Because he’s a super unpleasant guy who is fed up with everything and doesn’t try to be nice or make you like him because he just doesn’t feel like having to pretend he’s a sociable or polite person. And he also looks like he’s deeply depressed, like he doesn’t want anything out of life and is completely overwhelmed with work. And on top of that he’s a total cunt, like he drops every kind of comment that leaves you speechless because he’s a bastard with a lot of wit. And he doesn’t like kids and doesn’t like most people around him and he’s incredibly bitter, and yet he still gets up every day and chooses to work with people he can’t stand because it’s the right thing to do. And he also spits when he gets angry. It’s like he could be me or any of my friends, how could I not like him.
Severus has certain habits and manners he picked up during his years at Hogwarts, rubbing shoulders with pure-bloods and aristocratic/wealthy families. During the time he was under their influence, especially when Lucius took him under his wing, he learned how to behave like someone of noble birth and adopted the gestures of a person born into privilege. But when he doesn’t have to pretend or maintain the facade of being impenetrable, he reverts to being that working-class boy with a thick accent and street manners because, while the boy can leave the neighborhood, the neighborhood never leaves the boy.
Severus being the father of a Generation Z kid who records himself with his phone while eating because he wants to upload a TikTok, and Severus is sitting beside him staring at him seriously because, “Can you put the damn phone down for at least one meal?”
The concept of THE Severus Snape dealing with the internet and having to ask his son to explain how to search for one basic thing on Google, and still not understanding it even after it’s been explained to him eighty times, could genuinely become my Roman Empire.
FANDOM: The Freak Circus
PAIRING: Pierrot / Female Reader
GENRE: Dark Romance, Psychological Horror, Yandere, Romance
RATING: Explicit / 18+
CONTENT WARNINGS:
obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, unhealthy attachment, toxic dynamics, possessiveness, somnophilia, non-consensual themes, explicit sexual content, cunnilingus, emotional dependency, dead dove: do not eat
A traveling circus has appeared in your city, and through a third-party contract, you’re hired as technical support to help maintain quality standards behind the scenes. The work itself is surprisingly easy, even with the strange performers lingering around every corner. Yet somehow, with each passing day, your body feels more sore than ever before.
reader discretion is advised.
"As mentioned prior," your boss starts, skimming through the large amounts of paper tacked onto the wooden clipboard, “you all will be the behind the scenes for the circus’ needed operations, obviously that is to aid with technical support as well as even providing customer support.”
The last part regarding “customer support” earns a couple of groans from the small crowd of employees, even an internal groan from yourself, but you made sure to keep your discontent showing on your face - you would say its due to upholding professionalism, but it is only because you are the first row, facing the boss directly.
“Don’t groan at me, that is required for all events,” he says and tucks the clipboard under his arm, “however, it shouldn’t be as prevalent for this event as the clients stated they would manage all customers themselves.”
The boss begins to ramble on about the separation of tents, where we will be quite far from the circus due to the requests from the circus owners. In fact, we are only really to leave our tents when pinged in from the walkie-talkies if a machine is broken, a tent falls, and many more.
“We will be splitting up shifts; some shifts you will be alone, and some shifts you will have one to two people with you - those are only for high volume days such as weekends, so don’t get too comfortable hanging out with buddies. Understood?”
The meeting completes with an unanimous confirmation, the scraping of chairs fills the room which follows with growing conversations about shifts or the circus entirely.
You immediately check the board containing your shifts for the next few periods where the circus will be in town. You’re annoyed at the fact that you have rarely any days that fall along that “high volume” shifts people, in fact, you’re alone for most of the days you work. Obviously, this is since you are one of the few out of school with completely open availability, while the rest of your coworkers are still in university.
This is so stupid, you internally groan, especially when you’re seeing the groups of full-time university kids obviously smiling when they see they are scheduled with someone else. You run your hands through your hair to calm your annoyance, taking a picture of the schedule and job duties.
The walkie-talkie abruptly fills the small tent with static, causing you to jump in your spot.
“One of the speakers are malfunctioning in one of the tents, is there anyone available to fix it?” a deep voice inquires over the small device. It fills your stomach with dread immediately.
It was your third shift since the meeting. On the first day you expected all kinds of technical issues to sing over the black walkie-talkie. Yet, to your surprise, it was completely silent. So silent that you nearly fell asleep before your shift ended. The second day you expected something to be relayed, and yet again, nothing.
Having not touched the circus at all in terms of equipment or even beyond the ticket gates, you dread what is waiting for you.
Despite wanting to ignore the obvious job duty appearing in front of you, you grab the walkie-talkie while pulling on a thin jacket.
“I’ll be down in just a second. Which tent is it?”
It’s silent for a few seconds before the deep voice responds again: “the red tent. We will have one of the performers show you where the issue is.”
You glance over at the map that displays a simple layout of the circus through color coding. You spot the red tent, somewhat in the middle of the circus, but not too far from your tent. That, again, resides outside of the circus layout entirely.
“Understood, thank you.”
You grab a mini bag of tools to operate on all equipment as well as your lanyard that displays “EVENT STAFF” in big red letters.
You unhook the flaps of your tent as you step outside, immediately meeting the flashing carnival lights that seem to fill the night sky with color.
Dim carnival lights flicker against the damp ground, casting warped colors over empty pathways and silent game stalls. Music hums somewhere in the distance, muffled and distorted enough to sound almost dreamlike. You can’t tell whether the smell lingering in the air is popcorn or something burnt.
You pull your jacket tighter as you begin your trek towards the circus, passing through a small opening between the metal gates surrounding the perimeter of the circus.
As you get closer to the red tent you take notice of the instantaneous rumble of music and chatter that vibrates from your shoes to the tip of your head, some laughter here and there occasionally fills your ears.
You can feel your lanyard tapping against your beating chest with every step, the small plastic clinking against your zipper fold of your jacket. You don’t know why you’re scared; you were never scared of clowns when you were younger, and yet, an unknown rush of adrenaline overcomes your body when the red tent comes into view, your stomach already twisting itself into knots.
Immediately, you spot the entrance of the tent. Not because there are obnoxious signs or lights singing above it, but because of the figure in front of it.
Tall.
Nearing six feet tall, maybe even more, if you didn’t think any better you would’ve thought they were hiring basketball players as performers.
His outfit is designed, albeit, modestly, but still reflects themes of a circus. Loose ivory fabric draped neatly over his frame, accented with deep crimson ribbons and dark diamond patterns stitched along the sleeved. A ruffled collar rests beneath his jaw, slightly wrinkled as if worn far too often, while the pale sheen of his mask displays the dark paint making up his eyes and smile – that were on you the whole time you were looking at him.
“I am so sorry,” you scramble, walking over faster, “I was just surprised how tall you were.” You give a nervous laugh at the end, staring at his masked face.
He doesn’t say anything which immediately tightens the knots in your stomach, a bloom of red reaching your face and ears from an obvious silent treatment.
The bells, you now notice that are attached to the ends of his hat, jingle as his head tilts. The movement is so small, but it does little to appease your nerves that were growing by the minute.
“I am here to help with the broken speaker?” you say in a questioning tone. “Did they tell you I was coming?”
Another few moments of silence where the rumbling of the circus fills.
The performer, you think at least is a performer, nods. The bells jingle with movement.
Without a word, he turns.
For a moment you simply stare, unsure whether the interaction is over or if he expects you to follow. But after a few slow steps, he pauses near the entrance of the tent and glances back toward you.
Waiting.
“Oh, right.”
You quickly adjust the strap of your tool bag before hurrying after him.
The inside of the red tent is much darker than expected. The air smells faintly of dust, old fabric, and something strangely sweet underneath it all. Dim bulbs hang overhead, casting uneven shadows across stacked props and metal rigging. Only after do you notice that the color palette of this tent resembles the performers colors.
Near the center of the tent, surrounded by rows of benches for an audience, sits a large speaker tipped onto its side. They must have tried to fix it themselves, either DIY or through technical experience, but it is obvious from the low static crackling from it every few seconds that it is having issues.
You kneel beside the speaker, setting your bag down and pulling out a screwdriver. The casing looks old — older than you expected for equipment still in use. Your fingers brush against loose wiring near the back panel while the static briefly squeals. It sputters out what must be the intended music to play at high volume, causing you to let out a small gasp of air.
Great, not like that was a little embarrassing. However, hearing how the performer says nothing, you try not to overthink.
As you unplug and move wiring around the back panel, you hear the bells attached to his hat softly chime behind you as a reminder.
You can practically feel him staring down onto your body.
Trying to ignore the growing discomfort crawling beneath your skin, you glance back over your shoulder with an awkward smile. “You don’t have to stand there, you know. I can probably fix this in ten minutes.”
Hopefully ten minutes.
For a second, he says nothing and you assume that this guy is mute or intentionally giving you the silent treatment.
Then, almost too soft to hear:
“I know.”
The voice is timid and soft. The response, while annoying, helps settle some of your nerves.
You muster up some courage, deciding to make a joke you hope lands correctly.
“Oh, so you can talk?” you say lightly with a chuckle, “I thought you were ignoring me.”
You turn around to meet his masked eyes. However, you notice the obvious glow of gold in the eye sockets of the mask. You assume it must be some “aesthetic” touch with the mask.
He immediately shakes his head, the bells jingling violently.
“No,” he says quickly, almost sounding distressed by the accusation. “I can’t speak freely.”
The answer catches you slightly off guard before realizing that you were operating in a circus, and a circus probably entails all sorts of acts and performers, like mimes.
“Oh.” You let out another small laugh, more genuine this time. “Sorry. Your staring was just making me nervous.”
Your attention drifts back toward the speaker, fingers working carefully along the loosened panel. The static crackles again before cutting out completely once you disconnect one of the wires.
You let out a relieved sigh; thankful it wasn’t a permanent issue you’d have to bring up to more people.
“There,” you murmur, before wiping your dust-covered hands onto your pants. “That should fix the - ”
“You are new.”
His voice interrupts so suddenly that your screwdriver nearly slips from your hand.
You glance back at him again. He’s still standing exactly where he was before, hands draped along his side with a slight hunch to his back.
“Uh, yeah,” you answer. “This is my third shift.”
The bells softly chime as his head tilts once more.
“I have not seen you before.”
Something about the statement makes heat crawl up the back of your neck. Not because of what he said, but because of the way he said it, careful and observant.
You force out a lighthearted smile.
“Well, hopefully that means I’m doing my job right.”
You tuck the screwdriver back into the pocket of your bag.
“You will probably be seeing a lot more people like me, to be honest.”
His bells jingle, implying he’s moving.
You look up expecting him to still be standing across the tent, motionless and distant, yet somehow, he is nearly right in front of you. Looking down with glowing gold eyes that seem brighter than before. The movement was so silent without the jingling of the bells notifying you, it causes you to jolt backwards slightly.
“Oh,” you gasp out, clutching the opened ends of your jacket. “Jesus, you scared me.”
The bells sway softly as he tilts his head downward.
Up close, the mask looks pristine, too pristine. The smooth lines of the mask align with what may be his natural face shape, the black paint is unchipped and still vibrant. However, you can still recognize the subtle rise and fall of his breathing beneath it – labored in a way.
“I did not mean to,” he says quietly.
Despite the apology, he doesn’t step away.
Not even a little.
You swallow awkwardly, the gulp was almost comical in noise, reminding you of how dry your mouth was. Suddenly, you are very aware of how much taller he is than you, even slightly bent over.
“Well…” You clear your throat, forcing yourself to look back down at your tools or the props around the stage. “The speaker should be fixed now. Unless you guys break it again tomorrow.”
A small pause follows.
Then:
“You will come back tomorrow?”
The question is soft. Hopeful, almost.
But something about it still makes your stomach twist.
This whole situation is weird, the red alarms ringing along your head remind you exactly how weird this is.
“Sure, if it breaks again,” you exhale, “but us, event staff, aren’t really allowed near the circus otherwise.”
You add the last part in hopes to deplete that hopeful tone in his voice, hoisting the tool bag strap onto your shoulder before meeting his “eyes” once more. The glowing gold stares back at you unblinking.
These costume effects are getting more advanced, you think.
“You are allowed now.”
Your stomach drops slightly.
The statement is simple enough, yet something about the certainty in his voice makes it sound less like reassurance and more like a decision already made for you.
You let out an awkward laugh, attempting to shake off the sudden tension curling around your spine.
“Pretty sure my supervisor would disagree with that.”
The bells jingle softly as he leans down ever so slightly.
“I would not.”
The response comes immediately.
Too immediately.
A nervous smile pulls at your lips as you take a careful step backward toward the tent entrance. “Right… well, luckily you’re not my supervisor.”
For the first time since entering the tent, the performer finally moves aside enough to give you room to pass.
But his glowing gaze never leaves you.
Not for a second.
The apartment is silent aside from the hum of your refrigerator.
Safe.
Normal.
Just how you like it.
You kick off your shoes near the entrance, hanging up your jacket on a nearby hook. You let out a lengthy and heavy yawn, followed by a full body stretch.
Maybe circus performers were supposed to act strange. Maybe the staring was part of the persona. Maybe the glowing eyes in the mask had simply caught the light strangely.
“Maybe, I need another job,” you mutter, rubbing at the nape of your neck.
And yet, for some reason, you still find yourself thinking about glowing golden eyes hidden behind porcelain.
The apartment remains still in the dead of night.
Soft moonlight leaks through the curtains, faintly illuminating the outline of your bedroom. The digital clock beside your bed blinks lazily in the darkness while the rest of the apartment sits undisturbed.
Then, somewhere near the window a quiet metallic jingle resonates through the silent room, yet unheard to your sleeping form.
The unlocked window slowly creaks upward.
Cold night air spills into the room first, followed by the silhouette of a tall figure climbing silently inside. White fabric catches dim traces of moonlight while crimson ribbons sway gently with each careful movement.
The bells attached to the ends of his hat barely make a sound now, muffled as though intentionally restrained.
He closes the window behind him with practiced care.
Golden eyes immediately find you asleep beneath the mountains of blankets enveloping your body. The blankets hide so much it bothers him, yet his heart swells at the image of you sleeping so peacefully. Blissfully unaware of his presence that caused you so much stiffness before. He recalls your tiny form cowering under his eyes that his heart is pounding against his chest at an imaginable rate.
His gloved fingers twitch faintly at his side as he is overcome with a rush of something, he is not too sure of himself.
He wants to touch. The urge is overwhelming to the point where he feels as though he may die.
Slowly, his hands make their way to the ends of the main comforter atop you, slowly pulling that the minutes are grueling to him. Yet, slowly, your skin is exposed to the cold air – to his wandering eyes.
“My lady,” he quietly rasps, huffing hot air as his body looms over your figure.
Very quickly after pulling the covers all the way down to the floor he notices you’re sleeping in nothing but a loose shirt and underwear.
For a moment, he simply stares.
The golden glow behind the mask brightens faintly, almost feverish now, drinking in every exposed inch of skin like a starving man finally allowed a glimpse of something sacred. His breathing becomes shakier with every passing moment, taking in every noticeable feature of your body: every curve, every blemish, every line, or mole sits there for him to see and revel in the moment.
“My lady, you are so beautiful,” he whispers. The words barely sound human, filled with immense amount of want.
For a slight moment your body shuffles into an open position, unfurling from the fetal position you had before. Your hands reaching for something around you – your blanket most likely.
His breath stops with the movement; afraid you’ll awake and witness an unruly side of him.
He knows he shouldn’t be here, that he should take it slow – humans are fragile, after all.
However, all reasoning is quickly going out the window as he takes in your brazen form, almost inviting for someone to touch you.
Your legs are spread, allowing a view of the cute pair of panties barely covering your bottom half. Your loose top does nothing to hide the obvious perks of your nipples.
Your body must be inviting him. That is the only reasoning he can come up with before his hands immediately find placement next to your hips on the bed. His face inches away from your clothed pussy.
His breath ghosts over the thin fabric of your panties, warm and ragged, as if he's been holding it in anticipation for this very moment. His golden eyes glow feverishly, flickering up to meet your peacefully sleeping face.
His lips part slightly, a long, inhuman tongue unfurling from his mouth with saliva pooling from the end. His tongue darts out to trace the outline of your pussy through the cloth, teasing the edges where the fabric meets your slick skin.
Your body responds despite sleeping soundly, a soft gasp fills his ears, yet still not awake. He takes it as confirmation.
The sensation is electric, a slow burn that builds as he presses his entire mouth fully against your clothed pussy, the wet heat of his breath seeping through the barrier, licking feverishly.
Your body slightly twitches to the new sensation; he hopes that whatever dream that has taken hold of you is of him. His hands grip your hips firm yet softly, holding you in places as if you were delicate, something precious he won’t let slip away. His tongue works in delicate circles, the fabric growing soaked and pliant under his insistent pressure.
You let out another small gasp of air, your body squirming slightly more, as if urging him on. He responds with a low growl, the gold hues watching your face contort with every lick. He finally pulls your panties aside. The cool air hits your exposed flesh for a brief second before his tongue delves in without second thought like a ravenous monster.
He knows this is bad, he knows he shouldn’t be doing this. But you taste better than he could ever imagine, lapping with hunger at your folds, feeling your body trembling with unknown pleasure.
His movements grow more fervent, alternating between gentle flicks against your clit and broader strokes along the inner folds of your pussy. He can tell your body is on the brink of something, your body is quivering and your hands are mindlessly fisting for something in your sleep. He doesn’t let up, instead, he delves deeper. His tongue is longer than any human, sinuous and agile, and he wastes no time pressing it forward, sliding it inside you with a slow, deliberate thrust that stretches and fills you. His tongue curls and flexes as he pulls back to only plunge in again, feeling your inner walls clench around him greedily for something more.
His arousal is evident in the way his hips grinding harshly against the bed, the tip of his cock beading with precum.
He can’t stop himself, lost within your scent and taste, and the idea of you trembling beneath him, taking him so well yet barely being able to take in the full length of his cock. He would praise you – worship you, tell you how beautiful and amazing you are.
The wet, slurping sounds of his movements fill the room, a raw symphony that heightens the intimacy, blending with your breathless moans and the occasional growl from his throat, as if devouring you is both a necessity and a revelation.
Your walls begin to tighten unbearably, shuddering with the rest of your body, but it only makes him continue with newfound hunger. The rhythm becomes relentless now, his tongue plunging deeper with each thrust, curling against that sweet, swollen spot deep within your pussy that sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your core. Your hips buck involuntarily which earns a small groan from him.
His hands slide up to cradle your ass, pulling you even harder against his face, his painted lips sealed around your folds as if he's savoring every drop of your arousal, his breath hot and erratic against your sensitive skin.
Your body convulses in release, your pussy clenching rhythmically around his invading tongue as the orgasm rips through you. He notes the liquid heat spilling from you, soaking his mouth and chin, and he groans in response, lapping it up greedily.
As the tremors subside, your body seems to collapse back into its peaceful deep slumber once more, your chest heaving and body twitching with aftershocks.
His own breath is heavy and fast, following the rise and fall of your stomach.
Everything is telling him to do more – taste more.
However, he decides against it, the obvious tent in his pants giving rise to his predicament, and your alarm clock flashing dangerously close to sunrise.
Nothing much to note in terms of warning. Just the usual stalking stuff for Jacob. This is honestly kind of light. I wrote this on a whim because I’ve been doing my annual read of Dracula.
📷 Jacob thinks you being a huge bookworm is cute and also makes his “hobbies” more easy considering you tend to stay in the same place, which saves him all the hiding he’d have to do when watching you if you had more hobbies that made you (and so him) out in the open
📷 Jacob likes to look at your bookshelf when he pays a visit while you’re not home. He notes down all the books you have with a plan to try and buy a copy for himself to read so that he has something new to talk about with you next time you “run into each other”.
📷 Your bookshelf is actually an entire thing that he likes to study all on its own. He memorizes how you organize the books on the shelf like if you organize them by height, color, or alphabetically by title or author. Or how he likes to look at the tops of the books that you’re actively reading to see your progress. He’s learned to tell if you’re enjoying the book by how much the placement of the bookmarks moves between visits. He doesn’t like to take the books out of the shelf though. Even if he knows the order you put them in by heart he gets nervous that he’s gonna put it in the wrong place and you’ll notice it. So he either doesn’t touch them or really sears its placement into his head.
📷 Like I said, sometimes Jacob will try to get into some of the books you’re reading even if its genre isn’t his cup of tea. But he still does it… for you 🫀
📷 Actually, I’d say he takes notes on some of them like if you read romance novels. He’s taking notes on the main male love interests to see if there’s a pattern that can give away what you want in a partner so he can work on doing that.
📷 If you’re into the horror genre then that makes great for the movie nights because there’s plenty of movies that originated from books in that genre. He puts those on and watches your reaction or even listens to your thoughts afterwards. He likes hearing your thoughts. If you liked the adaptation or think the book is better. You could ramble on and on and he’d hang on every word. Tell him all about it.
📷 And just an additional thought for the road. If you two actually get together and start living together, he would love to have you read whatever book you’re currently reading out loud to him while he’s doing something or just cuddling with you. You’d honestly up is literary experience just because he likes listening to you. If someone ever asked him what his favorite book is he’d just say “Whatever my partner’s reading.”
"Snape-the-teenager had a stringy, pallid look about him, like a plant kept in the dark. His hair was lank and greasy and was flopping onto the table, his hooked nose barely half an inch from the surface of the parchment as he scribbled."
"Snape’s always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was."
~~~~~
part two of marauders au characters in my artstyle, this time, here we go with young Severus Snape.
What is it that you usually can’t stand in a fic about Severus? Something that really takes you out of the reading and you say uhm, no, just no
Ugh, a ton of things, i'm super super super picky with fanfictio lolololo
I hate it when he’s portrayed as this super serious, tough, ultra-mature guy, in perfect control of his emotions, who for some reason is your new Daddy Dom, and who’s all emotionally closed off and tortured in the most Byronic way possible. It honestly grosses me out. First, because Severus has control over his emotions in certain aspects of his life, but in others he’s extremely dysfunctional. I mean, he can maintain a spy’s cover, but at the same time he can’t handle dealing with a bunch of kids without stooping to their level. He can go full sassy boss mode, but also completely lose it when he’s confronted with something that triggers his school trauma. Severus is more like a dysregulated adult, not some romantic hero with a heart of steel. On top of that, this way of portraying him usually turns him into a very stiff character, with an almost aristocratic bearing, when Severus has absolutely nothing of that. Severus is constantly a ticking time bomb who holds on and holds on and holds on until he explodes and takes everything down with him. And there’s nothing elegant about him, he’s a working-class guy, for God’s sake. He can pretend to be elegant, but deep down he isn’t, and that duality is actually really interesting to play with.
Turning him into a senseless soft boy. I mean, it’s the complete opposite of the previous trope: suddenly Severus is sociable, almost extroverted. Or a guy who’s proactive about social relationships, or super nice, like… what? Since when? This man would need to be chased around just to have a conversation. This is straight-up OOC on a massive level. I get that some people do it to avoid the ‘Severus always suffering’ angle, but come on—this is a Severus with zero mental health issues, and that’s just a hard no.
When they villainize or bash him by making him extremely cruel, as if Severus were cruel for sport and not as a response to poorly managed trauma. Severus isn’t an asshole just because, and he isn’t an asshole all the time. He’s unpleasant, yes, but being unpleasant or unsociable isn’t the same as being cruel. Severus is only cruel when something triggers his trauma or when he feels threatened and then, yes, he can be very cruel, but only then. People who make him cruel for no reason are basically mischaracterizing him just to bash him, and honestly they should find something else to do, because writing isn’t their thing.
Portraying him as a guy with zero emotional intelligence. Severus is emotionally dysfunctional, not emotionally inept, those are very different things. He’s not incapable of understanding other people’s emotions; in fact, he’s quite perceptive in that regard. Another thing entirely is that he doesn’t admit it or doesn’t want to take responsibility for it.
Having him ‘grow’ and, in that growth, all his usual traits just disappear. Like, life starts going well for him and suddenly he stops being a bastard. No, man, he’s a bastard at his core, please don’t take that away from him.
Reducing his entire fucking personality to Lily. Making everything he does, thinks, or feels revolve around her. Lily was very important to him, sure, but that doesn’t mean that 24/7 it has to be Lily, Lily, Lily. I honestly think that Severus in his early to mid-30s had a lot more going on than thinking about Lily all the time, his worries and dramas were probably very different at that point.
Along the same lines, turning him into a fucking stalker, or an incel, or someone obsessed with Lily. Someone having meant a lot to you doesn’t make you obsessive. Carrying the emotional weight of someone’s death doesn’t make you obsessive. If you don’t know how to portray complex emotions, then please don’t write them, because it comes out awful.
Then I have some ABSOLUTE NOs when it comes to ship or romance fics:
Absolutely nothing, and I mean NOTHING, involving Snape with any of his canonical students. Seriously, no. I’m sorry, it makes me extremely uncomfortable.
Absolutely nothing involving Snape with non-canonical students where the author says, ‘oh, I’ll just make them 18 so it’s legal.’ I don’t give a single fuck that they’re 18, those kinds of relationships don’t appeal to me at all. I would only tolerate it if it were when he had just started teaching and was like 21/22 at most, but these stories usually portray him as already in his 30s during the saga’s timeline, and that’s an absolute no. Being 18 is still being a teenager, and I don’t know what the hell a 35-year-old Snape would be doing sleeping with teenagers.
I don’t like it when Lucius is portrayed as Severus’s groomer, like he was his sexual awakening and groomed him as a teenager and all that blah blah blah. It gives me massive cringe, I don’t think it fits their dynamic at all, and I think it’s adding drama with an extremely sensitive topic in a completely unnecessary way.
EDIT: I redid these voices and also voiced most of their content in the game as of July! -> Pierrot | Harlequin
The Freak Circus is a wonderful new visual novel available on Itch.io by @nekoboydreams
I wondered what these characters would sound like and couldn't help but to try my hand (voice?) at voicing some of the scenes in the game for kicks and giggles-- for warning, it does use fem terms, but I'd happily make versions with masc/neutral terms if someone genuinely wanted!
It mostly spawned from me and my girlfriend joking that maybe Pierrot's voice sounds a little uncanny or 'off' and is part of why he can't talk (even when there's plenty of context against that headcanon) but it was nonetheless fun to try! :D
If you enjoyed these snippets then go! Play the game and support the creator's awesome project!
could you perhaps do a platonic yandere severus snape with a reader he maybe kidnapped (or not, idrc which lol)
Platonic Yandere! Severus Snape
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, settings, or franchises mentioned in this fanfiction. All rights belong to their respective creators and copyright holders. This story is written purely for entertainment and non-profit purposes.
His obsession started when you were in your first year. When you were at his class, you would always besitting at the front, fully paying attention to him. At first, he thought it was another Hermione situation. To him, it appeared that you were another 'insufferable know-it-all' and he was not a fan of that. But all of that changed when he went to Hogsmead to buy things he needed for his potion classes.
He saw five students circling something. He knew that whenever something like this happens its usually nothing good. He quickly walked up to them and grabbed one on the shoulder and pulled him back to see what all of this is about.
He looked down and you were there. You were sitting on the ground, crying, nose bloody, and clothes dirty. The moment his eyes landed on you, all he saw was a memory he tries to forget, but can't. James Potter was not the man everyone talks about. James Potter destroyed his soul. Made him hateful. Vengeful.
Seening you in that position made him enraged. "How utterly predictable," he drawls, voice sharp as a blade. "Gathering up on a student who cannot properly defend themselves, have you no shame at all?" He lets the silence stretch, heavy and humiliating. "One hundred points from Gryffindor," he finishes coolly, eyes lingering just long enough to ensure they feel every bit of it.
He lifted you up from your arms and proceeded to dust off some debris stuck to your cloak. "Are you injured?" For a moment, you assumed it was one of the students said that, but the voice clearly belonged to professor snape. "No, thank you, professor," you said, bowing you head out of respect. "Do not give others the opportunity to make a spectacle of you again."
Snape turned his back and left, cloak billowing behind him. Stunned as the others, you looked around in hopes someone would explain the situation, but everyone was speechless.
From then forward, Snape's favourism towards you became clearer. He would always take into account your opinion towards topics he explains in class, taking notes of them. He always checked whether you were present in class, and if not, would ask if you were fine. He would always nod his head and greet you whenever you passed each other in the hallways.
Additionally, he paid close attention to your grades in his subject and others. If he noticed a decrease in your marks, he will send you a letter, in it he would display his concern.
Another thing you noticed was how often he would praise you. Whether it be because you performed well in a test, or simply gave the correct answer in class.
This sudden favouritism did nothing to help lower the bullying. In fact, it did the exact opposite. Snape taunted every student, some teachers even, but for some reason, he did not treat you the same. This sparked immediate jealousy from the other students towards you.
Students would often corner you in the bathroom, chase after you, throw food at you, even spread rumors about you. Eventually, you had problems with sleeping, because you feared what tomorrow holds. You became more silent, because you were certain that your words will be held against you. You stopped attending daily meals and would instead hide in your dormitory. Your dorm mates where nice enough to bring you food, so you settled for that.
You couldn't hold this for long, you hated how well Snape treated you. Just like the rest, you had no idea why he treated you as such. You decided to confront him. But not physically, no, you were too scared to do that. You sent him a letter. In it, you described how he should not treat you in a 'different' way than the others. You wrote that by doing so he is causing harm towards you as the students didn't take it very well.
Upon that letters arrival to his office, Snape immediately opened it and read it. His heart slowly aching more and more as he went on to read, an emotion he did not think he was capable of since losing Lily.
The next day, you saw a noticeable change in student's attitude. They were not harming you anymore. Instead, they were friendly. You didn’t understant what exactly made a difference between yesterday and today, but you would gladly accept it. Anything to make the horror disappear.
After finishing Potions class, you took longer time packing your belongings than the other students. While putting away your notebook, a shadow suddenly grew in front of you. "You have no further classes, I assume." Looking up, you can see that the person talking was Professor Snape. "Yes, professor, I'm done for today," you answered. "In that case, you will accompany me to my office." He stated, already moving towards his office. You followed, mostly out of fear and not wanting to cause any more trouble.
You entered his office, which was colder than you had expected. His office smell of ink and parchment mixed in with the smell of simmering brews. He gestured for you to sit down in the desk in front of him and he sat down on his desk.
You sat down shakingly, fear very evident in your face. "There is no cause for fear, Mr/Ms. L/N," He said, pulling a tea pot next to him and pouring some of its content into a glass cup. "You were summoned here solely to discuss a matter." He handed the glass cup to you.
"Why did you not inform me you were being treated that way by the others?" He said, pouring himself a glass of the same substance. "As a professor, I am required to ensure the safety of my students." Je furrowed his brows, speaking very seriously.
"You don't protect other students," you said, shrugging. "You are special," he replied taking a sip of the tea. "You have never harmed anyone. You are an exceptional student, striving to learn as much as you can during your time at Hogwarts." The way he said it made you feel like he was speaking to himself more than you.
"No offence professor, but how does that make me any different from any other student? what about Hermione? You don't treat her well," You stated, more confused than ever. "You are nothing like Granger." He said with a sneer.
"I don't understand..." you mumbled to yourself, lowering your head. "You do not need to understand. All you need to do is focus on your studies and your future." He stated, putting the glass cup down and standing up. "Forget about those who have caused you harm. They are irrelevant."
"I will ensure they do not trouble you again."
Author's Note: man uni is brutal. Haven't posted in a while because of it lol. Glad to post again tho! Also I hope you liked this one :)
I don’t know if you’ve answered a question like this before, if you have, apologies and no need to answer-
But do you have any favourite severus snape headcanons?
Xx
Mmm, I’ve got a lot, some I’ve probably mentioned before, others not, because I’m terrible at remembering these things, buuuut:
• Severus is the kind of person who’s both extremely tidy and completely messy at the same time. He’s meticulous and hyper-controlling about everything he does, yet his house is an absolute pigsty because he basically doesn’t have the time or mental energy to keep it clean.
• He tends to overload himself with work to avoid being alone with his thoughts and overthinking. He gets a lot of intrusive thoughts, even if he uses magic to block them, so keeping himself constantly busy is the only thing that helps which, of course, isn’t great for his mental health. But who needs mental health when you’ve got lifelong guilt, right?
• The summers outside Hogwarts before the Second War were probably the hardest for him, because he had too much free time and his inner demons devoured him. During those periods he would go for weeks barely leaving the house, so depressed he didn’t clean, didn’t cook, didn’t even bother shaving.
• He smoked as a teenager because he grew up in an environment where kids started around twelve or thirteen, so it felt normal to him. He quit when he started teaching, but since 1991 he’s smoked occasionally during particularly stressful times.
• He doesn’t like drinking much, only occasionally, and usually wine. He can’t stand drunk people (he despises them), but despite his build and dislike of alcohol, he could drink a man three times his size under the table. Incredible alcohol tolerance.
• To move around Spinner’s End he’s got a single set of muggle clothes, which he’s had for over a decade and are ready to be thrown out or turned into rags, but who cares, right?
• His father made him develop a deep rejection of all muggle culture, so he’s kept away from it since adolescence; his knowledge of muggle life is basically stuck in the 1970s, as if time froze for him there.
• He spent years perfecting his manners and his accent, especially once he started hanging around pure-blood Slytherins, trying to hide that he came from what was basically a dump of a neighborhood. And he’s good at it, of course, he’s great at pretending. But when he gets nervous or loses his temper, the street cat in him comes out, and he’ll say things that would scandalize a sailor.
• When he spends too many weeks in Cokeworth, his accent comes back. And when he’s alone, all traces of elegance vanish and he’s basically just a guy from the block who looks like he could punch your lights out.
• He’s spent his whole life denying his muggle side, swearing to himself he has nothing in common with his father, but the truth is that when he’s really relaxed, he’s more Muggle than wizard. Admitting that would probably trigger seven existential crises, so he’s got it completely blocked out.
• His social battery is extremely low, but he works with people all the time, so he basically lives in a state of dissociation just to cope.
• He skips meals often and sleeps like absolute crap, which is one of the reasons he always looks terrible.
• Terribly obsessive about the things that interest him, and an extreme perfectionist when it comes to those obsessions. Everything else? He couldn’t care less.
• He represses his emotions so much that when they finally break through, he’s completely unable to control them and that makes him deeply ashamed, because he sees it as a huge weakness.
• Super vindictive. He still remembers when you ate the last piece of roast beef on April 18th, 1972. He might forget your name, but not the offense.
• He’s got an incredible sensitivity to second-hand embarrassment; even the smallest, silliest things people do make him unbearably uncomfortable.
• Tobias once tried to teach him to drive when he was fourteen, it went just as badly as his professors’ attempts to teach him to fly properly on a broom. Literally zero skills for handling any kind of transport, magical or otherwise.
• His intelligence is intuitive and creative, he’s not one for memorizing, but for understanding. He thinks people who just repeat what they read without questioning, analyzing, or theorizing are idiots. If he’d been a muggle, he probably would’ve become a terribly insufferable, intellectually snobbish academic.
• He could’ve sold his parents’ house and moved somewhere halfway decent, but he’s always felt like he doesn’t deserve to live anywhere better. Deep down — though he’d never admit it — beyond the self-loathing, he’s actually comfortable in that awful place, because it’s the only place where he can somehow be himself.
• Terribly stingy. Growing up in poverty made him extremely careful with money, and he hates spending on things he considers irrelevant, like clothes or material luxuries. He actually could afford it if he wanted, but when he does spend, he feels horribly guilty. The only things he occasionally allows himself to buy are rare potion ingredients or limited-edition books, and even then, he has to convince himself he really needs them, otherwise he simply can’t do it.
Yoooo I have my second autism assessment today so please may I have some Snautistic Sneverus Snape headcanons/ideas/vibes I'll go first (whoops this got long)
Snape in the books I think rubs his lips and in the films fidgets with his fingers a lot. I like to think he also does really subtle things (or was forced into subtlety by his peers/parents' judgement) like biting his cheeks, rubbing his fingers in his pockets, stroking the fabric inside his pockets, wiggling his toes, tapping his leg, but like...multiple of these all at the same time, all the time. Low-key think he's a skin picker, too, in private (bleeding cracked fingers and open wounds nation unite), but I have no evidence for that except Vibes. Primarily searches his upper arms for blemishes and picks the dry skin on his fingers, and his hair is often greasy where he searches his scalp in private (projecting here, but maybe someone once asked him if he had fleas bc his hands were always in his hair as a kid loool)
When he's eating food he really enjoys he can't wiggle openly so he has to wiggle his toes. Secret sweet tooth and in his rooms at night he has sweets and sometimes finds himself wiggling and has to put a stop to it, just in case someone's watching, even though nobody is watching
I also feel like he's a sniffer. He'll sniff just about anything (and esp any potion ingredient) placed under his nose. He tells people it's to ascertain the freshness and quality of the ingredient. Sniffs all his food and drink (subtly). Sniffs the potions. His favourite to sniff is obviously Amortentia, being his favourite smells. He sort of enjoys the burn from the harsher smells though
Absolutely CANNOT handle bright light or the texture of anything slimy, however. Uses gloves or his wand to lift/chop/manipulate slimy ingredients, especially if they're likely to leave residue on his hands (or he makes some poor student deal with sorting out his slimy/messy ingredients as a detention; after all, you don't have a dog and bark yourself)
i know we all enjoyed that screencap from hogwarts mystery where madam pomfrey lets slip that snape is needy when he gets a cold but like
maybe it's because he's feeling under the weather that his usual facade cracks. the illness is just a conduit, an excuse to be 'needy', because he finally has something he can blame for feeling bad - something specific that he can pinpoint, one he can share. without meaning to, without any intention or conscious awareness that it's what he's doing, he's seeking the comfort and sympathy he's always been starved for. what would it take to be considered needy, anyway? turning up repeatedly for potions from madam pomfrey, even though he could brew them himself? coughing/sniffing dramatically in the staffroom, sitting by the fire looking like death warmed up, and playing it up a little?
i'm not sure he'd get much, though. in the game, madam pomfrey tells people he's needy, which doesn't suggest sympathy and actually feels a bit mean, telling other people that. when he speaks to the students, he tells them to stop gawking at him with 'feigned pity', suggesting that's what he's used to:
getting back into 'canon' extrapolations from book characterisations, i expect that the other teachers would hardly be sympathetic...
(i went on a bit of a ramble so have broken it down below)
mcgonagall
mcgonagall is probably the professor suggested to be closest to snape, with their quidditch rivalry bordering a frenemy-style relationship - but she seems very old-school tough love/dismissal, the type to snap "just have a whisky/potion and get on with it"
dumbledore
dumbledore might offer some kind words, but their relationship is... complicated. snape is, obviously, a brooding little bitch - he's not about to forget that dumbledore dismissed his wanting to die like it was nothing when lily died, so he's hardly going to think that dumbledore's sympathy is genuine
madam pomfrey
i think madam pomfrey would be similarly no-nonsense to mcgonagall; she sees worse every day from kids' magic going wrong, the yearly disaster whenever harry is there, and quidditch injuries, and even when harry is injured i don't remember her being particularly comforting - she'd hardly have time for snape's theatrics.
hagrid
weirdly, i think hagrid would be sympathetic - he always seems fairly nice about snape, probably because anyone dumbledore trusts is 1000% incredible in hagrid's book - but i doubt snape comes across hagrid that often outside of mealtimes (should they sit together) since hagrid lives outside the castle, unlike the rest of the staff (which seems a bit mean, on reflection - though maybe hagrid likes it because he prefers nature and his own space, and the freedom to do illegal activities like dragon rearing and breeding possibly illegal creatures, but i digress)
the others
i doubt the other professors are close enough to snape to offer anything more than polite, surface-level sympathy for a coworker - and snape knows that.
if we want to get into little bit sad territory, imagine snape in the staffroom. there's a bug going around; everyone has had it at some stage. he leaves a tray of vials filled with pepperup/some other potion; people take them gratefully.
then he overhears sprout like "here filius, make a tea out of this and you'll be right as rain!", mcgonagall sharing her own whisky for a hot toddy with madame hooch when she gets a chesty cough, or the staff put together care packages to take down to hagrid's hut when he's ill.
snape isn't offered anything. the potions quickly run out.
he heads to the hospital wing to ask for another, because his brain fog and aching limbs and sinus pain mean he's firmly not in the mood to be bent over a cauldron to be making any more - and besides, he's made all of the potions for the hospital wing anyway - they're basically his to take. he made them especially for this bug going around. he's handed them out in the staffroom already. he's left them in the slytherin common room. he even took one to dumbledore's office.
but rather than offering anything, madam pomfrey shoos him away quickly, tells him to stop being such a bother - so he just traipses back to his own room, fully aware that nobody will gather leaves for a curative tea for him, he'll be receiving no care packages, no hot toddies, not even his own potions - and if he doesn't show at dinner, because he's tired and grumpy and aching and just wants to sleep, nobody will ask after him - because nobody cares
but yeah. snape, feeling under the weather and subconsciously seeking a little bit of care - and still not receiving any :(
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