relationship: nonexistent

status: unknown

occupation: unknown

connection: biological father

251029

pov

i write in strictly third pov, but feel free to write in whatever pov you feel most comfortable in!

style

beige prose with a tendency to get lost within the five senses of heavy environmental descriptions and inner dialogues.

length

multi-para in various lengths depending on how much muse i have for the thread and what the plot consists of. no one-liners please.

location

i prefer to write in public rooms. never do i thread inside pm's either as pm's are strictly for ooc and plotting purposes. i also like to keep my walls clean.

plotting

i expect you to go through my character's background and i will go through yours. it is okay if we do not have a specific plot from the very beginning, i am open to brainstorming ideas with you! as a reminder, consent is key between both parties.

genre and themes

i am open to most themes and genres, although i do have some hard no's when it comes to sexual content. i do not write smut often unless i am very comfortable with you so most of the time, sexual content can be heavily implied in the thread that is consented between both parties and will not have to be explicitly written out. my favorite genres to write are romance, angst, and fluff.

activity level: 3.5 out of 10

i work full-time so my activity can be sporadic. you may often see me in the main chat, but please do not poke me unless it has been over two (2) weeks! i am very good at updating my tracker and i try my best to reply within a week. if it has been more than two weeks, i will personally let you know that i need more time. some threads might be replied faster than others according to my muse level, but i definitely did not forget!

▹ faceclaim: kim sohyun

▹ height: 165 cm

▹ weight: 48 kg

▹ eye color: dark hazel; rich, earthy brown layered with streaks of green and amber; piercing warmth contained within muted depths; commanding attention without demanding it; alive with subtle fire beneath calm surfaces

▹ hair: shoulder-length, dark black; naturally curved ends brushing the shoulders; curtain bangs framing the forehead softly, parting subtly at the temples

▹ body type: slim, mesomorph

▹ scars, tattoos & birthmarks: calloused and patterned with tiny healed nicks on her fingers and knuckles, remnants of repeated handling of ammunition, scope adjustments, and shell casings

▹ piercings: bilateral lobes and helixes

▹ attire: blacks, greys, muted charcoal; simple lines, unadorned fabrics, slight variations in texture; clothing follows the body’s shape without clinging; relaxed sleeves and soft hems allow freedom; elegance arises from restraint, proportion, and effortless cohesion

▹ scent: dark amber, smoked vanilla with rich, hidden florals and sun-warmed woods

▹ mbti: istj ^{the logistician}

▹ zodiac: gemini

▹ moral alignment: chaotic neutral

▹ temperament: phlegmatic-melancholic

▹ positive traits: analytical, calm under pressure, observant, disciplined, patient, adaptable

▹ negative traits: detached, perfectionist, distrustful, coldly pragmatic, emotionally repressed

▹ habits: memorizes exits and layouts of any room she enters, counts her breaths before taking her shot, polishes her gear before and after every mission

▹ hobbies: marksmanship practice, assembling puzzles, stargazing on rooftops

▹ likes: clean spaces, sunrise and sunset, silence, simple meals, stationary

▹ dislikes: being touched unexpectedly, large crowds, cigarette smoke, messy spaces, cameras

▹ orientations: demiromantic & demisexual

▹ relationship status: single, not interested

▹ love languages:

quality time & acts of service (giving)

words of affirmation & quality time (receiving)

typing . . .

typing . . .

location:

status:

▹ full name: hwang hyeji (황혜지)

▹ date of birth: june 4, 1999

▹ age: 26

▹ gender: cis-female

▹ pronouns: she/her

▹ birth order: first

▹ birth place: paju, south korea

▹ current residence(s):

seoul, south korea

singapore

▹ education:

korean national police agency (knpa) - 2017 to 2020

valharis institute - 2020 to 2024

▹ affiliation(s):

707th special mission group (south korea) - 2024 to present

▹ language(s): korean, english, japanese, mandarin

▹ social(s):

public instagram: @h_hyeji

private instagram: @third_fate

relationship: very positive

status: alive

occupation: waitress, various odd jobs

connection: biological mother

"i will write plainly, and only once. the child is not mine—not in name, not in law, not in the life i have built. whatever has come of this, it belongs to you alone. i will provide what is necessary so that neither you nor the baby will want for anything, but do not mistake this for acknowledgment. she will never be recognized as mine.

do not come to me. do not appear at my door. do not disrupt the life i return to.

what happened between us was a mistake. this child is a mistake.

take the money. raise her quietly. keep her far from me."

hwang yeonghee had not been born into much. the fields of paju gave little, and though she carried beauty like sunlight over water, it brought her no fortune. her parents bent their backs in the soil, and she bore their burden with her own hands, moving to seoul in search of something more. she stitched days together through odd jobs: washing dishes, running errands, sewing hems by candlelight. every won she could spare was sent back to paju.

it was there, in the crowded veins of the capital, that he found her. an older man, polished, affluent, speaking to her with the ease of someone who had never known hunger. he gave her gifts she never asked for—jewelry, silk, promises. he told her she was special, cherished. she was young, soft-hearted, and when he spoke of love, she believed. he had no love to give, only the thrill of secrecy, the indulgence of a passing affair.

pregnancy was never his intention. for yeonghee, it was both ruin and revelation.

she returned to paju before her belly could no longer be hidden, to the narrow house with its slanted roof and the fields that whispered her name. summer bore down heavy when the child came, the air thick with cicadas.

the labor was long, sweat-soaked, punctuated by her muffled cries as neighbors whispered beyond the thin walls. when the midwife placed the baby in her arms, the child’s cry rang out strong, startlingly alive. then, just as quickly, it quieted. the silence was so sudden the midwife leaned close, certain the infant had slipped away. but when yeonghee looked down, she found her daughter wide-eyed, dark gaze fixed on her face, as though the child had come into the world not with grief, but with wonder.

hwang hyeji.

a mistake, some would have said. to yeonghee, she was breath itself. she was the proof that love—however false its beginnings—could leave behind something real.

and so, in a small countryside home under the heat of a paju summer, a child unwanted by her father became the very center of her mother’s world.

though the letter remained tucked away in a drawer, folded and creased from yeonghee’s restless hands, the money it promised lay almost untouched. pride kept her from reaching for it, even when days stretched thin. to her, every won sent was a tether—an attempt by that man to silence the weight of what he had abandoned. she would not let him buy his freedom so easily. instead, she rationed the sum like a locked chest of last resort. it would be for hyeji’s education, for the one future that might outgrow their modest beginnings.

still, she used a fraction of it to ease her parents’ lives in paju, enough to smooth the years etched into their backs. and when the old house grew steadier and their hands lighter, she gathered four-year-old hyeji by the hand and returned to seoul. the city welcomed them as it had before—its streets loud and unkind, its lights dazzling but indifferent. yet this time, yeonghee carried more than herself. she carried her entire world in the small figure clinging to her skirts.

they settled into a humble apartment, the kind that smelled faintly of cement and damp, with walls too thin for secrets but thick enough to keep the rain out. the money could have stretched further, but yeonghee refused to let it become the ground beneath her feet. instead, she returned to the same patchwork of jobs she once held—washing, mending, tending—while carefully measuring out what she had saved. there was always a roof. there was always a meal. nothing glittered, but nothing crumbled.

hyeji grew in this rhythm of enough. she did not taste extravagance, but she never starved. schoolbooks replaced toys, the crackle of oil in the pan filled the rooms more than laughter, yet there was warmth in their simplicity. she knew her mother’s hands were tired each night, and still they stroked her hair before bed. she knew the fridge never overflowed, yet there was always something placed before her. she learned young that security was not born from plenty, but from care.

when high school came, and the question of futures pressed down on her class like summer heat, hyeji bent over her paper with a quiet certainty. others wrote of offices, of universities, of bright careers cushioned by their families’ support. hyeji wrote: the korean national police force.

it startled yeonghee when she saw it. she had expected her daughter to choose something steady, perhaps safe, like teaching or medicine. but when she asked her why, hyeji answered with the simplicity of someone who had thought long but spoken little:

“because you raised me to be strong. you worked so hard to protect me from carrying your burdens. i want to protect people like that too—people who deserve to be safe, even if no one else cares. if i can keep someone from feeling abandoned, like you and i once were… then that’s what i want to do.”

the words pressed into yeonghee’s heart like both balm and blade. pride warred with fear; the pride of seeing her daughter choose a path of honor, and the fear of watching her step into danger. to her, hyeji was still the child who had once fit in her arms, silent and wondering beneath the heavy air of a paju summer. the thought of losing her to the risks of duty tightened every breath.

yet love outweighed fear. yeonghee had lived her life swallowing sacrifices so that her daughter could stand unbroken. if hyeji’s happiness bloomed in service and courage, then who was she to clip her wings? so she nodded, quietly, firmly, and told her daughter what she always had:

“whatever makes you happy, i will stand behind you.”

and so, a choice that had been born in silence, shaped by the struggles of a single mother’s devotion, set the course of hyeji’s life toward the uniform, the oath, and the weight of duty.

the academy years passed like fire through steel—hardship shaping resolve. hyeji’s body was smaller than most, her frame lean, but she quickly learned how to turn her stature into an edge. agility replaced brute force; precision outweighed recklessness. her instructors noted how she seemed to see the angles others missed—how a shot, a movement, a decision sharpened under her gaze. what began as potential hardened into mastery.

by the age of twenty-one and three years into the force, hyeji's name carried weight across training grounds and whispered admiration in briefings. her shots did not waver. targets fell before she exhaled. in operations, her body moved like memory itself—silent, exact, unstoppable. colleagues larger and stronger than her found themselves outpaced by her endurance, her ability to remain motionless for hours, her patience forged in silence.

soon, the korean national police force paraded her image—an emblem of diligence and strength, proof of progress in a world still learning to accept women in its harsher ranks. her face graced articles, interviews, photographs; the public admired her poise, her loyalty, her unshakable focus. for a moment, she seemed untouchable.

but institutions are built on fragile veneers. beneath the medals and salutes, corruption grew like rot beneath polished wood. deals were struck in shadows, favors exchanged for silence, and bribes tucked into the folds of the very system sworn to justice. when the cracks widened too far to hide, a scapegoat was needed. a name recognizable enough to mask the sins of those above.

that name was hers.

the accusations struck like gunfire: complicity, negligence, betrayal. papers printed her downfall as though it were fact, stripping away years of service in a single headline. her uniform was taken, her badge rescinded, her oath declared broken. it mattered little that evidence was shallow, that her hands were clean. the public trusted what they were fed. the institution she had bled for abandoned her without hesitation.

for yeonghee, the truth had never wavered. she believed her daughter’s innocence with a mother’s clarity and held her through the storm of disgrace. she reminded hyeji of her worth, whispered strength into her silences, and never once questioned her. yet for hyeji, the support felt like clinging to a rope already fraying. pride had defined her, the uniform had become her skin, and now it was torn away. nights stretched long, days bled hollow. the world she had built was collapsing, brick by brick.

until another hand reached through the ruin.

valharis institute.

the letter offered no absolution, no pity, but with respect—recognition of her skill, her precision, her resilience. not forgiveness, but utility; not shelter, but refinement. they asked for no explanations, only the readiness to be remade. it offered a trial and, if she passed, a new purpose.

broken and furious, hyeji grasped it.

and so, the sniper once held aloft as the pride of a nation disappeared somewhere far sharper, far colder. she stepped into the shadows of the best elite tactical operatives, shaped anew whose hands no longer trembled with the weight of justice but steadied with the inevitability of death.

hwang hyeji was no longer a symbol of service. she became a weapon—silent, precise, unflinching.

the years within valharis institute did not pass gently. they scorched, refined, and rebuilt. it was said that valharis stripped away humanity to reveal the mechanism beneath, and for hyeji, it felt like truth. she had already been broken once, what more could they take? but valharis demanded everything—blood, sleep, thought. it tore down the comfort of training and replaced it with extremity: blind tests in stormlight, psychological endurance in deprivation chambers, field exercises in subzero terrain where every breath counted as betrayal of position. failure was not punished with words; it was erased through exclusion.

and yet, she thrived.

her body, compact and lithe, became machinery of control, her heart rate dropping to impossible stillness under stress, her breathing measured like the rhythm of a metronome. handlers noted that she did not miss because she refused to act until she understood why the shot must be taken. while others aimed through instinct or aggression, she calculated. she moved like silence itself, blending precision and patience until the two became indistinguishable.

by her third year, she had earned a place in the iron guard, a division spoken of in reverence and dread. they were the force that held the blade. within their ranks, she was known for her marksmanship where a single shot cut through motion, wind, and shadow alike. she learned to see beyond the scope; to trace breath, pulse, and inevitability. her handlers began to call her inevitable, though never to her face.

during the graduation exam, no one bore witness to hyeji's survival inside the mausoleum. her uniform was torn, her hands streaked with ash, her eyes clear. she emerged alive, without tremor or word.

she had earned her alias of atropha—the fate who cuts the thread of life.

soon after, hyeji had accepted an offer from the 707th special mission group, the "white tigers" of south korea's special operations force of the republic of korea army (roka).

there, hyeji served with the calm exactness of someone shaped for nothing else. missions ended before they began; targets fell before her breath stilled. she wore her alias not as vanity but as truth: the last moment before silence.

her past remains unspoken, sealed beneath official records and polite lies. to her mother, she works a modest government post, the kind with long hours and simple rewards. hyeji prefers it that way. some truths, like threads, are not meant to be cut—only watched as they fade quietly into the dark.

▹ alias: atropha

▹ specialization: iron guard

▹ weapon(s): precision bolt-action rifles, designated marksman rifles, semi-automatic precision rifles, high-precision tactile rifles, anti-material rifles, basic handguns and pistols

AAAA I LOVE FAMU!SOHYUNS

i miss that face on you famu :sob: