Lila  Laughed  Before  She  Could  Stop  Herself  –  Too  Sharp,  Too  Sudden,  But  Honest. 

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  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?"

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.” 

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.” 

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

❀ ABOUT ❀ MUSINGS ❀ VISAGE ❀ PINTEREST ❀ THREADS

[  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 via Instagram