Status : — Closed For @delicateghvsts (brody)

lila  laughed  before  she  could  stop  herself  –  too  sharp,  too  sudden,  but  honest.  it  didn't  reach  her  eyes,  not  all  the  way,  but  it  cracked  something  open  in  her  chest  just  the  same.  she  hadn't  expected  tahj  to  joke,  not  after  everything.  she'd  braced  for  cold  shoulders  and  unfinished  sentences,  maybe  even  that  easy  charm  turned  against  her  like  a  blade.  instead,  he  met  her  somewhere  in  the  middle,  and  that  –  hurt  more  than  if  he'd  just  walked  away.  “four  drinks?”  she  repeated,  arching  a  brow  as  she  tilted  her  head,  feigning  consideration.  “that's  a  tall  order,  tahj.  especially  since  i  still  don't  know  what  you  drink.  you  could  be  setting  me  up  for  the  worst  tab  of  my  life.”  there  was  a  flicker  of  something  softer  in  her  expression,  something  tentative.  she  shifted  her  weight  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  thumb  hooking  into  the  waistband  of  her  jeans  –  nervous  habit,  always  had  been.  it  grounded  her  when  her  nerves  threatened  to  crackle  to  the  surface  like  live  wire.  and  being  here,  being  in  front  of  him,  brought  back  more  than  just  guilt.  it  brought  warmth.  familiarity.  memories  she  hadn't  had  the  guts  to  revisit  in  weeks.  “i  don't  expect  you  to  just…  let  it  go,”  she  said,  her  voice  quieter  now,  as  if  the  bass  had  somehow  receded  for  her  to  be  honest.  “i  know  i  bailed  on  something  important.  i  know  what  that  night  meant.  to  you.  to  both  of  us.”  her  fingers  toyed  with  the  edge  of  her  chain  as  she  spoke,  twisting  the  cool  metal  like  it  might  anchor  her  in  this  moment.  “and  i  hate  that  i  turned  it  into  something  it  wasn't  supposed  to  be.  i  hate  that  i  didn't  show  up  for  you.”  she  hesitated,  eyes  tracing  the  lines  of  his  face  –  still  so  familiar,  even  after  weeks  of  silence.  still  kind,  even  when  he  looked  like  he  wanted  to  be  mad.  “but  if  you  let  me,”  she  added  softly,  “i'd  like  to  start  making  it  up  to  you,”  a  beat.  “let  me  get  you  that  drink,  bleeding  heart  and  all,”  she  mused,  her  smile  crooked  again  –  but  this  time  gentler,  not  hiding  behind  it.  “first  round's  on  me.  you  can  decide  if  the  second's  worth  sticking  around  for.” 

Tahjun was almost always at the Prism if time allowed it, something about letting go to the music, to the hum of the crowd, the smell of alcohol, sweat, and perfume. It felt as if only a filled club like this could truly embracr all his senses and make him for a moment forget people and places and things. It silenced the mind, enough that he didn’t think about how to shake his own spirit. But his content smile soon faltered when the bodies around him parted and Lila appeared.

He considered Lila a friend, not just a friend by association - as most people were - but someone he'd actually make plans with, someone he wouldn't so quickly try to trick of his own amusement - unless it was so easy, then it would be a flaw to let the opportunity pass. Being ghosted was painful, and he would've hated it no matter the party, but being ghosted at the party, the one that was the last place he'd seen Lizzie. That was more than just bad taste, and no amount of liquids could wash it away.

He made a face as Lila spoke, trying to find it in his heart not to forgive her. He wanted to stay mad at her.

He crossed his arms. "You should've." Narrowing his eyes slightly, he found he'd rather speak with her than continue being mad, too much had happened. "One drink? Four at least to stop my bleeding heart!"

status : — closed for @dvrkhallways (thajun)

location : — prism

the  prism  was  loud  in  all  the  ways  lila  needed  it  to  be.  bass  heavy  enough  to  rattle  her  thoughts  loose,  lights  strobing  fast  enough  to  blur  the  edges  of  memory.  she  didn't  come  her  often  anymore  –  too  many  ghosts  lurking  between  the  barstools  and  booths  –  but  something  about  tonight  had  pulled  her  in.  she  wasn't  dressed  to  impress.  black  cropped  tank,  her  old  docs,  a  silver  chain  tangled  twice  around  her  throat.  just  enough  to  belong.  not  enough  to  be  looked  at.  she'd  perfected  that  balance  ages  ago.  her  palms  were  still  a  little  clammy  from  the  cold  outside,  fingers  wrapped  around  a  sweating  glass  she  hadn't  touched  in  ten  minutes.  she  hadn't  planned  on  seeing  anyone.  definitely  not  him.  “tahj?”  her  voice  rose  above  the  music  as  she  stepped  into  his  line  of  sight,  more  uncertain  than  she'd  like  to  admit.  she  didn't  expect  him  to  smile.  maybe  didn't  deserve  one.  they  hadn't  spoken  since  that  night.  the  one  where  she'd  texted  him  be  there  soon  and  then  never  showed.  no  warning,  no  explanation.  just  silence.  “i  wasn't  stalking  you,  if  that's  what  you're  thinking,”  she  said,  offering  a  crooked  half-smile.  “i  just…  ended  up  here.”   a  beat  passed.  “i  should've  texted.  after.  i  just  didn't  know  what  to  say  that  wouldn't  make  things  worse.”  she  took  a  shallow  breath,  tugging  her  sleeve  down  over  the  heel  of  her  hand.  “i  know  i  ghosted.  i  know  i  probably  messed  that  night  up  for  you.  but  i  didn't  plan  on  blowing  you  off.  something  came  up.  and  i  should've  said  that.  you  didn't  deserve  the  radio  silence.”  her  eyes  lifted  to  meet  his,  open  and  steady.  “you  were  my  friend.  still  are,  if  you  want  to  be.  that's  why  i'm  saying  this  now.”  she  glanced  towards  the  bar,  then  back  at  him.  “you  want  a  drink?  my  treat.  consider  it  a  very,  very  late  apology.” 

madisonbaileybabe: Sad girls club

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

❀ ABOUT ❀ MUSINGS ❀ VISAGE ❀ PINTEREST ❀ THREADS

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.”

lila  looked  down  at  the  flyer  like  it  might  bite  her.  it  had  stopped  right  against  her  sandal,  edges  crumpled,  half-smeared  ink  still  catching  in  the  light.  her  brows  lifted  as  she  reached  to  pick  it  up,  fingers  brushing  paper  that  still  radiated  heat  from  november's  fury.  of  course  it  was  her.  no  one  else  moved  like  a  weapon.  “hey  nova,”  lila  said,  voice  warm  but  careful,  like  she  was  approaching  a  spooked  animal.  her  grip  tightened  slightly.  “you  know,  one  day  you're  gonna  throw  something  and  actually  start  a  fire.”  she  glanced  up,  studying  the  way  november's  jaw  set  like  a  trap.  it  made  lila  ache  a  little,  in  the  soft  spot  that  she  always  reserved  for  people  who  held  in  too  much.  “you  okay?”  she  asked,  gently,  but  she  didn't  wait  for  an  answer.  she  offered  the  paper  out  like  a  peace  offering.  “here.  i  won't  read  it  if  you  don't  want  me  to,”  she  mused  with  a  small,  crooked  smile.  “but  if  you're  starting  a  collection,  i  can  help.  i've  got  like,  five  in  my  backpack  already.”  she  tilted  her  head.  “we  could  make  a  collage.  or…  set  them  on  fire.  your  call.” 

who?  open,  capped  at  0/3. where?  the  montclair  quad.

the  anonymous  campus  menace  must  think  they're  real  clever,  and  as  a  woman  who  much  prefers  to  keep  her  own  life  personal,  november  finds  their  larking  particularly  irritating.  her  already  barely-concealed  rage  simmers  every  time  she  walks  past  those  goddamn  flyers.  they're  everywhere,  and  she's  already  seen  a  few  this  morning.  day  ruined.  the  next  one  she  spots  quickly  becomes  the  target  of  her  fury—it's  taped  to  a  lamp  post,  and  she  tears  it  down  without  breaking  her  stride,  crumples  it  in  her  fist  without  bothering  to  read  past  the  first  line.  the  quad  itself  is  deceptively  peaceful,  and  the  brunette  marches  straight  through  it,  a  storm  cloud  veering  towards  the  nearest  trash  can,  the  paper  remains  still  clutched  in  hand.  hand  winds  up  like  she's  about  to  throw  it  hard;  nova  narrows  her  gaze  like  she's  lining  up  the  shot.  the  balled-up  flyer  arcs  wide,  hits  the  pavement,  rolls  for  one,  two,  three  seconds  .  .  .  and  hits  someone's  foot.  "fuck,"  she  hisses  under  her  breath  before  stalking  a  few  paces  closer,  voice  louder  this  time.  "sorry.  bad  aim."  a  tilt  of  her  head  at  the  paper,  then:  "well?  you  gonna  toss  it  out,  or  hand  it  over  so  i  can?"

[  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.

MADISON BAILEY as KIARA CARRERA in

⏤ OUTER BANKS (S04)