Recently Reread The Scene Where We See Yoo Joonghyuk's Interaction With Jang Hayoung For The First Time

Isekai

The story this world was created for didn’t pan out, but I still love it. So I sent a visitor from our world to this one, who is not delighted to find that instead of a clear conflict between good and evil, she is confronted with something very different.

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The priest led the way into the great hall. “It is strange to me,” he said chattily, “that you do not know the gods. Surely there is no place so far that the gods do not hold sway there.”

The stranger cleared her throat. “I do not… know that I do not,” she said carefully. “By other names, or seemings, perhaps… but I would know them as you know them.”

“Ah, I see. Yes, that I can understand.” The priest smiled. With his long grey hair and beard flowing over a white robe, he looked like a small, spare saint himself, genial and contented. “Then I will tell it to you from the beginning.” He walked up the length of the hall, and gestured to the two statues that stood on either side of the great altar, with the gold-leaf sun and hammered silver moon on the wall above it.

“There are eight gods,” he said, and his voice settled into the cadence of one repeating an old teaching. “And no one of the eight stands alone, but always as one of a pair. First among the gods stand Elu and Surm, whose aspects are those of Life and Death. There are those who say that they are the parents of the other gods, and others who say that they are only the oldest, but all that the others are springs ultimately from them.”

“I see.” The stranger looked up at the statue on the left, who stood by the golden sun. “Elu… life… is perhaps the one I know as the Mother.”

“Yes, for all life comes from a mother.” The priest nodded, also gazing up at the statue. It was beautifully crafted, perhaps twice as tall as the stranger, a vivid portrayal of a woman of middle years, with the rounded belly and hips of children borne, the plump limbs of health and plenty, lines of wisdom and of humour on her face. She wore a loose robe, and a crown of leaves and flowers on her long hair, and fruit and grain filled the basket in her hands. “Elu brings life, and all that lives, from the greatest beast to the smallest, from the richest fruit to the smallest seed, from humankind to a flower that blooms and dies in a single day.”

He turned to the other statue, Surm. This was a man, also of middle years, but he wore armour, and carried a bow in his hand. “And Surm, her opposite and equal, who closes the circle. Where there is life, there must also be death, and Surm rules over all forms of death. He is a warrior, and a hunter, and also a healer, as is Elu, for the healer stands between life and death. Surm is the ending, as Elu is the beginning, but in truth they are the two halves of a circle, for from death life comes again, and from life death is born.” He gestured up at the sun and moon. “Elu is the first of what we name the sunward four, and Surm of the moonward, for the sun and the moon, like the gods, are a pair, opposite and yet united.”

“I see. Who comes next?”

“Of the other three pairs, the order in which they stand varies. They are all of equal status and importance, as gods, but in different times and places some may take a greater hand than others.” The priest moved back a few paces. “Here, the second pair are those we call Kord, the sunward, who represents order and creation, and Kaos, the moonward, who represents chaos and destruction.”

The stranger looked from Kord, a statue of a man holding a chisel and a measuring rod, his robes perfect, his braids as straight as the rod, to Kaos, a woman all disorder, from her wild curls to her ragged motley to her very pose – while Kord stood erect, Kaos was dancing, one foot raised, ribbons flying about her. “Good and evil?” the stranger asked, frowning.

“No, order and chaos.” The priest frowned too. “All the gods have their aspects of both good and evil, of course. Elu creates life, and she is the mother of the devouring wolf or bear just as she is of the lamb or the kid. Surm brings death on the battlefield, but also peace after long life and ease after suffering. Kord is the god of order, of precision, of law and of rule, of measurement and of numbers. But Kord is a sterile god, and life does not thrive under his governance.” He turned to wild, laughing Kaos. “Kaos reigns over destruction, it is true, but not all forms of disorder are destructive. She is the song of the bird and the frisking of a foal as well as the destruction of the earthquake or the tidal wave, and she rules over weather both good and bad. She also rules the human heart, its loves and hates, and she brings both joy and sorrow.”

“I see.” The stranger did not sound as if she saw, but she looked thoughtfully at Kord and Kaos before they moved on to the next pair.

“On the sunward side, Sugulahna, the neighbour, the kinswoman, the ally, the friend, the loyal one.” This statue was young and vigorous, with a cheerful smile. She wore a simple tunic, and held out an open hand. “Sugulahna is the goddess of unity, of trust, of loyalty. When she stands with her brother Kord, they watch over cities and towns, and places where many people must live together in order and harmony. With Kaos, she signifies love and friendship, the ties of family and the bonds of loyalty. In her benign aspect, she is generosity and faith. But turned aside, she is the selfish partner, the treacherous lover, the ungrateful child, the usurper and betrayer. She is all that is best and worst in those around us.”

“One who can give great pain and great joy,” the stranger commented.

“None can give greater.” The priest nodded solemnly. “And on the moonward side stands Vu’uras, who is often called ‘the Stranger’.” The statue could hardly be called a statue, exactly, for no face or clear form could be discerned under the enveloping robes that might as easily have covered a clothing-stand as a human figure. The only sign of the body underneath was a single slender hand extending from a sleeve to clasp a traveller’s staff. “The Stranger is the Other, the traveller, the foreigner. The Stranger, when standing with Kord, is the diplomat, the envoy, the spy. With Kaos, the chance-met helper or kindly passer-by… or the bandit. The Stranger is sexless and unknowable, and yet the Stranger delights in the sharing of knowledge.”

The stranger smiled slightly. “Like me. A stranger chance-come, who knows nothing but wishes to learn?”

“Indeed, just like.” The priest moved on to the last pair of statues. “Here you see, on the sunward side, Teadmised, who is the god of knowledge and learning. Teachers, scholars, and the wise are all in his domain, and he is said to have created all means of record-keeping, from wall paintings and lore songs and tally marks to the written word.” He beamed up at the statue. Like the priest, Teadmised was an old man, long-bearded and a little stooped, with a lean, kindly face. He was wrapped in a long robe with a stole, and carried in his hands a scroll and a brush. “Teadmised is the god of wisdom. His benign aspect brings invention, and art, and joy, but his reverse is deception, and error, and lies.”

He turned to gesture at the moonward goddess. “This is his sister Salahdused, who rules over mystery, and secrets, and the unknown. Vu’uras and Surm’s realms both overlap with hers, for death and the stranger both partake of the unknown. Salahdused is the hardest of all the gods to understand, by her very nature, and thus is most often the one distrusted, or considered ‘evil’ as you put it.” He patted the base of the statue. It portrayed another hooded figure, but unlike the Stranger’s, this hood did not conceal a slyly smiling face, and the sleeves of the robe fell back to show slender arms, one hand raising a lighted lamp, the other cradling a wrapped bundle against her hip. “Certainly the unknown can be dangerous, and secrets can wound. Her domain is darkness and the sea, hidden caves and deep water and secret places, all dangerous to humankind. And yet she is also the goddess of luck, which is its own kind of mystery. She can bring ruin and betrayal and death, but she is also the unknown friend, good fortune unlooked for, and aid when all hope is lost.” His voice softened. “It is Salahdused who brings misfortune, and hope, and to whom we all turn at last, with curse or with plea. And when her father Surm comes, to guide the dead onward, it is Salahdused who holds up the lamp to light the way.”

“A goddess we all need, though we may not always be grateful.” The stranger looked up and down the lines again. “They are *all* the known and the unknown, are they not? On the sunward side, in the light of day, stand Life, Order, Family and Knowledge. On the moonward side, Death, Chaos, the Stranger, and Mystery.”

“Yes, exactly!” The priest sounded pleased. “Not many people see that, without being told. That is why they are ordered so. Some people think it is because the sunward are kindlier, but it is not so. It is only that they stand for what we understand. And under the moon, which waxes and wanes, stand the gods who rule over the unpredictable and unknown.”

“Most people… where I come from… equate light with good, and darkness with evil.” The stranger tugged absently on her braid. “But your gods are… more complicated than that.”

“Good and evil are not real things,” the priest said simply. The stranger looked at him, and he smiled gently. “I do not mean that they do not exist, but they are not… of the world. Birth, life, is real. Death is real. They exist, they have substance. A measuring rod or the wildly rolling debris of an avalanche are real. Family is real. Strangers are real. A story or a written word are real things, as are the sea and caves and deep water, be they understood or not. And all of those things may bring about good or evil, depending on circumstances. They can be used for good or evil. But good and evil are not, in themselves, real things.”

She nodded slowly, looking at the gods. “So to you… good and evil are in the effects. The aspects. The intent. Not… powers, in themselves.”

“Yes, you understand.” The Priest bent to pick up a dead leaf from the ground, which might have fallen from a shawl, or blown in through one of the high windows. “Take this leaf. If it fell on a stony street, it might grow wet, and slip under a foot, and cause injury or death. If it fell on barren ground, in its decay it would render the ground a little less barren. Here on the floor of the temple, it might cause additional trouble to a sweeper… or provide a priest with a timely example, thus doing me, and you, good.” He smiled. “But the leaf’s nature does not change. It is just a leaf. How, in its falling, it affects others… that depends entirely on circumstance.”

“I see.” This time, she sounded as if she did understand, and she took the leaf and held it gently. “And what of people, priest? Are they not good or evil?”

“Of course they are. Mostly one, or mostly the other, or more often a mixture of both in some degree.” The priest shrugged. “But that a matter of choice, and of intention, and even then it is very rare that an action does not have effects both good and bad, whatever the intention. To come upon a man robbing another man, and to intervene – well, from the point of view of the man who was being robbed, that is a good action. From the point of view of the robber, it is a bad one.” He smiled serenely. “As the proverb says, the storm that sinks a ship may bring rain to the fields.”

The stranger was silent for a time, seeming to consider, and the priest waited patiently. When at last she spoke, there was a note of frustration in her voice. “I have never known a faith, or gods, so adamantly to set their faces against certainty.”

The priest laughed. “Oh, if it is certainty you want, Kord is in accord with you. He loves certainty. One will always be one, and a square will always be a square. An arch correctly made will not fall, and a law followed will bring order. There’s great comfort in certainty! But certainty is the enemy of growth, and invention, and change, and so Kaos dances through Kord’s order, bringing destruction and growth and change.” He folded his hands over his belly and looked up at the sun and moon on the wall, his voice gentling. “I think that what you are seeking is not certainty but simplicity. An easy answer. The good and the evil. But what is real is never simple, and the gods least of all. All we mere mortals can do is the best we can, with what we have.”

The stranger sighed. “I know that you are right,” she said. “But the other would be easier.”

“It is not the responsibility of the gods to make your life easy,” the priest said, a little tartly. “It is the responsibility of the gods to make life possible. The rest is your own affair.”

Cale is pretty shameless.

If he was told by the GoD that he could get 1 billion gallons if he kissed one of his companions, he wouldn’t blush. No. He would start bartering.

“Only a billion gallons? The Crown Prince has offered me more for less. You’re a god, live up to the name. 30 billion for a kiss on the cheek. I’ll even do a knuckle kiss for 20 billion if you feel cheap.”

The Sun God pitches in. “50 billion gallons for a kiss on the lips.”

Cale turns it down immediately. “You think my first kiss is only worth 50 billion gallons? You must think you’re funny. You couldn’t afford my first kiss with your whole religion.”

The GoD interrupts. “85 billion gallons and a heavenly item.”

He clicks his tongue, do they think he’s stupid? “A heavenly item would only draw more attention to me. I want to be a slacker. Use your head.”

Both gods curse. They can’t let him become a slacker, it would ruin everything.

After a minute of thinking, the GoD and the Sun God come to a conclusion. They’re going to cut their losses and take what they can get. “Okay, we’ll buy a kiss on the cheek for 30 billion gallons.”

Cale makes eye contact with them. “50 billion.”

The gods cry out in indignation, but Cale refuses to budge on this.

With a look of defeat, they split the cost and tell him to pick someone to kiss on the cheek.

He chooses Raon. The dragon is very happy with the sudden display of affection, and the gods curse the name Cale Henituse.

CANON 2x!!

Alberu: Please, I'm begging you go to a doctor.

Cale: I'm sorry is this 'OUR' stab wound? Stay out of it.

WEBSITES FOR WRITERS {masterpost}

E.A. Deverell - FREE worksheets (characters, world building, narrator, etc.) and paid courses;

Hiveword - Helps to research any topic to write about (has other resources, too);

BetaBooks - Share your draft with your beta reader (can be more than one), and see where they stopped reading, their comments, etc.;

Charlotte Dillon - Research links;

Writing realistic injuries - The title is pretty self-explanatory: while writing about an injury, take a look at this useful website;

One Stop for Writers - You guys... this website has literally everything we need: a) Description thesaurus collection, b) Character builder, c) Story maps, d) Scene maps & timelines, e) World building surveys, f) Worksheets, f) Tutorials, and much more! Although it has a paid plan ($90/year | $50/6 months | $9/month), you can still get a 2-week FREE trial;

One Stop for Writers Roadmap - It has many tips for you, divided into three different topics: a) How to plan a story, b) How to write a story, c) How to revise a story. The best thing about this? It's FREE!

Story Structure Database - The Story Structure Database is an archive of books and movies, recording all their major plot points;

National Centre for Writing - FREE worksheets and writing courses. Has also paid courses;

Penguin Random House - Has some writing contests and great opportunities;

Crime Reads - Get inspired before writing a crime scene;

The Creative Academy for Writers - "Writers helping writers along every step of the path to publication." It's FREE and has ZOOM writing rooms;

Reedsy - "A trusted place to learn how to successfully publish your book" It has many tips, and tools (generators), contests, prompts lists, etc. FREE;

QueryTracker - Find agents for your books (personally, I've never used this before, but I thought I should feature it here);

Pacemaker - Track your goals (example: Write 50K words - then, everytime you write, you track the number of the words, and it will make a graphic for you with your progress). It's FREE but has a paid plan;

Save the Cat! - The blog of the most known storytelling method. You can find posts, sheets, a software (student discount - 70%), and other things;

I hope this is helpful for you!

(Also, check my gumroad store if you want to!)

I want everyone’s best one liner writing advise!

Mine is that you have to know the ending of your story before you start it.

You know what??

De-aged Cale where its roksoo right??

He's sitting there anxiously as the adults discuss what the do with him. It's happening again. He knows they're going to get rid of him like some old, unwanted toy.

His stomach gurgles and growls. He keeps his eyes trained on the shoes everyone is wearing, ears burning. How embarrassing... He's usually better than this.

He jumps when a pair of shoes move in front of him. It's hard to hear what's going on when the cotton in your ears keep blooming. Suddenly, he's face to face with an old man... whose smile is.. pretty scary. Not that he'll say anything about it though. He can't figure out where to place his eyes. Adults don't like it when he looks at them in the eyes. They say he's being defiant, that they don't like the way he looks at them. But then they don't like it when he doesn't look them in the eye, something about finding the situation unimportant. He doesn't know what to do... So his eyes jump from meeting the old man's and back to things around the room. Back and forth, back and forth.

"young master," the man starts, "why don't you follow my son to the kitchen? My son, Beacrox, will get you something good to eat."

Oh! He can do that. He's been in kitchens before, so he willed himself to meet the man's gaze one last time before giving a small, but firm nod. Then, he hops off the plush couch and trails after the guy who must be Beacrox.

This man is stoic looking and not much of a talker. It's okay though, he isn't much of a talker either. They walk in silence to the kitchen, he tries to keep his breathing in check as he jogs to keep pace with the man. His steps must be too loud though since the man turns towards him and then slows his pace. So nice!!

Even when they get there, the man still hasn't said anything. He stands at the doorway, unsure of what he's needed for. The kitchen is clean... Extremely clean. How will he earn his food? What is he supposed to be doing here??

We makes his way up to the counter where he finds a rag. That'll do!! He takes it and wets it in the sink before making his way back to the sitting area. He drops to his hands and knees and begins to scrub at the already clean floor. The adults at home say that even if it looks clean, it's never clean enough! So surely this should be enough to earn his keep.

He hears a clatter and startles as the knife falls to the floor. The man's face isn't stoic anymore. The man is mad?? Is he cleaning wrong?? Roksoo is scared.

The man storms up to him and begins to reach out towards him. Roksoo fails to hold back a flinch. He's messed up, adults don't like it when he's scared. He squeezed his eyes shut, in hopes of hurting less.

Nothing comes. The pain never comes. Only a warm hand on his head?? He slowly opens his eyes and meets Beacrox 's. There's nothing, but hurt and eager swirling in the man's eyes. Why's he sad? Roksoo doesn't understand.

"young master..." Beacrox sounds strained. Again with that weird title.

Roksoo wordlessly watches the chef try to string together words. His own throat feeling too clogged up to ask what he did wrong.

He manages though.

"why.. why are you sad?" His words come out like small croaks. It's getting hard to speak again. Adults don't like it when he can't speak.

Beacrox's eyes just fill with more hurt, hurt, hurt as he opens and closes his mouth uselessly.

He seems to figure out what he wants to say though.

"young master, why are you on the ground?" Beacrox keeps his voice soft, keeps his tone open and forgiving.

"I didn't know what else I could do," he confesses like he's sinned. His eyes make their way back to anything other than the other's.

Beacrox brews silently, waiting for his master to finish his thoughts. Beacrox doesn't like where this is going.

"how else can I earn.." roksoo's palms feel sweaty where they're clenched at his sides.

"I don't deserve food yet," roksoo's words are firm and believing as he meets Beacrox's eyes.

The man's eyes seem to tremble as he processes what roksoo had said.

(Beacrox wants to skin whoever taught his young master this. He wants to make them beg for the sweet release of death as he slowly guides them towards it. Having them teeter on the edge of death and consciousness).

He snaps out of thought, saving them for later. The others will be hearing of this, they can all come up with the plans together.

"young master," Beacrox hopes his words will reach the boys heart, "you deserve everything."

He watches as the boy takes his bottom lip captive between his teeth. How the boy clenches at the hems of his shirt and tries to calm his breathing. How the boy is trying to blink away tears, but is failing.

"you are worthy" he whispers, removing a glove to pat roksoo's head. Beacrox looks seconds away from jumping back and escaping. Roksoo let's put a shaky laugh at the thought.

Right now it's hard to believe, but.. he wants to. He wants to believe that Beacrox is right. He'll try...

But he still follows Beacrox back to the counter and begs to help. He feels too antsy not doing anything.

All he's handed is a small bowl of snacks and he's told his job is to finish them by the time the meal is done cooking. He feels his heart swell. Roksoo feels like his heart is doing flips in his chest. He feels so safe.

-

Feeling like I probably post too much on this,, but I will.. continue. :)

things people do after having a nightmare that isn’t crying

struggle to catch their breath

grab onto whatever’s close enough to ground themselves in reality

become nauseous / vomit

shake uncontrollably

sweat buckets

get a headache

things people do to combat having nightmares if they occur commonly

sleep near other people so they can hear the idle sounds of them completing tasks

move to a different sleeping spot than where they had the nightmare

leave tvs / radios / phones on with noise

just not sleep (if you want to go the insomnia route)

sleep during the day in bright rooms

things people with insomnia do

first, obviously, their ability to remember things and their coordination will go out the window

its likely they’ll become irritable or overly emotional

their body will start to ache, shake, and weaken

hallucinate if it’s been long enough

it becomes incredibly easy for them to get sick (and they probably will)

add your own in reblogs/comments!

Editing Part 5: The Structural Pass

Okay, by now you've nailed down how you want your plot, characters, and worldbuilding to be. If you haven't by now, it's a good time to format your document into manuscript format if you plan to move forward to publish in any form.

When it comes to structure, what you're really focusing on is readability. If the format of your book is a slog to get through, if your paragraphs are too long or your sentences are all the same. This will lose readers otherwise in love with your plot.

Dialogue

Dialogue heavy scenes are very fun to write, but pages of dialogue with no action can also be exhausting. Break up your dialogue heavy scenes with actions and descriptions. How does the character's body language reflect their feelings on the discussion? Can you give them a task (picking a lock, chopping onions) that allow you to add to the scene (fumbling when frustrated, dicing harder when angry)?

One mistake (that I've made plenty of times) is to have characters doing things for the sake of doing them. But this is an opportunity to add details that add to your plot (the normally awful cafeteria green beans are delicious, a clue to solving the murder!), character (an alien crewmember is trying to copy human expressions to seem more personable, but his many teeth just freak people out), and world-building and setting (Laura is ranting about her ex, but Tara is distracted by how soulless her rich mother's house seems).

Scene Lengths

Are your scenes running too long? Do they start in the wrong place? (Two paragraphs on making coffee instead of "She was making coffee when George burst in.") Tightening up your scenes will do a great deal to make your book better.

This is easy advice to give and harder to picture doing, I've found. Everything often feels essential to a scene. Try to tackle scenes with the following questions:

What is the point of the scene? (George tells Susan his wife left him for Keanu Reeves.)

Where does the action start? (When George burst through the door without knocking.)

What is the goal of the scene? (Susan starts to suspect George of murdering his wife.)

Where does the action end? (George leaves.)

Where should the scene end? - This answer depends entirely on what you need to happen next. Maybe you have another page and a half of Susan musing about her suspicions right there in the kitchen. But maybe this will be more impactful in the next scene, where Susan is snooping in the garden and happens to find something George's wife would never leave behind.

Varying Paragraphs and Sentences

Pull back and look at your pages. Are all the paragraphs the same length? Do you fall into using the same pattern of sentences over and over? (Guilty) Have you used the same word four times in a single paragraph to describe something? (Double guilty) Break those chunks up, what for those repeat words, and vary your sentences. This is going to help so much with issues you weren't aware of.

Chapters and Word Count

There are many ways to do chapters, but you want to keep an eye out for chapters that are going too long (giving your reader a visual break of a chapter ending can help shift the setting and tone) or too short (have you accomplished everything you need?) This is not a knock on either structure done on purpose - this is to catch something you may have overlooked.

When it comes to word count, industry standards are always a good baseline to go with. Your audience often approaches a genre with certain expectations, and while you can make a doorstopper of a romance, you will find more readers by sticking to the 80-100k range.

Let's be honest in this whole transmigrating situation, the one who got the shortest end of the deal isn't krs! Cale. Like, sure, he was forced into a series of sucky things, but he still gets something out of it.

You know who's the one that doesn't benefit whatsoever from Kim Rok Soo's deal?

The original, unknowing, 18-year-old, Cale Henituse.

Did the now Kim Rok Soo realize he had killed an innocent 18-year-old boy the moment he regressed?

I'm writing a reaction fic with an alive tboah!Cale, but tboah!Cale is not the original Cale, and sometimes I can't help but think about the truest victim that everybody has forgotten: Cale Henituse, the boy whose entire existence was erased the moment 40-year-old Cale regressed.

Can you imagine? One day, you went to bed like normal, and then your body suddenly ceased to be yours.

Apparently, your depressed "older self" - who had already lived his life but was now stealing yours - not only decided to kill you in the name of the "Greater Good", he was also too much of a coward to stay.

Your "older self" (and your murderer) had made a deal with a God and would be fucking off to another world very soon.

You were left to come to terms with 3 things:

A stranger will be taking over your body in your stead (and you know they don't have a choice in this either, but still, you hate-)

You will die. No, more like you will get deleted (and no one will even remember that you had once lived)

You do not get any say in any of this. (You never did, and now, you never will.)

(And to think that in another world, you would have grown up to become him.)

(In the end, Cale Henituse dies hating himself.)

It keeps me up at night sometimes.

I'm loving how there's like, no tags 💀😭😭🤣

Life imitating art.