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jackson hole, wyoming became the heart and hearth of a hollow hell following the world's destructive end. founded by an old man named charles garnier after he refused to leave him home post-outbreak day, both he and his only daughter cared for the town and nourished what would become a thriving settlement. after his death, maria would lead all welcomed survivors to a life of peaceful living, making it through each day with a new warmth the world had forgotten.

mold was the first semblance of memory liana ever had. a fibonacci sequence of little black dots, scaling across her bedroom ceiling. one splotch, then two, then three, five, eight. on and so on, until she was unable to keep up with the continuous numbers. she loved to count them, sometimes obsessively, because it brought her comfort whereas most things could not. she liked numbers, how they grew as she did. how they were the same across every country, their elegant patterns, their hidden poetry. numbers were consistent, liana’s life was not. her parents were strident, her fellow safe zone residents were belligerent, and liana was left to her numbers. counting and counting, the mold on the walls, the mold in the people. rot augmented from within them, rampant in the streets of her home. she had a loose understanding that all safe zones were this precarious, this close to demented, but she could do little as a child but watch it decay.

liana was born into a hollow husk of an old world memory, raised among a pit of militant vipers: a shattered environment bred into existence after the cruel transition from outbreak to acclimation, hand-built by soldiers, controlled by the undeserving. brutality ruled the safe zone, flowing through the city like a polluted river — and isa briggs ruled the people, captaining a ship that was sinking. she spent most of her childhood in observation of his harshness, watching as he commanded weak-minded people, shepherding sheep to their slaughter. they served their sparse purposes with little opposition, and liana watched from a position where compliance was naturally demanded of her. she set the curve in every position, outsmarted every academic rival, outfought any challenge thrown at her combatively. groomed to be exactly who she was born as; a toy soldier, like her mother and father. It disgusted her, and she hated them for it.

when their system began to rot beneath their feet like shabby floorboards, liana was not surprised. when inspired insurgents lynched them by their throats in the townsquare, liana was finally free of their influence. the creaking of weakening rope, their shoes so neatly tied like the nooses around their necks; her final memory, and one her mind still blurs with mold. With numbers. wausau was nothing but an amber stain bleeding into the night sky when liana made her escape, nothing left but ash and fading memory. she was a child alone, barely eleven, and forced to overcome challenges greater than herself. she was given no alternative, and she was determined to defy her odds.

months of isolation fractured her mind and broke her body into lost pieces, a trial of self preservation and moral strength was the greatest test her mind was ever put to. no one left to guide her through the rocky ravines of survival, not a trusted soul alive to hold her hand through the hardships which befell her. liana counted the nights she slept, few — the things she had killed, many. if there was anything she understood about that damning loneliness, it was that. it took a stomach full of rotting buffen and blood-covered skin, but liana would be found. she would be cared for by a man who would teach her what family really meant. creed and his son were far from innocent survivors, and wherever they went, a trail of fear was sure to follow, but she loved them. they were hers. and despite the path of viscera and dogmatic survival, she was theirs too.

jackson changed her for the better, and turned a feral child with an interest in blood into a prodigy with a scalpel and blade. liana and her familial companions had gone from monstrous and ichor-stained survivors tied to fanatical traditions, to some of the highest ranked and most respected members of their close-knit community. she studied the art of healing just as she practiced her ability to harm, creating a perfect balance between life and death, and turning herself into a well-rounded powerhouse of a young woman. who she was before and who she chose to be were very similar in nature, but they were no longer the same person. she was a deadly nightshade, but she was also the antidote. liana did not help people who did not deserve it, did not kill without a cause. she, the personification of forgotten mercy.

specialized with passive combat, a natural with a staff, a beast with a steel knife — a worthy opponent to any enemy, a perfect ally to those in need. jackson revered her, her family adored her, and her friends protected her with every ounce of their lives. liana was one of the most cherished components to her community, and the glue which held her allies together. without her, corruption was bound to ensue. with her, she mended the wounds of the past with gentle hands and a bleeding heart. she had grown up, let the numbers go, cleaned the mold from her memory; now, she was a lily in the mud, and the world would not take this from her, no matter how hard it tried. she would never be lonely again, and when madness still lingered in her shattered mind, light shone through each crack. sicut lilium inter spinas. this was who she was.

the gangs dramatic enchantress

the velvet potions witch

𐔌 🧪꒷ᛝ 𓏲ꪆ ྀིྀི

lover of horror and everything retro and wierd

priscylla CHERRY lovette ,

Born november 27th 1..9…….XX……redacted at 3:00am on a very peculiar, and very red , and very stormy, early morning. Crimson stained the dark sky and thunder rattled the windows but the most memorable part of that early morning was the mesmerizing 𝔠𝐡𝓮𝖗𝗿𝔂 red hair that came with lady miss Cylla.

Although she might come across as a snob or someone very stuck-up, being a lovette heiress and all, from the moment she could walk, Priscylla was fascinated by all things strange and supernatural. She was obsessed with anything others might close their eyes at. She spent countless hours wandering the endless halls of Lovette Manor, carefully listing every ghostly presence she claimed to sense while inventing elaborate histories for each one. The servants often found her speaking to empty rooms as though carrying on perfectly ordinary conversations. But her curiosity didn’t just stop there.

Priscylla frequently disappeared into the manor’s ancient cellar, rumored to be haunted for generations, where she concocted “potions” from wild herbs, rainwater, flower petals, and whatever strange ingredients she could find in the cellar. Though most of these mixtures accomplished nothing more than creating terrible smells, Priscylla remained convinced that one day she would uncover genuine magic or perhaps even a mythical eldritch mystery that had went unsolved for hundreds of years . . . . . . . perhaps . . . Just maybe??????????????

THUS BEGAN . . . . 🔮

It wasn’t until one particularly windy fall afternoon that the gang met ─ though, of course, they weren’t known as “the gang” back then.

Tragedy had recently struck Crystal Cove. Earlier that morning, a monstrous creature had rampaged through the center of town, reducing the historic town clock to rubble before vanishing without a trace. In the blink of an eye the entire town had gathered around searching for answers.

Among the crowd stood Fred Jones, Daphne Blake, Velma Dinkley, and Priscylla Lovette, each investigating the scene for their own reasons. Even at the age of 9 and 10 they each felt a compulsion for mystery solving. While examining the debris, all four noticed the same strange clue: a trail of deep crimson dust leading away from the destroyed clock tower and toward the abandoned Blackwood factory on the outskirts of town ─ the old family-owned factory belonging to the Blackwoods, the family of Priscylla’s best friend ( and secret crush ), Blair Blackwood. Independently, and without knowing it, each decided to follow it.

As fate would have it, Shaggy Rogers and his Great Dane, Scooby-Doo, accidentally stumbled upon the mystery entirely by chance after taking a wrong turn while searching for a new sandwich shop and finding themselves at the very same abandoned factory.

When they all noticed each other and realized they were all there for the same thing ( well most of them ) they decided to put their minds together and solve this mystery.

A week later the monster had been unmasked and the mystery solved. After that first case, they found it difficult to separate and therefore never truly did. For the next few months whenever a new mystery arose, they somehow always found themselves together again. What began as a chance encounter soon became an unbreakable friendship ─ and before long, Crystal Cove knew them simply as the curious group of teenagers always sticking their noses into mysteries ─ and, more often than not, solving them ( who are we kidding they always solved them . . . eventually ).

“ IF THE APOCALYPSE COMES, BEEP ME. ”

If the world is ever on the verge of coming to an end because of an apocalypse, or an alien invasion, or any monster-related situation and in need of help, Priscylla can be found . . . . . .

Smoking ╱ getting high in the back of the mystery machine with scooby , barty , evan , marlene , sirius and shaggy , In her laboratory testing new potions , Hanging around Blackwood mansion , Solving mysterious with the gang , Using her tarot cards and having a seance , Listening to music on her vintage cherry red record player , Reading novels at the local graveyard , Dancing in only a red pendant under the blood moon , At cheer practice dodging the monster that stalks the sports field , Searching for the all red room that haunts her dreams , in her scarlett grotto ( bedroom ) looking through one of the 100 fangoria magazines sprawled across her chamber floor

Or maybe even repeating the words DIE! DIE! DIE! over and over again when the catching monsters part of mystery solving doesn’t go quite as planned . . . . . . yeah this girl has had enough of weirdoes dressing up as zombies , and werewolves , and ghouls.

WHERE ARE ALL THE REAL MONSTERS!? something that runs though her mind 24/7

will I complete the mystery of my flesh I will rise after a thousand years lipping flowers and set my teeth in the silver of the moon

HER SIGNATURE COLOUR !

her hair ; the colour of sweet candy apples . her name ; the tiny ruby twin heart shaped fruit . her colour ;

𝐑𝙴𝔻 !

Red had been her colour since the day she was born. The Lovette Manor was draped in red, her family wore nothing but red, and her lineage had long inherited that magnificent, daunting crimson-stained hair. Yet none had ever seemed as vibrant or mesmerizing as hers. It felt as though, for her family, red was merely a tradition ─ something bestowed upon them, passed down through generations. But with Priscylla, it was as if she was red itself. Her family embraced only its beautiful sides : roses, red velvet, lipstick. Priscylla, however, embodied red in its entirety ─ every ugly, messy part of it. Pomegranates split open, blood spilled, hearts torn apart. She was passion and violence, beauty and rage, love and gore, love and death. To understand and see Priscylla was to understand and see red not only as a colour, but as a force of nature ─ captivating, consuming, and impossible to forget.

While she would never dare call herself any colour but red, she refused to be confined to it for the rest of her life. She was too expressive, too stubborn for that. So although she primarily wore red, it was often disrupted ─ splashes of bright blue, green, and yellow thrown into the fabric of her clothes like sudden bursts of defiance against the crimson-coded tradition her family had bound themselves to.

sgt. medic liana briggs is the youngest medical personnel at the teton clinic in jackson hole, wyoming, and the most knowledgeable among her fellow peers. outside of the compound, she is well-known for her past reputation as an artistic cult-like survivor, responsible for a number of monuments crafted from animal and infected viscera across the midwestern front. inside of jackson, she is no more than a noble and determined survivor, having earned her place among their ranks.

Chiaki Kuriyama as Gogo Yubari (夕張 ゴーゴー)

art that got me called a misogynistic white devil on instagram