quarantined_milk
Level 1
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
꧁⎝ ༺✧༻ ⎠꧂
Su Yanruochen
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Abnormalities:
Su has an abnoxiously loud voice though apart from that nothing too strange was visible.
Place of Birth:
╰┈➤ˎˊ˗Chongqing -China
Sexual Orientation:
Any living person.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
General Appearance:
Upon seeing them, you weren’t sure what gender Su was. Every part of their appearance balanced on that fine line between masculine and feminine, an intentional ambiguity, as if they were sculpted with the express purpose of leaving questions unanswered. Their long hair, a deep, glossy black, spilled past their shoulders in soft, unruly waves. The length added a faintly feminine silhouette, but the way they carried themselves—upright, measured, and almost eerily still—undermined any easy assumptions.
Su’s eyes were narrow and dark, like polished stones sunk into shadow. When the light struck them, they reflected it in thin, sharp slivers, suggesting a watchfulness that never loosened its grip. Their lashes were long but sparse, giving their stare a strangely exposed quality, as if emotion could leak through even when their expression remained unreadable.
Their skin was almost devoid of color—pale not in a sickly way, but in a manufactured one. It held an uncanny smoothness, too uniform, too perfect, as though it had been molded rather than grown. At close range the texture resembled fine silicone: slightly matte, almost frictionless, and lacking the subtle irregularities that normally give life to living flesh.
Personality:
They were loud—almost obnoxiously so—but not in the shrill, grating way that makes you want to cover your ears. Their voice had weight. Overwhelming, impossible to ignore, yet strangely controlled. Even when they weren’t shouting, their words seemed to strike the air with force, each syllable landing like a small command.
The slightest insult, even an accidental slight or a poorly chosen word, ignited them. Their tone snapped from forceful to ferocious in a heartbeat, like a whip cracking across a floor. They don’t just respond to offens, they launch at it, words lashing out with all the intensity of a cornered animal asserting dominance
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Character Voice:
˒﹚) [Yuri -Yarichin bitch club]
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Serious Problems/Flaws/Addictions/Disorders/Disabilities:
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────────
-Overbearing, pressuring or haranguin
───────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
-Contentious/Incendiary
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────────
-Slight narcissism
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────
-Erratic
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────────
-Rowdy
──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Backstory:
Su was born in Chongqing, China, a sprawling, humid city stacked in layers of neon, concrete, and steep hills. He spent most of his childhood weaving through its narrow alleyways and food-scented streets, living a fairly typical life by local standards. But Su had a restless itch that only grew sharper with age. The world felt too big, too strange, and too full of possibilities for him to stay in one place.
So, on a whim he barely stopped to question, he signed himself up for The Karakura Highschool. No planning, no second thoughts. He booked a flight the same night and arrived the very next day with nothing but a suitcase, a questionable level of confidence, and a vague idea of “self-discovery.”
A year into his new life, Su received news from home: his father had died after being hit by a bus. According to witnesses, his father had “faced the bus head-on like a hero" standing tall, unmoving, and striking a dramatic pose right before impact. People didn’t mourn much; his father had previously committed the infamous crime of stabbing someone twenty-seven times. Su, however, insisted it wasn’t his father’s fault, claiming “his hands slipped—repeatedly.”
Another year passed, and history repeated itself in the most bizarre way. His mother, also, was hit by a bus. Her reputation wasn’t much better—she had killed a man as well, though, as Su liked to point out, “only stabbed him twenty-six times, so it’s not nearly as bad.” His logic was questionable at best, but he clung to it with remarkable optimism.
Despite these… dramatic losses, Su still had plenty of family left. All seventeen of his surviving relatives worked together at a chaotic, bustling food market, running a wildly popular fried-food stall that always smelled like sizzling batter and chili oil. Su, however, remained proudly unemployed. Instead, he lived off the allowance his family gave him from the stall’s earnings—a small but steady stream of cash that kept him comfortable.
With that money, Su spent his days strolling through the streets of Karakura, buying utterly useless accessories, shiny trinkets, and whatever unnecessary items caught his eye. He wasted every coin with childlike joy, wandering without purpose, yet always with a bright, carefree smile on his face—as if life, in all its absurd tragedy, still delighted him beyond reason.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Family(or other people or something):
Aunt- (no name as of yet)
"A massive woman almost the size of a gorilla who works as one of the head chefs in the fried food stall. Imagine a woman, as buff as an olympian, holding a skewer inbetween every finger. That's her, that's his aunt"
-There's 16 other family members but i aint doing allat at once-
꧁⎝ ༺✧༻ ⎠꧂
Su Yanruochen
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Abnormalities:
Su has an abnoxiously loud voice though apart from that nothing too strange was visible.
Place of Birth:
╰┈➤ˎˊ˗Chongqing -China
Sexual Orientation:
Any living person.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
General Appearance:
Upon seeing them, you weren’t sure what gender Su was. Every part of their appearance balanced on that fine line between masculine and feminine, an intentional ambiguity, as if they were sculpted with the express purpose of leaving questions unanswered. Their long hair, a deep, glossy black, spilled past their shoulders in soft, unruly waves. The length added a faintly feminine silhouette, but the way they carried themselves—upright, measured, and almost eerily still—undermined any easy assumptions.
Su’s eyes were narrow and dark, like polished stones sunk into shadow. When the light struck them, they reflected it in thin, sharp slivers, suggesting a watchfulness that never loosened its grip. Their lashes were long but sparse, giving their stare a strangely exposed quality, as if emotion could leak through even when their expression remained unreadable.
Their skin was almost devoid of color—pale not in a sickly way, but in a manufactured one. It held an uncanny smoothness, too uniform, too perfect, as though it had been molded rather than grown. At close range the texture resembled fine silicone: slightly matte, almost frictionless, and lacking the subtle irregularities that normally give life to living flesh.
Personality:
They were loud—almost obnoxiously so—but not in the shrill, grating way that makes you want to cover your ears. Their voice had weight. Overwhelming, impossible to ignore, yet strangely controlled. Even when they weren’t shouting, their words seemed to strike the air with force, each syllable landing like a small command.
The slightest insult, even an accidental slight or a poorly chosen word, ignited them. Their tone snapped from forceful to ferocious in a heartbeat, like a whip cracking across a floor. They don’t just respond to offens, they launch at it, words lashing out with all the intensity of a cornered animal asserting dominance
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Character Voice:
˒﹚) [Yuri -Yarichin bitch club]
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Serious Problems/Flaws/Addictions/Disorders/Disabilities:
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────────
-Overbearing, pressuring or haranguin
───────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
-Contentious/Incendiary
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────────
-Slight narcissism
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────
-Erratic
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────────
-Rowdy
──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Backstory:
Su was born in Chongqing, China, a sprawling, humid city stacked in layers of neon, concrete, and steep hills. He spent most of his childhood weaving through its narrow alleyways and food-scented streets, living a fairly typical life by local standards. But Su had a restless itch that only grew sharper with age. The world felt too big, too strange, and too full of possibilities for him to stay in one place.
So, on a whim he barely stopped to question, he signed himself up for The Karakura Highschool. No planning, no second thoughts. He booked a flight the same night and arrived the very next day with nothing but a suitcase, a questionable level of confidence, and a vague idea of “self-discovery.”
A year into his new life, Su received news from home: his father had died after being hit by a bus. According to witnesses, his father had “faced the bus head-on like a hero" standing tall, unmoving, and striking a dramatic pose right before impact. People didn’t mourn much; his father had previously committed the infamous crime of stabbing someone twenty-seven times. Su, however, insisted it wasn’t his father’s fault, claiming “his hands slipped—repeatedly.”
Another year passed, and history repeated itself in the most bizarre way. His mother, also, was hit by a bus. Her reputation wasn’t much better—she had killed a man as well, though, as Su liked to point out, “only stabbed him twenty-six times, so it’s not nearly as bad.” His logic was questionable at best, but he clung to it with remarkable optimism.
Despite these… dramatic losses, Su still had plenty of family left. All seventeen of his surviving relatives worked together at a chaotic, bustling food market, running a wildly popular fried-food stall that always smelled like sizzling batter and chili oil. Su, however, remained proudly unemployed. Instead, he lived off the allowance his family gave him from the stall’s earnings—a small but steady stream of cash that kept him comfortable.
With that money, Su spent his days strolling through the streets of Karakura, buying utterly useless accessories, shiny trinkets, and whatever unnecessary items caught his eye. He wasted every coin with childlike joy, wandering without purpose, yet always with a bright, carefree smile on his face—as if life, in all its absurd tragedy, still delighted him beyond reason.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Family(or other people or something):
Aunt- (no name as of yet)
"A massive woman almost the size of a gorilla who works as one of the head chefs in the fried food stall. Imagine a woman, as buff as an olympian, holding a skewer inbetween every finger. That's her, that's his aunt"
-There's 16 other family members but i aint doing allat at once-
Last edited:
