avan jogia & they + them/ non binary ‷ watch out , avi amin has crash-landed into roswell !! they look twenty-seven years old and celebrate their birthday on july twenty-eighth. they are from san francisco, california, reside in the greystone complex and are currently working as a clerk at callisto costume store. one thing you should know about them is in their high school years they got so fed up with the ripped jeans fad, that they deliberately bought five pairs & sewed the holes up with rainbow thread. ‷
hello, gang !! mickey here with my child, avi ! i haven’t been in a tumblr rp in a hot minute, but i’m excited to be a part of this one ! so without further ado, below is avi’s bio ~ and if you wanna plot, i’ve got some wanted connections listed here !
BASICS
○ 𝗕𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗛 𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘 : avi balmohan amin. ○ 𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗞𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘(𝗦) : vi, abba. ○ 𝗗.𝗢.𝗕 / 𝗔𝗚𝗘 : july twenty-eighth, twenty-seven. ○ 𝗭𝗢𝗗𝗜𝗔𝗖 : leo. ○ 𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥 / 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗦 : non binary, they/them. ○ 𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗨𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬 : bisexual, demiromantic. ○ 𝗠𝗔𝗝𝗢𝗥 : fashion design. ○ 𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗧𝗢𝗪𝗡 : san francisco, ca. ○ 𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗨𝗔𝗚𝗘𝗦 : english, some gujarati, broken spanish. ○ 𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗜𝗠 : avan jogia.
OVERVIEW
○ 𝗜𝗧 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗔 𝗙𝗔𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗗 𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗜𝗔𝗚𝗘, your parents signing the dotted line of their divorce papers a few months after you turn four. too doe eyed to know what’s going on, but saddened enough to remember missing the smell of your mother’s perfume. ○ 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗙𝗔𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗘𝗦 𝗢𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗣𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗜𝗕𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬 𝗢𝗙 𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨. his struggles burdening the roof over your head as he juggles credit card debt and working two part time jobs. bitter mutterings about your mother sticking to the roof of his mouth whenever he cooks a TV dinner, your ears never getting the full story on why she left. ○ 𝗨𝗡𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗧𝗨𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗟𝗬 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗛𝗜𝗠, it’s hard for you to let go, your chocolate hues alighting beneath your mother’s scarves as you play make believe with the clothes she left behind. adorning yourself in white pearls & burgundy colored heels. the reflection in the mirror marked as beautiful whenever you act as your mother & compliment your appearance with a blown kiss & a dazzling grin. secretly yearning for that maternal validation despite not recognizing it yet. ○ 𝗦𝗜𝗫 𝗬𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗚 𝗜𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗜𝗡 𝗔 𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗚 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗟𝗘 you witness a smile curl onto your father’s lips. the creases on his forehead replaced with dimples on his cheeks. flowers in his hands, lipstick stains on his collar. as though he’s filled the lines with technicolor, cracking open the seal of his heart as he lets someone else in. ○ 𝗛𝗘'𝗦 𝗠𝗘𝗧 𝗦𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗕𝗢𝗗𝗬 𝗡𝗘𝗪, that much is obvious. this newfound relationship arousing a breath of fresh air once you’re both introduced two months in, the baggage she comes with hanging off her leg with the same doe eyes you once had a couple years ago. her daughter’s messy hair resembling the unkempt mop atop your own head. ○ 𝗗𝗘𝗟𝗜𝗟𝗔𝗛. just a couple years younger than you. her innocence wrapped up in scrunchies & bows, the chuckles that emit from her chest like a gentle reminder that tomorrow’s a new day. and it’s funny — at first — how different her outlook is compared to yours, the girl’s high pony & idealism clashing with your loud, attention seeking aesthetic. but as her life begins to bleed into yours, it doesn’t take long for these contrasts to pit against each other, the uneven balance soon challenged when your father and her mother decide to tie the knot. ○ 𝗜𝗧'𝗦 𝗖𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗥 𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗟𝗬 𝗢𝗡 that you struggle to climb the metaphorical ladder that’s wedged between the two of you, these expectations & comparisons your father has placed now painting your efforts as lazy & lackadaisical. delilah’s successes in science, history, & math overshadowing your strengths in the arts & theatrics, this nontraditional approach erupting a deep rooted frustration within your father that inevitably boils over once you argue your right to be referred to as they & them. ○ 𝗡𝗢𝗪 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥, 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘'𝗦 𝗔 𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗩𝗘 𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗖𝗧 between who you’re supposed to be & who you want to be. tiptoeing this tightrope as you develop a dry witted tongue, cutting through awkward family dinners by asserting your opinion over those who disagree. dramatizing your words, enunciating each syllable in the off chance your father will listen. instead, however, he reacts with his fists banging against the table & he shouts, ” i don’t understand you! ” to which you calmly look at him, sigh, & say, ” then let me express myself & maybe one day you will. ” ○ 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗣 𝗧𝗢𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗗𝗦 𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 is rocky at best, an olive branch extending when you realize that your father’s judgment had stemmed from a sense of loathing, one he’s held onto since your mother left. he was blaming her through you because you harbor qualities that remind him of how she used to be. like her knack for creating things out of nothing & her ability to draw attention in a crowded room, something he assures you is a compliment. ○ 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗣𝗔𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦 & 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗦𝗢𝗠 into someone who makes statements with black lined lids & painted fingernails, the mesh fabric of your shirt just an invitation for bystanders to look. you find confidence in your ability to maintain your own aesthetic, standing tall when your influence bleeds onto those around you, a sense of pride tickling pierced ears as you elicit gasps & criticism whenever you walk into a room. symbolizing yourself as a trend-setter, someone who’s effortlessly unbothered. this foundation of self-assurance often drawing people in like magnets, these copycats & leeches, victims who’ve lost their identity, now stealing inspiration from the only person around who’s so sure of their own. you. ○ 𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗡 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦 𝗦𝗘𝗧 𝗢𝗡 𝗥𝗢𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗟𝗟, you’ve already paved your way, carving out a path that fits the image you’re committed to uphold. and it’s because of your innovator instincts & entrepreneur touch that you’ve begun marketing your own fashion line from your dingy apartment’s living room. this new position on life allowing you to mismatch & retouch old into new in the hopes of one day catching the attention of those who’re willing to promote & sponsor your latest creations in your own name. ○ 𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛 𝗛𝗢𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗟𝗬, 𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗩𝗘 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗚𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗬 𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗥𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘. it’s been three years into your journey & instead of reaching for the stars, you’re stuck trying to cover rent while working a day job at the local costume shop. your originality, your individualism, your opportunity — they slowly slip away from you as you burn your wallet dry & burn yourself out. this odd pond that is roswell, new mexico slowly drowning you with debt, the taste of tequila on your lips now becoming more of a crutch than a stress reliever as the projects pile high in unorganized sticky notes on your coffee table; losing yourself while trying to become something of yourself. ( you just gotta pull your act together ) which is why as you look in the mirror & wear your mom’s scarf for old time’s sake — ○ 𝗧𝗪𝗢 𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗠𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗦: who even are you, avi amin? and are you ready to find out?
