a complex emotional creature.

indie abigail hobbs. daughter of the shrike. art : manulys. written by jessica.

[penchantformanipulation]

indie abigail hobbs. canon & neurodivergent fandom. written by jess.

[borgialucrezia]

"I had a really visceral reaction, I had a bit of a panic and I had to put the script down. It made me really uncomfortable. I finished the script and it made me cry and it made me feel strange. It was so beautifully written. The character of Lucy was interesting and unlike anything I’d seen before. I thought her willingness and recklessness and nihilism and her strength was really cool. The fact that it made me uncomfortable was a plus for me. I’m not particularly brave in my everyday life. I’m generally anxious, so I figured if I can be a little fearless in the work that I do, it would balance everything out." — EMILY BROWNING

[love]

[perrfectly]

”I’ve realized that no matter where you are or who you’re with, I will always truly, completely love you. “ Love, Rosie (2014)

[penchantformanipulation]

psa !

please do not be so mean. there was so much cruelty and conspiracy in the rpc in 2016 - 2017, and people are being so scared and so horrified, as well as not knowing what is going on with why people are so unhappy with each other. you make people feel like they don't belong, when they try, in such a suffering environment of their body and mind, trying to see their reality, to curate their space, as you badger on and on about. we are just trying to live, please just be nice. we are barely trying to see what is in front of us, as we disassociate in this scary world, roleplaying fictional characters.

[ofcatalysts-blog-blog]

  “saying that i’m merely alright would    be a understatement, wouldn’t you think?”

[penchantformanipulation]

she is quite concerned for will. she knew he suffered from visions, from being in the police force. he could empathise with criminals. "are you okay, will?" she saw his drawing of a clock nearby. the hands were on the margins, numbers astray. i'm in baltimore, maryland, my name is will graham, my name is will, myname, myname... she remembered seeing a neurologist about this, drawing to see if she had this phenomena, yet she had not.

[penchantformanipulation]

themes : gore, pain, a girl trying to venture in the world, father and daughter confused dynamic, domestic abuse!

she had felt she was drifting, wearing a white nightgown, and bleeding as she floats into the air. she had felt the nothingness of the blanket wafting, tugging away at her. she agreed with will's description that it had felt like he was a shadow in dust.

she sits on the chair, wearing a pink jumper, of strawberry colouring.

she had been scared of the world, remembering some time ago, she had heard in the news in the pandemic about people painting mean names that held no weight, chinese are evil, yet conspirational fright, on their house. she had been scared, also scared to venture into her local park. it reminded her of when people painted 'cannibal' on her garage, when she went to visit it again, having had to go to the hospital, when her father cut her throat, she struggling to breathe from the blood pouring, choking from her throat. will graham had rescued her, a girl who was a victim, who was alright now. she also remembered she sneezed a lot in public, having a cold, coinciding with the news in the foreign country in two thousand and nineteen.

she felt strange now, she felt hollow, she felt invaded, she felt happy and at peace, she felt helpless as someone picked her bones clean, as she lay helpless on the gurney.

‘ they would have found a field of burning lavender had they cut her open ’ the girls that her father had hunted down, because they looked like her, that she befriended, he had eaten to savour the taste of innocence. girls lay on a field, their insides open, deer antlers in display. the smell of lavender emanated from the antlers.

[pitifulthing-a]

OPEN

     ❝ I AM VERY PLEASED to finally have you for dinner. ❞

[penchantformanipulation]

she is in the kitchen with hannibal, her ear bandaged. she is wearing a pink jumper with green. they are eating dinner, while sad classical music plays. she had heard him say this joke to people who had visited his home, they not knowing he was a cannibal. she sees cookies and cream ice cream as dessert with fruit slices on the table, as dessert, and meat with rice and green chive vegetables on the table. he was a good cook, yet he cooked with delicacy and decadence. there was human in the meat. yet had she not eaten that as well with her father, the minnesota shrike. "...me too," she quite scared of him still.

[sungl0ry]

[loshka]

“Aren’t deer supposed to be complex, emotional creatures? I read they’re like the equivalent of a four-year-old human being. And they care about each other. They care about their environment. They tread lightly through the underbrush because they don’t want to hurt the plants." 

[loshka]

Abigail Hobbs and Peter Bernardone 

[musicboxmemories]

Kacey Rohl as Stacy Lawford in Motive, 3x9

***If you intend to use, please reblog***

[penchantformanipulation]

deathlessxdusk:

He nods because they were very close to the border, not even an hour. He could taste the states but they weren’t quite that near yet. He wondered what a girl like her was doing out here where dreams sometimes died-

Something to be asked a little later on.

Ten dollars could get her quite a bit, if he could find one of those places around here that didn’t mind the lack of conversion.

He waved it off. She could keep the bills for a rainy day. he had a place for her - albeit somewhat dangerous. Santanico wouldn’t be back for a while and he had learned to control his thirst.

“Don’t worry about it. Look, I probably creeped you out like hell so I’ll do you a favor. A place to sleep and eat free of charge. Think you can hang some relief on that?”

So, it seemed he’d picked up on her body language. Was it truly that obvious?

Abigail nodded, as she had no idea where she would go when she overstayed her welcome at the motel. She recalls on how Hannibal had promised that Will would join them, the missing piece of their murder family, and they would escape together, but she couldn’t live under this constant fright and imprisonment. She had to, wanted to wash the taste of HUMANS from her mouth, when she and Hannibal hunted them down. I just did what he said.... And I remain the lure...

Suspicion and doubt still shrouds her, but this was a better option than she would have expected.

She was afraid of the nightmares, that may come, but it was much less people to stare at her weirdly, if she tried to explain it to them. She couldn’t divulge her identity though, and thought about what false cover to give, if he ever asked.

“I can...thanks for the offer. Which place, though?”

[penchantformanipulation]

hey everyone. you can catch me on my multimuse here, which is where im most active ;; please check out my guidelines & navigation linked there upon visitation/following. i write characters like abigail. im only doing roleplay writing there, as i have personal platforms to express myself, as i find that more streamlined for my own brain personally. yet im fine with you posting ooc and rp.

hope you are all doing good. x

[penchantformanipulation-blog]

@captorbound​​ - x

Abigail glances down and notices what Will said was indeed true. She just barely registers the furry tail weakly wagging beneath her, hears Harold’s soft whine of complaint. Letting out a delirious half-formed apology (for both Harold and Will), she shifts slightly so as to no longer be sitting on his tail.

Her mind was partly clouded—an intoxicated mask cloaking her immediate senses, sure to give her a hangover in the morning.

At Will’s next words, she glances at the bed encased it was in soft looking pillows and blankets, by the fire. She thought it looked a better bed than the one in the psychiatric facility, wouldn’t give her such horrific nightmares. There is relief also, upon hearing about the water and aspirin; that would surely lessen the severity of the hangover.

It was now a little easier to speak to him, she had slowly started to build some form of trust towards him. He had told her that she could learn to live with the voices—the voices of her father—had supported and understood her in his own way, last she was here. She wasn’t ready to divulge everything to him yet, but it was a start, nonetheless.

“…Thanks.”

And she is relieved that her words are more properly formed this time, sounds legible to her. Hopefully, it would sound the same to Will, and not some indecipherable, incoherent nonsense.

“I’ve never gone fishing before…”

[urbxnlegxnd]

penchantformanipulation started following you

“Can I help you?”

[penchantformanipulation-blog]

“I’m not sure if you can…”

[penchantformanipulation-blog]

@conflicteddeadlyalone - x

The stranger tells Abigail to breathe, and  she attempts to slow it down to regular pace with great difficulty. She sucks in deep breaths, her cheeks puffing in and out with strenuous effort, as she indulges in the lukewarm air swirling around her.  

She had witnessed Marissa’s body grotesquely gutted. Large antlers ( that she and her father had carefully pulled off deer; waste not, or it’s just murder - he oft commented ) had punctured and weaved through Marissa’s pale limbs to concoct a horrific image. Like she was mounted upon, a twisted taunt of a trophy.

Her friend who believed in her and didn’t judge her for her father’s actions, was now dead, killed by Nick Boyle as retribution, she determined.

“…My friend, I saw her body…”

[deathlessxdusk-blog-deactivated]

he could practically see the wheels turning in her head. She looked to be at a crossroads and he really didn’t want to make it worse for her. He didn’t wanna impose himself. She looked like she’d been through hell fire and he knew what kind of damage that sort of fire did to a person.

Sometimes it felt like he was still burning.

But finally she answered and she chose the positive answer, gave him an excuse to go around saving her from this dark Mexico night. It seemed he was always trying to be in the business of saving people. Maybe that was his problem sometimes.

‘It’s a warehouse of sorts…and I hope you don’t mind sharing because I’m staying with someone.”

What would Santanico think once she saw the young girl there?

[penchantformanipulation-blog]

Abigail briefly wondered why the man would be staying in a warehouse for a home. 

It was then remembered her father used to be a construction worker (until three years ago) whom sometimes went to warehouses for supplies for various reasons. One of them included purchasing supplies for preserving the deer they took down. This recalled memory sparked off another unspoken question in her mind, on whether the warehouse was for this man’s job.

“No, I don’t mind…who’re you staying with?”

There was the dominant issue of avoiding underlying prying questions as to why she was in Mexico, deviously designed to delve more into her past, the longer she stayed with them. This issue (surfacing to her mind just now) perturbed her a little, but then she thought: I can hide what happened to me. I can. She had practised with attempting to nullify suspicion towards her, before.

And of course, what about the sterilized bandage around her ear stub, imperfectly hidden by her hair? A simple swish of her hair, or a subconscious gesture to tuck a stray strand behind her right ear would betray such. She had to fabricate a believable story if he ever noticed it, withhold the truth from him.