Hello there, and welcome to moi tumblr! Make yourself comfortable *offers hot chocolate*
I’m Z.Rise!
~ Author
Currently working on a YA sci-fi dystopia series featuring a chocolate loving sniper, a sassy arsonist, an angsty knife boi, a smol moon child, and a commander with artistic issues.
If you’re interested in any of them, you can read more about ‘em in my short stories here!
~ Blogger
I’ve been running my blog, zrisewrites, since November ‘24. I love writing posts about books I’ve enjoyed, my poetry, fun writing prompts, and… pretty much all things writing! I regularly post there Friday mornings—I’d love to see you on the blog!
~ Artist
I love all sorts of mediums—mixed media, sticker designing, collaging, painting, digital—and those are just the ones I’ve tried so far! I’m hoping to one day start an Etsy for my stickers… but for now I simply daydream and doodle.
~ Poet
I just got into poetry in ‘24 after a class. I particularly love dynamic poetry and slam poetry. Anything full of emotion and truth. I’ve also posted a few of those here—I’d love to hear your thoughts!
Have fun. Never, ever stop having fun with your writing. It will keep you going. There will be days when you're frustrated with everything about your novel. There will be days when you wonder why you put yourself through all this in the first place. There will be days when you wonder if it's all worth it. But I promise it's worth it. To tell your story, and enjoy your story. And I'm slipping that in here too--tell your story. The pure unflitered truth. Make it hurt. Make it personal. Make it yours. If you take the time to fall in love with your world, to bring your characters to life, and not worry about the time and the process--just focus on the story, the truth, and the joy of it all--I promise it'll be worth it.
Everyone is complaining that strong female characters don't (necessarily) have to let go of their femininity to be strong, not enough people are writing pink little psychos
You can make her let out a pained grunt at the end of battle, everyone looks at her worried, "I broke my nail". (She killed 50 soldiers)
"Excuse me, Mr. Blacksmith, I need you to make me a different sword. This one's handle makes my rings hurt my fingers. No, I want to keep wearing the rings, they're pretty"
You can make her get everyone late to a mission because there's no way she's getting her hair wet, she has just gotten it done. They can't leave without her wither, there's no way this mission will succeed without her.
You can make her the best engineer in the program, yes, all of her male subordinates are listening to her ramble about Little Women. What? It's *just* because they want to keep their job, no, they're not enjoying it...
"Omg, this gun is so cute. It will fit perfectly in the purse I saw on that store across the street. I need to get them both. Of course the purse goes in the weaponry budget, it's for the gun, duhhh"
"Be a gentelman and solve it for me" "You're literally the only one in the kingdom who can do this" "Aaaffff, so boring"
You can make her reasonable, you can make her unreasonable, you can make her good, you can make her evil, you can make her sweet, you can make her selfish... Top tier character design, many options. Gimme more pink little psychos
By popular vote, here be the 2025 June of Doom prompt list for your doomsday planning!
Please feel free to participate with original or fan works of any kind (writing, photos, gifs, mood boards, videos, songs, whatever creative medium your heart desires!). You can do one or all of the prompts on any given day, and if none are to your liking, check out the alternate prompts!
Angst, hurt/comfort, and lighter/ funnier forms of whump are also welcome! Torture takes many forms. :)
Rules/ FAQ!
Tag your stuff with appropriate warnings, plzkthnx.
AI-created content is highly discouraged and frowned upon. I have no way of "checking", but I respect the time and effort people put into their crafts and encourage everyone to do the same. This isn't a contest for best written or prettiest art — it's a challenge, so challenge yourself.
You can combine this challenge with other challenges!
You can start/ finish this challenge whenever the heck you want!
You can mix and match prompts from different days!
I'll post reminders and such the closer we get!
[Text List]
[AO3 Collection] - "JUNEOFDOOM2025"
And don't forget to tag @juneofdoom so I can reblog your awesome here! Have fun!
Welcome to the beginning of my @juneofdoom short story series, Captured. It's a set of stories no longer than one thousand words, and filled with angst, witty banter, desparate attempts of escaping--both mentally and physically--assassins, and a possible romance...
Enjoy.
Part One: Darkness ~ Katrina's POV
Word Count: ~500
Content Warnings: Kidnapping, mentions of death, drugged
As soon as my mind clears, I know three things:
I’m in the wrong place.
My mind’s not completely cleared yet.
That handout chocolate definitely had something in it.
A cloth’s tied tight over my eyes, so the world’s all darkness. Not to mention the tape plastered over my mouth. But it's... fine. I’ll just… do what Vic taught me.
Breathe. Listen. Focus. Then act.
I take a slow, quiet breath through my nose, focusing on my other senses. The air’s stale with the scent of… metal. And sweat. My hands are mostly out of commission—pulled behind my back. I stretch my fingers up, feeling course rope against the sleeves on my wrist. A bulk of tight knots. It’d take forever to untie those… so that’d have to be the first thing on my plan of action.
I focus on the sound next—or the almost complete lack of it. Somewhere in the distance—maybe down a hall—a faint sound echoes. I can’t tell if it’s human, or just noise from a city. But it seems more isolated. Too big and loud, in this desolate silence.
So… somewhere isolated. Taken by that blasted chocolate connoisseur, maybe.
I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. It feels like someone stuffed my brain with candy wrappers—it hurts. Not an ache, or a stabbing, but a pricking shift of a thrumming pain every time I move.
Great start to the morning.
The scrape of a door echoes down the hall, followed by a thudding set of footsteps. I tense, digging my fingers up into the rope knot.
The footsteps quiet.
I hold my breath, ears pricking as I try to pick up any sort of noise. Any sign of their direction. Any indication of—
“Hello there, little assassin.” A voice murmurs from behind, right by my ear. I jump, half lurching forward, a muffled gasp slipping from my throat.
He laughs, cloth rustling from behind. “So jumpy already… I expected more.”
A gloved hand prods at my cheek. I jerk back. The tapes rips from my mouth, leaving behind stinging cheeks and the heavy weight of curse words I can't say, because my head's too stuffed with whatever they drugged me with.
“Where—am I?” I push out, my words slurred and weak.
He laughs softly again. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“That’s… why I blasting asked.” I spit.
Imbeciles. Why else would I ask a question?
The cloth around my eyes tightens, then falls away. I blink in the dim lighting, taking in the room. Bare, grey walls. A flickering lamp in the corner. A shelf with a box and a wind of rope. My attacker—kidnapper—tormentor nowhere to be seen. So, behind me.
“Don’t worry, little assassin.”
I wish I could place the dude’s voice. It’s not the connoisseur. No one I remember. Why do they want me?
“It’ll all be revealed soon. For now… how would you like some company?”
A door before me swings open, a cloaked figure in the doorway. He jerks a boy into the room. The boy’s blindfolded, hands bound like mine. But I recognize him anyways. The torn black suit. The mussed black hair with a streak of gold. And his hazel eyes that flicker to mine the minute they tear his blindfold off.
these prompts came together through community submissions and a voting form where people voted for their favorites, here are the top 53 prompts
i enjoy this format so like last year there are 15 creation prompts and 15 community prompts/questions. the community prompts are entirely voluntary but are here to possibly inspire some community interaction and trying new things
very excited to see some awesome creations in january!
go here for info/rules/tagging
go here for faqs
(note: number 31 is not a creation prompt and not required to complete the challenge, it's just colored black so the colors add up)
text version of the prompts and rules is under the cut
(image description note: there are 31 numbered prompts, on each odd number the text color is black and on even numbers the text color is white)
Whumpuary 2026
a whump-themed multi media creation event for january
create for at least one prompt from each odd/black number to complete the challenge community prompts (even/white) numbers are voluntary
main prompts
memory loss | tied up | winter
do you prefer fandom or oc whump?
can't speak | caught | broken glass
have you done other whump events?
ransom | burns | not good enough
share your favorite whump media (tv, game, book, …)
drowning | "something isn't right" | hunted
send an ask to someone in the whump community
cornered | shaky hands | phone call
have you always liked whump?
trapped | sleep deprivation | "please"
share any music/videos/etc you listen to while creating
"hold still" | possession | impaled
any favorite things you'd like to see more of in whump?
breaking point | came back wrong | breathe
halfway through! rest & take a break
blood trail | "is this real?" | storm
take 5-10 minutes to work on a wip
seeing double | shivering | restrained
who's your current favorite character to whump?
attacked from behind | poison | red
comment on someones work in the #whumpuary tag
interrogation | numb | wrist grabbing
draw/doodle something whumpy
limping | fatigue | "i don't believe you"
what are your top 5 favorite whump tropes?
"i tried" | pinned against the wall | haunted
create in a new/less familiar medium
touch starved | "i need help" | secret reveal
share your favorite whump creation you’ve made
share your favorite whump creation someone else made
alt prompts
failed escape
gagged
old injuries
exhaustion
blood loss
"don't"
nowhere to go
flashbacks
rules & info
-any medium is allowed (art, writing, gifs, edits, ...)
-prompts are open for interpretation (but the context should be whumpy)
-create for at least one of three prompts on creation prompt days (black/odd numbers) to complete the challenge
-if you're not aiming for completionist you can do however many prompts you want any way you want
-community prompts (white/even numbers) are voluntary and don't count for completionist (but can be combined with creation prompts if applicable)
-use alt prompts to replace main prompts you don't like
some works posted on tumblr will be reblogged if tagged correctly
-#whumpuary2026
-#whumpuaryno1 (number of the prompt(s))
-any trigger/content warning tags
-any additional tags (fandom, oc, other used tropes, ...)
i CANNOT express how much more lovable my friends are to me at their most annoying. i'd rather hear the same story 3 times than not at all. i'd rather read a 22 message text rant about something totally inconsequential than not hear from you all day. i'd rather you tag me in the stupidest post i've ever seen than not know that it made you think of a conversation we had a month ago. BE ANNOYING AT ME. I LOVE YOU
convince me why i should trust you - a forest fantasy short story
Playing around with a new light fantasy idea of mine, and out sprang this story, of conversation, a battle of morals, a dive into truths and manipulation. Enjoy -bows-
Content Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, fire
Word Count: ~ 1.2k
convince me why I should trust you, boy of the woods and boy of the wars. convince me why I should bare down these walls between our people, that have protected us for centuries.
these walls that keep my people breathing and laughing and living. convince me why that smile should be my reason to let you in. or is it your eyes? that light, I don’t often see in the darkness of your kind? or is it the gentle of your hands, the same gentle that I can so easily see coated in the blood of your enemies? isn’t that why you revel? isn’t that why you wake ever moment, to bare your teeth and scream into the sky and conqueror? why trust a conqueror?
my hands may be coated in blood, woman of wisdom. that much I cannot deny. but if I had it my way, my hands would be coated not in death, but in the hope for life. pressed hands to a wound, a whisper that the taker must not come for this one yet. there is still a life for us on this earth, and a purpose for us to fulfill. my people are warriors and conquerors, yes, but it’s not for naught. we began as a defense, and I don’t think we’ve ever let our swords fall again. maybe it’s a flaw. but we’re survived and grown, and don’t you think that counts for something?
is ‘counting’ what matters to you, when i’ve seen mothers and children wailing in the dirt of their tents when their husbands and father are sent back as bloodied bones? is that counting to you, killer of the woods?
there is no honor in killing—
you make this about honor—?
let me finish. there is no honor in killing nor in death. what we do now is to protect ourselves and to fight back against those who harm us. otherwise, we are peaceful creatures. like you, really—hunt to provide. we want to laugh, to dream, to grow old and grey with lines on our faces and our children’s children rolling in our laps. we too look up into the stars and wonder if they’re watching us. we too gaze up at the clouds and find deer racing through the wind. we too cry. even if we’ll never tell you. we too curl into the dirt as we watch bones litter the ground, thinking back on every time, every single time, our blade was the cause of another bone. there is no honor in this, even if some say it so. a killer is still a killer, no matter is he bears a crown or a chain. there is power, but no honor. two very different things.
what think you of healing, instead of harming?
healing has always been the way of nature. one way, at least, but not the sole way. in the ebb of the ocean, the curve of the river, the soft give of moss on the tree. nature provides us with the herbs and salves your people hold so dear, and for righteous reason. we were meant to heal and find ourselves in the leaves and ground around us. but even as the earth heals, it kills an takes away in the same breath. there is life in this too. rotting logs in the forest as a growing bay for little mushrooms, the birds of a feather used for a chieftains’ headdress, the skin of a deer we use to coddle a newborn child? if no thing dies, this world would be overrun with creatures from ocean to ocean, and we would have no room to breath and laugh and dream.
so we must have death in order to live, to dream? is that not the way the creator tried to abhor, only for humanity to destroy it in the first place, in the very first garden and growth of nature beloved? the nature would provide. mushrooms can exist on soil without death. mushrooms grown in death are a horrible omen, anyways—why would you take and use what death has already claimed?
because death should have no power on you like that, you are stronger than an omen.
that’s just tempting the spirits. you’re not doing a very good job of convincing me, killer.
maybe it’s you who needs to convince yourself. maybe this nature and your beloved home, your healers, your herbs, have blinded your eyes beyond my control. maybe you are too lost to find your way.
begone, you killer.
come down to the water. wade and wash with me. together we’ll be made anew, in the curve of the waves and the kiss of the sunlight on the water. take a running leap and fly like your beloved owls, soar with the angels, and fall among the stars.
the ocean is a grounding place for misstep and evil. begone.
there is so much you don’t know, daughter. so much you’re still learning. so much your people have not told you. they may have given you stories, told you tales of the ocean swallowing up tribes, of spirits roaming in the early morning mists, of demons crawling and calling rowers to their dooms, form their families and wives and children and tribe. these stories are just tales to scare you. the ocean wants nothing but your love. your breath. come closer to the water and truly breathe. let the salt coat your lips. let the cool waves caress your skin. let the seaweed curl up your ankles. there is nothing here you need to fear, besides your own mind. let the ocean wash away your worries, roll you smooth like the stone beneath the water.
the stones or the bones?
both. don’t be afraid. they welcomed the breathing, the wonder, the movement, and the peace. you will be no different. find your way with the dolphins and the porpoises, in the tale of those fallen, the whispers, the stories. do you know the story of icarus? did they tell you that too?
he betrayed his father and flew too high, then fell to his death.
no. his father was trying to hold him back, drag him from his dreams, the wonder of the life ahead of him. his father was afraid of change. icarus embraced it. icarus listened to the wonders in the wind and stepped forth on his own, and the sun embraced him, and the ocean kissed him, and he found his way to an everloving home.
death. you paint a pretty picture of death, and that’s a dangerous thing to play with. but you seem to have no fear of death.
why fear death when you can command it? why fear, when you can hold it in the palm of your hand, coddle it like an unruly child? can you imagine that kind of power? to protect your people, perhaps. to give live and heal, removing any instance of death that may have crept upon one of your people. you would be the queen of the ages. you would never die. you could wane back the clock and lead your people to everlasting life and happiness and breathing. wouldn’t you like that, Queen Nasryn?
you seek to lead me to destruction. mine, and of my people, that does not follow the way of your waves, in the ebb and flow of life.
begone.
For more work like this, check out my Tumblr, and my blog, at zrisewrites.com!
It’s that time of year. Summer sun’s still beating down on your brow. Everyone’s trying to soak up those end-of-the-summer vibes and ray, with last days at the pool, and end of the season vacations, and warm summer nights that slip away too fast. All the while, students–and parents–are hustling to get their kids ready for the next grade. Or their first year at college.
August is a month of new…
Melody is not like most people. She cannot walk or talk, but she has a photographic memory; she can remember every detail of everything she has ever experienced. She is smarter than most of the adults who try to diagnose her and smarter than her classmates in her integrated classroom—the very same classmates who dismiss her as mentally challenged because she cannot tell them otherwise. But Melody…
