or comparison in which has been “approved” to use for your characters’ skin color, so it’s up to you to use discretion when seeking other ways and shades to describe skin tone.
Skin Color May Not Be Enough: Describing skin tone isn’t always enough to indicate someone’s ethnicity. As timeless cases with readers equating brown to “dark white” or something, more indicators of race may be needed.
Describe White characters and PoC Alike: You should describe the race and/or skin tone of your white characters just as you do your Characters of Color. If you don’t, you risk implying that White is the default human being and PoC are the “Other”).
PSA: Don’t use “Colored.” Based on some asks we’ve received using this word, I’d like to say that unless you or your character is a racist grandmama from the 1960s, do not call People of Color “colored” please.
Not Sure Where to Start? You really can’t go wrong using basic colors for your skin descriptions. It’s actually what many people prefer and works best for most writing. Personally, I tend to describe my characters using a combo of basic colors + modifiers, with mentions of undertones at times. I do like to veer into more creative descriptions on occasion.
Want some alternatives to “skin” or “skin color”? Try: Appearance, blend, blush, cast, coloring, complexion, flush, glow, hue, overtone, palette, pigmentation, rinse, shade, sheen, spectrum, tinge, tint, tone, undertone, value, wash.
Skin Tone Resources
List of Color Names
The Color Thesaurus
Skin Undertone & Color Matching
Tips and Words on Describing Skin
Photos: Undertones Described (Modifiers included)
Online Thesaurus (try colors, such as “red” & “brown”)
Don’t Call me Pastries: Creative Skin Tones w/ pics I
Writing & Description Guides
WWC Featured Description Posts
WWC Guide: Words to Describe Hair
Writing with Color: Description & Skin Color Tags
7 Offensive Mistakes Well-intentioned Writers Make
I tried to be as comprehensive as possible with this guide, but if you have a question regarding describing skin color that hasn’t been answered within part I or II of this guide, or have more questions after reading this post, feel free to ask!
~ Mod Colette
This blog is, simply put, amazing! It has helped me understand how to write skin color more efficiently and helped me navigate the potential issues that may arise. If you are a writer, I recommend following the blog and saving it to your computer's bookmarks.
Review - Circe
Circe by Madeline Miller My rating: 4 of 5 stars I usually don't enjoy narratives told in the first person; however… this story was compelling enough to hold my interest and enjoyment. The main character has an interesting point of view as she is shunned by the gods. It is not a book I would reread, but it was very enjoyable to read the first time, and I recommend it to those who like gods and fantasy combined together. View all my reviews
Rekindling the blog
I'm back at writing! Well at least for this blog and for the other social media platforms I'm active on.
BRANDING
I was thinking that some sort of "branding" would be a good thing to look into. I am quite pleased with the result. Silver and Crimson is the name of the universe I've created, and I hope to bring you more content soon!
MAILING LIST
I even started up a mailing list and, you are more than welcome to join the Following! Just send the request to [email protected]
KICKSTARTER
January 2023 is a special month for me as it is the month I will have a Kickstarter campaign to be able to publish and sell my first book. Join the mailing list to know more :)
ROLEPLAY (TTRPG)
Guess what?! I will produce and stream a roleplaying campaign in the Silver & Crimson universe! I am so excited about this as I get to play with friends and with viewers over on Twitch. You'll find me at https://www.twitch.tv/geekierknights
Hello all you beautiful people
I've released a short story which takes place in the same universe as the big novel series - Forged in Crimson. So if you are interested in reading some stories before the big one is picked up (hopefully) then please keep an eye out for it here.
https://www.wattpad.com/story/280903825-the-fires-of-goldfork or https://saraheriksson.com/writing
A young thrall, named Tahlia, looks for adventures . . . but adventure is about to find her.
What kind of fantasy is your go-to?
There are tons of different fantasy genres :) One might believe that fantasy only is one thing, but it can be more than a thousand things.
I was really introduced to epic fantasy through Lord of the Rings. Then came Game of Thrones and the Witcher which has completly captured me!
For me, the kind of fantasy I tend to lean toward is the so called:
DUDES WITH CAPES AND SWORDS
So what do you like? Any particular book or series or such you love that is fantasy?
The Start of a New Journey
Photo: Emily Macgregor, 2020
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Sarah, and I was born and raised in Sweden but have lived in the US for several years. I’m dabbling with photography and cinematography, but mainly I focus on writing.
Ever since I saw the Lord of the Rings early 2000s, I got my eyes fixated on fantasy and the fantastic storytelling that can occur there. Of course, Harry Potter became like an obsession as well. Later my interests have shifted to darker and more gritty fantasy such as A Song of Ice and Fire.
I started writing when I was 14 years old. You know... the usual standard bland tropes with a princess and a knight and that kind of stuff. But it was more of an escape and a way to deal with bullying and feeling out of place. Through the years, I’ve kept on writing and rewriting in an endless circle until I finally finished my first book this year - 2021.
At the moment, I’m looking for a publishing house or a literary agent to find my story. The book is the first in a long gritty fantasy setting.
Are there dragons in my stories? - No... but! I have four cute little pet dragons at home, which I might show off now and then :) (Geckos)
So the purpose of this blog is to get my story out to an audience who might enjoy some fantasy escapism just like me. I will share my writing and my process here and hope to interact with those who may be interested!
Photo: Sarah Eriksson, 2020