IsilemeLinde's Grove

Slow Burn That’s About to Explode

"If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something we’ll both regret."

"Say that again. Slower."

"You really like testing my patience, don’t you?"

"Back up. Closer. I want to see if you’ll actually do it."

"Do you realize how loud you were moaning my name last night?"

"You should probably stop touching me like that... unless you plan on finishing what you started."

"We’re not doing this here." – "Why not? Scared you’ll like it?"

"I dare you. No, seriously—I dare you."

"One bed. One night. You sure you can behave?"

"You think I won’t?" – "I know you will. That’s the problem."

Enemies to Lovers, but We’re Both Hot and Unhinged

"If I kiss you, it’s not because I like you. It’s because you won’t shut up."

"Do it. Touch me like you hate me."

"You’re infuriating." – "And you’re turned on."

"Careful. You’re starting to sound jealous."

"Admit it. You like it when we fight."

"You want me. You just don’t want to want me."

"If you’re going to stare, you might as well do something about it."

"Say it. Say you want me." – "Why? You’ll just use it against me."

"Keep talking like that and I’ll kiss you right here."

"Don’t tempt me." – "What if I want to?"

Post-Tension Intimacy (A.K.A. We Finally Snapped)

"You're shaking." – "So are you."

"This doesn’t mean anything." – "Then why are you holding me like that?"

"I’ve wanted this since the moment I met you."

"You're not getting any sleep tonight, just so you know."

"You're mine now. Say it."

"God, you feel so good." – "Yeah? Then shut up and keep going."

"You can hate me in the morning. Just… let me have this tonight."

"Is this what you wanted?" – "No. I wanted more."

"Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop."

"I’m going to ruin you. And you’re going to thank me for it."

Teasing Touch, Dangerous Proximity

"You’re blushing." – "Shut up."

"That shirt’s doing you no favors. Take it off."

"If you wanted me to kiss you, you could’ve just said so."

"I like the way you say my name. Say it again."

"You’re standing really close." – "Yeah? You gonna move?"

"I can feel your heartbeat. Is that for me?"

"Your hands are shaking... here, let me help you."

"Careful. Someone might think you actually want me."

"You know exactly what you’re doing to me, don’t you?"

"We’re not supposed to do this." – "Since when has that ever stopped us?"

Voice Low, Words Barely Whispers

"Keep your voice down. Or don’t. Let them hear."

"Every time you talk, all I can think about is your mouth on mine."

"Say the word, and I’ll have you against that wall in five seconds."

"What do you think happens if I kiss you right now?"

"You smell like trouble." – "You taste like it."

"Look me in the eyes when you lie like that."

"One more step and I won’t be able to hold back."

"If you keep teasing me like that, I’m going to ruin you."

"Tell me to stop." – silence – "Didn’t think so."

"We’re alone now. You still pretending this is just tension?"

Hot-Headed, Argument-Laced, About to Snap

"Why do you always have to push my buttons?" – "Because I love watching you lose control."

"You think you’re in control here? That’s cute."

"You're not walking away from me. Not this time."

"God, you're impossible." – "You didn’t seem to mind last night."

"Say it louder. Maybe if you scream my name again, I’ll believe you."

"Keep pretending you don’t want me. I’ll keep proving you wrong."

"You're dangerous." – "Only if you ask nicely."

"Is this still an argument or are we just flirting with knives now?"

"Admit it. You love it when I get like this."

I consider myself proship, profic and anti censorship. because fiction is not reality. there are some topics in fiction that I am uncomfortable with, but what I do is that I curate my own internet experience by avoiding topics I don't like and minding my own business — instead of harassing real people over fiction.

and no, fiction does not reflect a person's in-real-life moral compass. I enjoy slasher movies, that does not mean I enjoy murders in real life. I play video games that contain violence, that does not mean I condone violence in real life.

fiction is. just fiction.

art can be taboo and macabre.

not to mention how a lot of victims and survivors use dark fiction to cope and heal from their trauma.

but even if someone is never a victim, thought crimes and dark fantasies are just that: fantasies. they are not real. nobody in real life is being harmed.

my belief is that people can enjoy whatever they want in fiction. as long as no one in real life is harmed.

to quote what I have already said for a dozen of times: if someone lets fiction affect them enough to the point they do bad things and hurt people in real life, then they are already troubled and are a danger to themself and those around them, with or without the media they consume.

also censorship is a fascist tool meant to control people and a slippery slope. if we allow one thing to be censored, anything and everything that isn't sunshine and rainbow and of conservative value can and will be censored too. and harassment is something I will never condone, especially when it's over fiction.

if it's stupid to harass people for enjoying horror movies, it's just as stupid to harass people over fictional ships or what they read/write about fictional characters.

1. Slow down at emotionally important moments.

Big emotions need space to land. If a scene feels rushed, pause the plot briefly to show how the moment affects the character.

2. Add reactions, not explanations.

Instead of explaining what a character feels, show it through physical responses, hesitation, or small actions that reveal emotion naturally.

3. Ground every scene in the senses.

If a scene feels thin, add one or two sensory details—sound, texture, smell, or temperature—to make the moment feel lived-in.

4. Let thoughts interrupt action.

A line of internal thought can deepen a scene without slowing it too much. Thoughts show stakes, fear, longing, or conflict beneath the action.

5. Expand consequences, not events.

You don’t need more things to happen—you need to show what matters. Focus on how events change relationships, decisions, or self-perception.

6. Strengthen setting where emotion peaks.

The environment should echo or contrast the emotion of the scene. Setting is not decoration—it’s emotional reinforcement.

7. Add specific details instead of general ones.

Underwriting often relies on vague language. Swap “they argued” for one sharp line of dialogue or a specific breaking point.

8. Let dialogue breathe.

Short dialogue exchanges without pauses can feel flat. Add beats—silence, gestures, interruptions—to give the conversation weight.

9. Show transitions between scenes.

If scenes jump too quickly, readers feel disoriented. A brief transition helps establish time, mood, and emotional continuity.

10. Clarify stakes early in the scene.

If readers don’t know what can be lost, scenes feel empty. Make sure the character wants something specific and fears losing it.

11. Use the “what are they feeling right now?” check.

After each major beat, ask what emotion is dominant in that moment. If it’s missing on the page, the scene is likely underwritten.

12. Expand scenes that feel “too clean.”

Few stories take place during a short, unbroken chunk of time. Most stories take place in small chunks spread out over days, weeks, months, or years, which means there will be whole chunks of time not covered. So, how do you skip the time between those chunks?

Scenes and Chapters

With the exception of some very short fiction, most stories are broken into scenes, each of which encapsulates a particular moment or event. In longer fiction, like novellas and novels, related scenes can be grouped together into chapters, though sometimes a chapter contains only one scene. Either way, because scenes and chapters focus on particular moments or events, or a related group of moments or events, starting a new scene or chapter is a natural way to represent the passage of time in your story. In fact, unless otherwise stated, readers will naturally assume that time has passed between scenes and chapters–which doesn’t mean you don’t still have to make the transition between them.

The key to skipping time between scenes or chapters is to make the transition by doing two things:

1) Set up the time skip at the end of the scene or chapter by hinting at what is to come. For example:

As I gazed out the window at January’s first falling snow, I couldn’t help but wonder what the new year would bring.

2) Clarify time, place and (if necessary) POV at the beginning of the new scene or chapter, playing off of the set up from the previous scene or chapter.

The first week of January was over in a blink, and then I found myself back at school, dealing with all the problems I’d left behind during Christmas Break.

Notice how the set up at the end of the previous scene/chapter flows seamlessly into the scene transition at the beginning of the new scene/chapter?

Because the passage of time is expected between scenes and chapters, it’s not always necessary to be direct about how much time has passed. Especially if the amount of time passing is unimportant or already implied.

Direct:

Melinda finally dragged herself out of bed, painfully aware that her entire career hinged on her ability to pull this meeting off without a hitch. She hated the uncertainty of what lay ahead, hating even more the only thing she did know for certain: it was going to be one hell of a shitty day.

# # #

Two hours later, Melinda stood in front of the board, coffee in hand, trying to exude confidence she in no way truly felt. The tired, stoic faces of eleven other men and women gazed back at her, plainly ready for whatever it was she was about to unleash upon them. She only wished she felt as ready as they appeared to be.

Less Direct:

Melinda finally dragged herself out of bed, painfully aware that her entire career hinged on her ability to pull this meeting off without a hitch. She hated the uncertainty of what lay ahead, hating even more the only thing she did know for certain: it was going to be one hell of a shitty day.

# # #

All eleven faces of the other board members gazed back at Melinda, stoic and tired as she stood before them, coffee in hand, trying to exude a confidence she in now way truly felt. It was clear they were prepared for whatever she was about to unleash upon them, and she could only wish she was equally prepared.

In the second example, even though you don’t specifically say “two hours later,” it’s clear right away from the context that the time and place have changed. No one is going to read “all eleven faces of the other board members” and assume that they’re waiting for her in her bathroom as she goes in to brush her teeth the next morning. As often as possible, try to reserve the “two hours later” and “when she got back to the office” transitions for when the context would otherwise be unclear, or when those specific details (how much time has passed, a specific location) is immediately important. 

And, if no time is passing between two scenes or two chapters, you can make that clear via context. For example, if one scene ends with Melinda falling asleep and then being woken up by a loud knock at her door, the next scene could continue with something like “Heart pounding from the shock, Melinda jumped out of bed to see who was at her door.” Now it’s clear no time passed in the next scene. But, since a new situation is beginning, it still warrants being its own scene.

Expository Time Skip

Sometimes you need to show a quick glimpse of something that happened but which doesn’t really warrant its own scene or chapter. In this case, you may need to illustrate the time skip using exposition within the scene. It may look something like this:

The first week of January was over in a blink, and then I found myself back at school, dealing with all the problems I’d left behind during Christmas Break. Not the least of which was the newly formed rift between me and Kristina, who was glaring at me from across the hallway as I spun the combination on my locker that first day back. I’d done my best to ignore her, shoveling my million textbooks out of my book bag, doing a quick check of my hair–which somehow managed to be both wet and frizzy with static–before grabbing my biology books and hurrying off under Kristina’s cold glare.

Later that day, at lunch, Michelina and I decided to eat lunch outside, even though it was thirty degrees and still snowing. Despite the wintry chill, it was warmer than the cafeteria with Kristina’s angry gaze constantly searching us out.

Terms such as: later that day, two hours later, the next afternoon, the following day, by the time the bell rang, when it was time to close, etc., allow you to show that time has passed without transitioning to a new scene or chapter. This allows you to cover smaller moments/events that don’t warrant their own space.

These are some lowkey underrated tips I’ve seen floating around writing communities — the kind that don’t get flashy attention but seriously changed how I write.

1. Put “he/she/they” at the start of the sentence less often.

Try switching up your sentence rhythm. Instead of

“She walked to the window,”

try

“The window creaked open under her touch.”

Keeps it fresh and stops the paragraph from sounding like a checklist.

2. Don’t describe everything — describe what matters.

Instead of listing every detail in a room, pick 2–3 objects that say something.

“A half-drunk mug of tea and a knife on the table”

sets a way stronger tone than

“There was a wooden table, two chairs, and a shelf.”

3. Use beats instead of dialogue tags sometimes.

Instead of:

"I'm fine," she said.

Try:

"I'm fine." She wiped her hands on her skirt.

It helps shows emotion, and movement.

4. Write your first draft like no one will ever read it.

No pressure. No perfection. Just vibes. The point of draft one is to exist. Let it be messy and weird — future you will thank you for at least something to edit.

5. When stuck, ask: “What’s the most fun thing that could happen next?”

Not logical. Not realistic. FUN. It doesn’t have to stay — but chasing excitement can blast through writer’s block and give you ideas you actually want to write.

One, Two, AND Three are all things I look for, and add or change, in my self edits.

It's why, frequently, my self edits ADD words to my manuscript. Sometimes I'll reach the end of a chapter and have less words than I started with (If I've been a bit heavy on the "that", "very", and "eyes")

But restructuring paragraphs for diversity of style is something I actively look at.

And it's because I do number 4. My first drafts read well enough to tell the story, but I default to my favourite phrases, and basic structure. It's not as engaging or interesting as it could be.

Number 5 doesn't work for me personally, but that's because I tend to have a solid outline. I know where I need to go. How to get there changes, but I prefer to ground it in what the characters would actually do ro how they would realistically react (for them) than what's (only!) fun for me to create.

#4 flat out does not work for me. I do write for myself first and foremost, but I also write to share it with others eventually, and if I write as if nobody’s going to see it - implied, write badly to fix it later - well, it simply won’t get fixed. I tried it once, and the result is that particular draft has now been languishing for ten years because every time I look at it it’s bad. All the editing it needs to make it better is overwhelming. I didn’t do any #1. I didn’t do any of my other usual editing as I go. I didn’t do any of the usual tings I like doing when I write, because “first drafts can/should be bad, nobody sees them anyway” so I wrote it fast and I wrote it badly and surprisingly the end result is actually bad. And that whole “nobody sees the first draft anyway” thing is a lie. Somebody does see that draft, and that somebody is me.

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