Xfwildflower - * WILD / HEART

MADISON BAILEY via Instagram

MADISON BAILEY as KIARA CARRERA in

⏤ OUTER BANKS (S04)

madisonbaileybabe: Sad girls club

status : — closed for @delicateghvsts (brody)

location : — the brew house

lila  stared  down  at  the  three  bins  like  they  were  suspects  in  a  lineup.  blue.  green.  black.  each  one  carefully  labelled,  color-coded,  and  adorned  with  laminated  pictures  she'd  spent  an  embarrassing  amount  of  time  designing  in  canva.  she  even  taped  an  actual  banana  peel  to  the  green  one  for  visual  reinforcement.  if  brody  didn't  get  it  this  time,  she  was  going  to  lose  her  mind  –  or  worse,  her  will  to  recycle.  “okay,  brody,”  she  said,  tapping  the  green  bin  with  her  shoe.  “let's  say,  hypothetically,  you've  finished  your  smoothie  and  you're  holding  a  cup  with  the  little  leafy  symbol  on  it.  where  does  it  go?”  she  waits  for  a  beat,  before  continuing.  “green,”  she  answered  for  him,  before  he  could  point  to  the  black  and  break  her  spirit.  “green,  brody.  because  it  breaks  down.  compostable.  like  food.  plants.  things  that  come  from  the  earth  and  don't  have  barcodes.”  she  gestured  to  the  bins  again  with  the  flair  of  a  game  show  hostess  running  out  of  patience.  “blue  is  for  paper.  clean  paper.  not  paper  with  cheese  melted  into   it.  and  black  is  for  all  the  sad,  unrecyclable  garbage  we  pretend  doesn't  exist.”  her  eyes  narrowed  as  she  unwrapped  a  muffin  and  immediately  crumpled  the  wrapper  in  her  palm.  “don't  you  dare  say  green,”  she  warned,  voice  low  and  dangerous.  “if  you  say  green,  i  swear  i  will  dump  this  entire  bin  on  your  bed.” 

lila  startles  at  the  sound  of  ava's  voice,  her  eyes  lifting  from  the  rippling  surface  of  the  pond  to  meet  the  girl  she  hasn't  properly  spoken  to  since  before  everything  unraveled.  her  posture  stiffens  instinctively,  but  there's  no  edge  in  her  voice  when  she  speaks  –  just  a  quiet  sort  of  guilt  that's  lingered  ever  since  lizzie's  name  became  something  they  don't  say  out  loud  anymore.  “ava,  wait,”  lila  says,  rising  slowly  from  the  bench.  the  soft  morning  light  catches  on  the  tired  lines  under  her  eyes,  evidence  she  hasn't  been  sleeping  much  either.  “you  don't  have  to  go.  it's  a  public  bench.  you  probably  have  more  of  a  claim  to  it  than  i  do.”  she  swallows,  the  words  tasting  heavier  than  she  wants  them  to.  “i  didn't  know  you  came  out  here.  not  until  after.”  a  beat.  “i'm  not  here  to  start  anything,  i  swear.  i  just…  couldn't  sleep  either.”  there's  a  pause,  where  she  glances  down  at  her  hands  like  she's  bracing  herself.  “i  never  got  to  say  i'm  sorry.  not  just  for  what  happened.  for  –  everything.  for  what  i  did.  for  what  i  let  happen.”  her  voice  cracks  slightly,  but  she  forces  a  soft  breath  out  and  looks  up  again.  “you  don't  owe  me  anything,  ava.  i  just…  i'm  sorry.”

status : — closed for @xfwildflower

location : — the reflection pond

Dawn  has  only  just  begun  to  crack  the  night  sky  open  when  Ava  makes  her  way  to  her  favourite  bench  at  the  reflection  pond.  Another  night  of  staring  at  the  ceiling  with  a  whirring  brain  has  led  her  here  -  if  she’s  plagued  to  be  an  insomniac  for  the  rest  of  her  college  days,  she  may  as  well  make  it  scenic.  Everything  feels  different  in  the  dull  glow  of  the  rising  morning  -  softer  somehow  in  the quiet  hours  before  the  rest  of  the  campus  wakes  up.  A  serenity  the  brunette  is  actually  looking  forward  to  bathing  in  when  she  rounds  the  small bend  of  shrubs  and  finds  someone  already  there.  “ Oh, ”  Ava  murmurs  quietly,  halting  her  stride.  The  night’s  weariness  seems  to  catch  up  to  her  in  that  moment  when  she  recognises  the  frame,  and  with  it  all  the  uncomfortable  messes  Lizzie  had  made  with  them.  “ I  didn’t  think  anyone  else  would  be  out  this  early,  sorry.  I’ll  go. ”

lila rae brooks ──── twenty3, environmental studies, junior.

❀ ABOUT ❀ MUSINGS ❀ VISAGE ❀ PINTEREST ❀ THREADS

status : — closed for @opheliabinici

location : — the langley library

lila  wasn't  usually  one  for  silence.  not  the  kind  that  settled  between  bookcases,  humming  with  fluorescent  light  and  dust  motes.  but  langley  library  had  a  way  of  stilling  her  –  of  quieting  the  chaos  that  usually  lived  just  behind  her  ribs.  and  today,  she  needed  that  more  than  she  cared  to  admit.  she  sat  cross-legged  at  a  corner  table,  surrounded  by  the  organized  mess  of  open  books,  sticky  notes,  and  a  hulf-drunk  coffee  that  had  long  gone  cold.  her  laptop  was  open  but  ignored,  the  screen  dimmed  to  black.  instead,  she  was  thumbing  through  a  worn  copy  of  this  changes  everything,  underlining  with  more  pressure  than  necessary.  her  jaw  tightened  as  she  read  another  passage  that  pissed  her  off  –  in  a  good  way,  in  a  this  should  make  everyone  angry  way.  she  let  out  a  short  breath,  sat  back,  and  rubbed  at  her  temple.  “jesus,”  she  muttered  under  her  breath,  barely  loud  enough  for  anyone  to  hear.  except  someone  did.  lila  looked  up,  brows  lifting  as  her  eyes  caught  a  familiar  figure  a  few  tables  over.  ophelia.  her  hand  hovered  in  a  pause  before  waving.  “hey,”  she  said  quietly,  then  gestured  at  the  chaos  in  front  of  her.  “guess  we're  both  gluttons  for  punishment.”  a  small  smile  tugged  at  the  corner  of  her  mouth  –  rare,  but  genuine.  “i'm  digging  through  all  this  for  my  climate  policy  paper.  you  too,  or  are  you  just  here  for  the  vibes?”  she  let  her  pen  fall  against  the  table  with  a  soft  clatter,  then  tilted  her  head.  “i've  gotta  say…  it's  kind  nice.  knowing  someone  else  here  actually  gives  a  shit.”  her  voice  dropped  slightly,  more  vulnerable  than  usual.  “gets  a  little  lonely,  y'know?”  lila  shrugged  it  off  quickly,  already  shifting  back  into  something  lighter.  “anyway,  if  you  wanna  join  forces  –  compare  notes,  or  rage  about  fossil  fuel  subsidies  –  i'm  not  going  anywhere  for  a  while.” 

status : — closed for @goodgrac3s (blue)

location : — second hand threads

the  scent  of  old  fabric  and  citrus-scented  disinfectant  clung  to  the  air,  as  familiar  to  liila  now  as  her  own  shampoo.  she  was  elbow-deep  in  a  box  of  donations,  pulling  out  a  faded  bon  jovi  tour  tee  that  had  definitely  seen  better  decades,  when  the  silence  of  the  store  struck  her  harder  than  usual.  no  laughter  from  the  dressing  rooms.  no  half-assed  lizzie  commentary  from  the  fitting  room  bench.  just  the  buzz  of  the  ceiling  fan  and  the  low  murmur  of  some  indie  playlist  she'd  queued  up  an  hour  ago.  lila  swallowed  hard.  the  shirt  in  her  hands  crumpled  in  her  fingers.  she  didn't  allow  herself  to  cry  at  work.  that  was  for  the  confines  of  her  dorm  room,  exclusively.  she  straightened  up,  her  jaw  clenched,  and  shoved  the  shirt  onto  a  hanger.  when  she  heard  footsteps,  soft-soled  and  familiar  lila  didn't  even  look  up  before  she  spoke.  “you'd  think  murder  would  come  with  more  closure,  huh?”  her  voice  came  out  flatter  than  she'd  intended.  not  bitter.  not  angry.  just…  hollow.  like  she'd  run  out  of  steam  three  grief  spirals  ago.  she  finally  glanced  over  at  blue,  brushing  a  strand  of  hair  from  her  cheek  as  she  nodded  toward  the  donation  pile.  “someone  donated  a  live,  laugh,  love  wall  decal.  if  that's  not  a  goddamn  sign,  i  don't  know  what  is.”

[  madison bailey.  ciswoman.  she/her.  subplot  29.  ]  welcome  back  to  montclair  university,  lila rae  brooks  !  according  to  your  student  file  you're  a  twenty-three  year  old  junior,  studying  environmental studies,  and  funny  enough  you  were  voted  most likely to turn a van into a tiny home  your  senior  year  of  high  school  back  home  in  burlington, vermont.  i  can  totally  see  it  with  your  empathetic,  free-spirited  and  avoidant  personality  !  but  enough  about  that  —  i  heard  you  were  lizzie  harrington's  partner in crime.  makes  sense  when  you  take  into  consideration  your  status  as  a  scholarship  student…  and  the  fact  that  you're  hiding  [redacted].  you're  often  seen  at  the brew house,  and  you  kind  of  embody  cosy thrifted sweaters, messy sketchbooks, playlists full of indie and soul, urban hikes, coffee shop work sessions, voice notes instead of texts…  not  to  mention  people  always  seem  to  hum  dog days are over  by  florence + the machine  when  you're  around,  but  you'll  always  be  known  on  campus  as  the wildflower  who  enjoys journaling  and  has  15,000   instagram  followers…  good  luck  this  semester  !

basics.

full name: lila rae brooks

nickname(s): n/a.

birthday / age: july 7th / twenty-three

zodiac: cancer

gender & pronouns: ciswoman, she/her

sexual orientation: pansexual

relationship status: in a relationship

hometown: burlington, vermont

languages: english & french

family: jeremy brooks (father), celeste brooks nee bouchard (mother), leah brooks (younger sister)

personality.

traits: free-spirited, empathetic, creative, curious, nonconformist, compassionate, idealisti, witty, unpredictable, sensitive, grounded, observant, stubborn, secretive, avoidant

reference characters: effy stonem (skins uk), frankie (someone great), penny lane (almost famous)

history.

lila rae brooks was born with a streak of summer sunlight warming her cheeks and the faint scent of wild mint in the air. her mother, celeste, a french immigrant from lyon, brought a poetic soul into their modest home -- a one-bedroom apartment above a hardware store with creaky floors, a tiny balcony garden, and stacks of well-loved books in both french and english. her father, jeremy, a local handyman and part-time mechanic, worked odd jobs to make ends meet while her mother waitressed long shifts, still managing to fill their evenings with stories and song.

from an early age, lila understood what it meant to live simply. they were never homeless, but they teetered close -- barely scraping by, skipping new clothes, and stretching leftovers into next-day meals. her younger sister, leah, was the bright-eyed balance to lila's thoughtful stillness. together, the girls learned how to thrive on creativity, love, and community instead of material comfort. celeste taught them how to mend clothes by hand, how to make lavender tea to ease anxiety, and how to speak up for things that mattered.

lila took that lesson to heart. she was the girl who organized recycling at school before it was trendy, who led climate change awareness projects, and who felt most alive barefoot in the woods or journaling by lake champlain. nature was her constant -- a steady, grounding force in a life of uncertainty. she saw beauty in overgrown sidewalks, in compost piles, in the slow resilience of the earth. her passion for the environment wasn't a phase -- it was a calling.

when it came time for college, lila knew her family couldn't afford it. but she also knew she couldn't stay still. her dream was to make real, tangible change, to protect the kind of quiet, natural beauty she grew up with. she applied for a scholarship to montclair, pouring herself into an essay about growing up in burlington with immigrant roots, scarce money, and an abundance of wonder. she wrote about how environmentalism wasn't just a cause -- it was survival, healing, and hope.

she got in. full ride. and for the first time in her life, lila could imagine shaping her own future.

about lizzie.

lila and lizzie were an unlikely duo at first glance. lila, the earthy, bohemian scholarship kid from vermont, and lizzie, montclair's golden girl with a polished smile and a reputation for perfection. but beneath lila's gentle aura was a sharp, curious mind, and lizzie saw it instantly. what started as a shared class and a few late-night talks in the campus greenhouse grew into something more calculated: a quiet alliance built on trust, secrets, and subtle power.

lizzie was the strategist, the face. lila was the shadow. while lizzie worked the social scene, lila gathered information others let slip in moments of vulnerability, her warm, safe presence disarming even the most guarded. they fed off each other, each bringing out a more dangerous edge in the other. lila, who once saw herself as a protector of truth and nature, learned the value of leverage. lizzie taught her how to weaponize it.

together, they were unstoppable. two halves of a brilliant, manipulative whole. but even in their closeness, lila kept parts of herself hidden. she admired lizzie, maybe even loved her in some twisted way. but she never forgot the game they were playing. and in that game, loyalty was conditional.

headcanons.

she never wears matching socks on purpose. it's her quiet rebellion against perfectionism.

she talks to plants like they're people. not for show, she genuinely believes energy matters, and her dorm is a mini jungle because of it.

she has a memory box hidden under her bed filled with dry flowers, old bus tickets, and handwritten notes -- souveniers from people she's loved, even if they hurt her.

she's fluent in french, thanks to her mother, and switches to it subconsciously when emotional or flustered.

she once ran a secret zine in high school exposing pollution from a local factory. anonymously, of course.

she has a complicated relationship with social media, keeping her profile vague and aesthetic-driven while rarely posting personal thoughts. she hates how curated everything feels, even though she participates in it.

she collects vintage tarot decks, even if she doesn't fully believe in them. she's more interested in the art and symbolism than the predictions.

she has a soft spot for sad indie music, especially lyrics that sound like they were ripped from someone's journal.

she always leaves places cleaner than she found them. whether it's a classroom, a campsite, or someone's apartment. it's a quiet habit passed down from her mom, rooted in belief that care for the world starts in small, invisible acts.

she still writes letters to lizzie, even after her death. folded carefully and tucked away in her notebook, never sent.