#sim: tanner | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

envihellbender · 10 months

Note

Avatars/John bad times nc jamboree (Lonely!Martin included or not up to you)

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Jonathon Sims, Elias Bouchard, Mike Crew, Simon Fairchild, Michael The Distortion, Annabelle Cane, Peter Lukas, Jude Perry, Nikola Orsinov, Hezekiah Wakely, Maxwell Rayner, Daisy Tanner, Jane Prentiss, Jared Hopworth, Oliver Banks, Martin Blackwood

Rating: Explicit, MDNI, 18+

Content: trans man John Sims (yes trans men on T get prostate tissue look it up), heavy noncon, I’m serious - dead dove do not eat, breeding, oral, torture, genital torture, somnophilia (maybe?), restraints, riding crop, spiders, teratophilia, candle wax, rimming, sex from an invisible guy, breast torture, wound fucking, rats, buried alive, gore, sensory deprivation, misgendering, force feminisation of a trans man, brief CSA implication (nothing explicit or mention), worms, being fucked by worms, bone fucking, body horror, cervix penetration

Elias Bouchard / The Eye

“Well, well, John,” Elias taunted as he ran one finger down John’s terrified face. The Archivist tried to squirm away but the bonds around his wrists kept him tied to the bed and unable to do much other than struggle and make the bed creak. The last thing he knew they had been in Elias’s office, now it seemed he was in a similarly furnished bedroom, all polished oak and green silks.

“This- this isn’t real. It’s a dream you forced into my head it’s not real,” John said to himself desperately. “It’s not-”

“I hope telling yourself that does make the process easier for you, I really do John,” Elias hummed as he undressed. He approached John, placing himself between his legs. In return John squirmed and kicked, desperate to get free. Elias crushed John’s thin, scrawny body beneath his rendering him helpless. He positioned John’s legs onto his shoulders, stretching them out unnaturally far, and pressed his whole body weight down onto him until his ankles were next to his ears. John could feel Elias’s hard cock at his hole, mocking him, telling him at any moment he was about to be impaled as John knew his cunt wasn’t aroused or wet enough. He knew Elias had no intention of using any form of lubrication.

“This position,” Elias hissed. “Is colloquially known as ‘mating press’ if you’re a good boy, I’ll make sure not to use this to my advantage. Unless you’d like to get fat from my seed, John?” The Archivist shook his head, rather frantically to Elias’s amusement. “A shame, truly. Now, let’s get on with things. You have quite a few to see to tonight.” John swallowed and stared at the ceiling, hoping Elias was bluffing.

Mike Crew / The Vast

The next one was Mike Crew, who snorted with laughter as he saw John with his wrists tied up, and his body sore and shaking. He was left in just his white work shirt, it was stained with his own blood but he was undressed otherwise - cum dripping down his thighs. Mike didn’t say anything about the display, just walked around the bed, poking and pulling at John whenever he thought it necessary. Eventually, he climbed on top of John, and sat cross-legged on his chest.

“Hey. Archivist,” Mike began. He prodded John’s cheek curiously. “Apparently I get to do whatever I want with you now. So long as you stay in this room. And stay alive. Which limits us a bit.”

“Mike,” John grunted. He clenched his teeth, clearly not willing to chat before the event.

“Personally,” Mike continued with a smirk, clearly enjoying seeing John beneath him. “I wanted to rape you on top of your apartment building. Have you bent over the railings, where the only thing stopping you from hitting the road below in a bloody splat is me.”

“Sorry me being left at your mercy isn’t quite on your terms.” John’s sarcastic tone was met with a pale thin, wrist around his throat.

“That’s why I’m going to save that for next time. For now, I’m just going to use that snarky, shitty little mouth of yours. See how those nice blowjob lips look around my cock.” Mike shuffled a little too quickly, pulling down his belt and jeans and then the torment began.

Simon Fairchild / The Vast

After Mike had used him, John was surprised to discover his bonds disappeared. He sat up on the single bed that creaked with every movement to see Simon Fairchild on the other side of the room. There he sat, with a smug, infuriating smile on his lips, and before either of them could say anything. The room changed. The walls no longer existed and it looked as if they had ridden miles into the air, the clouds beneath them and planes rushing past as the air was so thin John felt his chest grow tight as his lungs protested. Whilst his focus was on that, the vast empty surroundings and the cold air biting him, he hadn’t even noticed that Simon Fairchild sat delicately in the bed until his hand was on his thigh.

“You are rather handsome you know, Archivist, almost like a scarred battle veteran from the days of old… not literally of course, you’re much smaller, skinnier, and frailer. But you have the eyes and skin for it,” Simon hummed, his pale eyes narrowed like a hawk about to lunge for a hare.

“Can we just get this over with?” John mumbled, his body aching and tired. Gusts of wind kept rushing through the room and even though he knew he was in no danger he still gripped to the side of the bed.

“Oh come now, Archivist, you know me better than that.” Simon grabbed John by the throat, resulting in the room disappearing and him hanging in the air. He felt his stomach lurch, twisting as his limbs became restrained through air pressure alone and the ice cold wind was like daggers in his skin. His mind stopped. He couldn’t think or process anything, it was as if he had vertigo to such an extreme level. It felt like his brain had frostbite. The only thing he was aware of was when Simon’s breath was in his ear and he whispered: “fancy joining the, what do you call it, ah, yes! The mile high club?”

Michael / The Distortion

John was still shaking when Michael appeared, through a door that materialised as if from nowhere. He was almost relieved, at least this time the room would remain on the ground. Michael waltzed in, his head unnaturally tilted and his grin terrifyingly wide. He wandered over, phasing in and out of reality with each step, his body becoming a colourful, static, glitch every time his foot hit the ground. John wasn’t in restraints any more, but him being shaky, weak, and covered in blood, as well as two portions of semen in his cunt and one in his gut, meant he wasn’t keen to move anywhere very fast.

“Whatever you plan on doing can you do it quick,” John groaned, curling up on himself. Martin appeared at the end of his bed, he didn’t seem to have any instruments or equipment with him but before John knew it he was on his back with his legs held up. He had a speculum forced into his cunt. He felt his genitalia be stretched so far it made his eyes water and him suck in on his teeth.

“that IS BETter, aRCHIvist,” Michael giggled. “I preFER it WHEN you ARE quiET.” He kept chuckling as John’s cheeks became wet with tears. He shoved his fingers inside of John, every single one of them, and filled him with his own blood. If John had asked Michael couldn’t explain how. All he knew is that John’s Cunt was filling up with blood until his gut began to swell. “You KNOW, sEX has NevER interestED ME much. BUT torTure… that IS fun.”

Annabelle Cane / The Web

Annabelle Crane was almost a welcome relief, John sighed and let his body relax into the bed. At least dream logic meant that his injuries were healed and his body was cleaned from Michael. However, it wasn’t long that John felt his a black tape, from the very tapes he recorded statements with suddenly appear and wrap around his wrists and ankles. They pulled his limbs away from him, tightly meaning any movement would dislocate a knee or shoulder. John took deep breaths and try not to panic. Annabelle Cane appeared with a mischievous smile, and a riding crop. She lightly tapped Jonathon’s gut, which was covered in a filthy, blood stained, white shirt.

“My my, they’ve certainly left a mess for me, haven’t they?” She grinned.

“Ugh. Hello Annabelle,” Jonathon groaned. He gasped and winced as the riding crop hit his gut.

“You will speak when spoken to,” she said simply. She then transformed before his eyes, long black haired legs grew from her back, gigantic spider’s limbs covered in black hairs. She used them to crawl on top of John, settling between his legs with the touch making him whine and cry out.

“Annabelle. Please. Not- not like this,” he begged. Annabelle chuckled, and let one hairy appendage stroke his cunt before her human arm smacked his genitalia with a riding crop.

“What did I just say, Archivist?” She said sternly. She giggled as Jonathon whimpered as she began to roughly fuck his cunt with one long, spindly black limb. She pushed until she reached his cervix, and then kept going.

Peter Lukas / The Lonely

The room was silent, and perhaps that should have relaxed John - being alone and without any avatar to beat and rape him… But this part of the dream was always different. It was always uncertain. He knew Peter Lukas was next, he was waiting somewhere. Suddenly, a thick fog filled the room, slowly until John couldn’t even see his own restrained body. He knew better than to call out, Lukas enjoyed that, and John not admitting his fear would infuriate him. Suddenly, John felt his restrained legs be released, he struggled, he couldn’t see anyone. He could only feel two calloused hands on his thighs shoving them backwards and causing John to fold painfully.

“Do hold still, John,” a faux-cheerful voice said. One that sounded strangely caring despite having not one iota of care and compassion in it. Peter Lukas. Before John could respond he felt a thick, wet tongue inside of his arsehole. He gasped and whined, hating how it felt almost… good. He felt tears fall down his face as he felt his swollen from testosterone clitoris grow painfully hard. He felt like his insides were being eaten my Peter Lukas. Owned. As if he had slit open his gut and began fucking his guts. John unwillingly orgasmed, his body betraying him, but that made everything far more sensitive. He tried to kick Peter Lukas from his body as he the sensation grew painful. He sighed in relief as Peter pulled away, his bleary vision making it even harder to see through the fog. Somehow there were hands on him, a body crushing him, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Well, that should be enough, I think,” Peter said finally, without a word he forced his cock into John’s arsehole. No lubrication beyond his own spit, and no warning. John cried out, his throat raw, and hated himself for it.

Jude Perry / The Desolation

“Hey there, Archivist,” Jude Perry said with a sinister smirk as she looked down at John’s ruined body, he was covered in cum, his own blood, and was starting to bruise. His body shaking in pain, exhaustion, and cold.

“Jude,” he said hoarsely. He tightened his lips and looked away, Jude never cleaned him up in this nightmare. She wanted him broken.

“The very same. Personally I find this whole thing a bit gross, and you’re not really my type you know? But… a chance to torture the Archivist? Sign me up.”

“Of course. Well. Get it over with,” John grunted, feeling numb to any possible torture that could follow.

Jude straddled John’s torso and began groping his breasts. He flinched and squirmed uncomfortably, and she pulled and twisted his nipples, at first John thought it wasn’t too bad until Jude turned up the heat… Literally. He felt the burning sensation against his nipples first, then he smelt the burning flesh of his breast tissue.

“God, you scream, far too much,” Jude groaned, rolling her eyes. She released John’s chest and melted candle wax dropped from her fingers leaving splotches on his skin - bright orange and searing. Until she got to his mouth, then she let it drip onto his lips, giggling as he screamed and yelled - it sounded like gargling as his tongue and throat filled with the burning hardening substance. He quickly stopped screaming, purely because it was physically impossible. Eventually it filled him, all the way down to his digestive system until it came out of his mouth covering the lower half of his face.

“That should shut you up, now if it’s alright with you Archvist, I’m gonna wank over your tits. Feel free to say no!” Jude cackled as she watched John be unable to move or speak, only tears fall from his eyes.

Nikola Orsinov / The Stranger

Nikola didn’t want John tied to a bed, and she wanted him clean and fresh. So when this section of the forced nightmare Elias concocted appeared, he didn’t hurt at all. His body had healed, his holes had not been violated, and he was instead, sat tied to a chair with the horrifying mannequin masquerading as a human in front of him. Her smile and inhuman face haunted him more than anything, the memory of this section of the dream was hazy but he remembered her face and smile.

“Good Evening, ARCHIVIST,” Nikola said, her movements towards John angular and awkward. “What Should I Do With You?”

“You could let me go,” John suggested sardonically. Nikola laughed her disjointed laugh, one that scratched against John’s bones.

“ALWAYS So Funny, ARCHIVIST. As You Know, Mannequins Are Not Built For This Particular Activity.” She knelt down, and tore John’s shirt open. She tutted as she saw his gut. “You Do Take TERRIBLE Care Of Your Skin, ARCHIVIST.” She slit open his stomach, causing him to scream out - his throat no longer hoarse and sore. She pushed her cold fingers, with the softness of skin but the hardness of plastic inside of the wound. As she began brutally fingering John’s stomach. She penetrated the wound, pulled it open, and let his stomach acid drip down his gut, onto his pubic hair and eventually fall onto his clitoris causing him to whine. Nikola giggled, the noise far too close to John’s skull which felt as if a rat was digging it’s way into his cranium.

“SUCH Cute Little Noises You Make ARCHIVIST,” Nikola hummed. “Maybe This Will Be Fun.”

Hezekiah Wakely / The Buried

“What a sweet boy,” Hezekiah said softly. John flinched and struggled. He hadn’t felt the presence so close to him until now. The coffin was chained shut and buried deep, deep within the earth. No one else should be able to fit inside with him but there was a hard, cold body next to him. Arms around his chest and a heavy, foul breath covering his face. He felt long thin hands grope at his body, as a rodent began crawling over his chest. A rat, John thought based on the tail.

“Hezekiah,” John said finally, his breath stilted and strained. “What a lovely home you have,” he added sarcastically.

“Thank you, Archivist, I made it just for you,” Hezekiah responded. He pushed two fingers into John’s mouth, who winced and repressed a wretch at the taste of dirt. He began fucking John’s throat with his fingers until he threw up, vomiting a yellow substance that had chunks of mud matted inside it. John felt the rat by his thigh, scratching and nibbling at his skin. Hezekiah’s hands gently massaged his breasts, carefully rolled a thumb over his nipple. John’s breathing grew heavy and he whined. He hated how tender and sweet it was. The affection made it worse. The way Hezekiah kissed his neck, gently nipping and how his hands made their way down to John’s trousers. He unbuttoned them, his filthy fingers finding John’s labia and prying it open. Softly fingering him, the dirt sticking to his cunt as the rat left his new wounds alone and made its way to his stomach. Deciding this was a better place to nibble and bury.

“Please, please stop,” John whimpered as he felt Hezekiah’s fingers masterfully rub against his g-spot and stretch open his cunt. He hated how it made him into such a weak, quivering wreck. Perhaps it was how the rat had now buried a nest in his stomach, a wound that leaked and weeped as the rat began nibbling at his organs, or maybe it was how Hezekiah touched him like a gentle lover.

“Not until my seed is filling your sweet womb,” he said, pulling down John’s trousers and pressing his cock between his thin thighs.

Maxwell Rayner / The Dark

John was back in the bed, the dirt, vomit, blood, viscera, stomach acid, and urine that had been staining his body had now disappeared. His shirt and trousers were clean, and not torn. There were no longer gaping holes in his thigh and stomach, his skin clear and unharmed as it had been - scars not withstanding. He allowed himself to relax for a moment, however that turned out to be more short lived than he’d expected when the light in the room suddenly vanished. It wasn’t as if someone had turned the lights off, it was pure emptiness. The windows no longer let any street lamps in, or lights from passing cars. John’s eyes couldn’t even adjust, he attempt to lift his hand to discover he couldn’t as he was restrained. He looked down instead, not able to even make out a shape of his torso. It was time for the Dark it seemed. Maxwell Rayner.

“Maxwell?” John said, he never really found the dark scary as such. However, being restrained inside it with a terrifying rapist ready to torture him? That was a different matter entirely. He heard movement, and his head snapped around pointlessly. Nothing. Suddenly, there was a weight on top of him, heavy pungent breath coating his face.

“Archivist. Jonathon, yes? No. Tonight you will be… Clara,” Maxwell said sinisterly. John stopped breathing for a moment, Maxwell so casually using his birth name made his blood run cold. Not to mention the implications given who Maxwell’s usual prey was.

“How did you- that’s not- no.” John felt pathetic as he spluttered, as if he had earned Maxwell’s snort of laughter. He ran one finger down John’s face and gently stroked his cheek.

“Shush, don’t get so worked up, Clara darling,” Maxwell mocked, John didn’t have to see his face - he could hear his smirk.

“I’m not worked up, I’m perfectly calm. I’m simply telling you that’s not who I am-” John was silenced as a rough hand grabbed his breasts, as always in this dream he wasn’t wearing a binder. They were on display, and John swore they weren’t normally this big. He was quite small chested, but Maxwell seemed to have a generous handful.

“Mhm, whatever you say, sweetheart,” Maxwell hummed as he roughly groped his breasts and began grinding his cock against John’s cunt.

Daisy Tanner / The Hunt

John sighed in relief when the light returned, and especially when his wrists were free. He sat up, massaging where they had been bound and caused his muscles to ache. Stood at the end of his bed in a sports bra, a gun harness with two police regulation handguns inside, and blood stained jogging bottoms was Daisy Tanner. Her starburst scar on display, and her short blonde hair soaked with sweat. When Daisy turned around, John knew instantly she was taken over by the Hunt - just as she was every night. Her eyes were narrowed, her toned body larger and more striking. Her teeth were bared, pointed and sharp. She began pacing like a lion analysing it’s prey.

“Daisy, I- I know it’s not real but it’s good to see you,” John said hastily, shakily getting to his feet and not taking his eyes from Daisy. She didn’t say a word, simply continued pacing. John took a step closer, feeling foolish - he couldn’t reason with a dream. “I- I know you’ve… not exactly you anymore but-” Daisy growled and took a step towards him. “Okay. So you’re just.. going to… right.” John backed away, bumping into the door behind him.

“You should be dead,” Daisy growled as she pounced, her claw-like nails gripped John’s throat pulling him onto the bed. She held tightly, causing blood to seep down his skin. She tore a hole causing blood to start filling up his windpipe, John choked and spluttered, only surviving since he couldn’t die. Elias had insisted upon it. Daisy left him there for a moment, chuckling to herself as she ripped off John’s trousers and underwear. She let them fall into rags beneath him, and smoothly pulled a gun from it’s holster. She watched and smirked as she slipped the weapon inside his cunt, shoving it in as deep as it would go. Enjoying seeing John scream, yell, and struggle as she raped him with the gun her police sergeant had entrusted just to her.

Jane Prentiss / The Corruption

John let his body fall into the bed when Daisy left, his breath heavy and his limbs exhausted. He wasn’t looking forward to hers in particular given their history, it was always different every night. The Corruption however was always on a similar line. And it started with a silver worm dropping from the window.

All John could think when the worms began appearing in the room, was thank god it wasn’t spiders. They wriggled in from under the door, the windows, and down the walls. John knew this meant Jane Prentiss was arriving, and since she enjoy a filthy, corrupted body the blood and scars from Daisy still soaked his body. The worms got to John first, no matter how much he struggled they bit into his flesh, burying and scaring him all over again. He saw them crawl under skin, moving strange lumps making him want to claw at his arm and rip them out. He felt them all over his body, crawling into his mouth, his cunt, and his arsehole. He gasped and struggled. He squirmed, kicked his legs, arms and screamed out. He felt them inside his throat, his larynx, and falling down his digestive system to suck on the inside of his gut. They were stuffed inside his cunt and asshole, crowed and wet. They were sucking on his cervix, his prostate, his g-spot, his and clitoris. John could barely open his eyes, feeling his body go through intense pain, alongside orgasming which made the agony and violation even worse.

When his eyes finally were able to flutter open he saw a familiar shape at the end of his bed. Still just as rotten and infested as before. Jane Prentiss. Her neck was bent at an awkward, unnatural angle. She had a smile which look as if someone had cut from one eyebrow to the other with sharp teeth filling the gap. When John tried to speak, she let out a screeching noise which caused the worms bite harder, digging into his flesh. They dug through his vaginal canal and his skin, into his intestines, and roamed through his body.

Jared Hopworth / The Flesh

John sighed in relief when his skin and body returned to normal, no blood, no residual worms, no bruises… and most thankfully he was no longer in agony. However, that would soon change. Jared was next, and John knew he most enjoyed a blank canvas to work with. He winced the moment he heard the loud footsteps outside of the door, and sure enough Jared’s large, uneven, oddly shaped frame was stood there. His tongue licking his lips as he threw his weight behind one foot then the other. He made a strange shifting sound as he walked, as if his muscles and bones weren’t quite stable within his body. John didn’t say a word just stared as Jared approached, who smirked and leered like he’d done this a thousand times before.

Jared sat on the bed, causing it to creek and groan, the slats sinking all the way to the ground. John attempted to escape, his bonded wrists making it a fool’s errand. He felt a large, bumpy hand grab his ankle and pull him towards Jared.

“Come on now, don’t be such a pussy,” he growled.

“I’m- I’m not- it’s normal to not wish to be raped,” John replied indignantly.

“Well, I’m going to fucking destroy you, and you’ll have no little boyfriend around to help you disappear this time.” On that Jared ripped John’s clothes from his body. “Shall I take another rib? Yeah, from the other side, even it out.” John yelled and gasped as Jared shoved his hand inside John’s flesh. He roughly pulled out a rib, and grinned. “You have such pretty bones, you know that?” The viscera, blood, and body fat dripped down his hand and arm. “Clean it for me, yeah?” He shoved it inside John’s mouth causing him to gag, wretch, and his throat to spasm. Jared pulled it out causing John’s to vomit all over his front and cover the soiled bone in bile. “Ah. Well. Least it’s lubed up, yeah?”

Before John could ask what he meant, he discovered by feeling the sharp, repulsive implement invading his cunt. He felt his entire body stiffen and curl up, the sharp edges cutting his insides and the heavy ragged end slamming against his cervix. His face became wet with tears and he felt blood gather in his throat from his screams. Jared didn’t relent, he continued until he felt the flesh give way, pushing the bone through John’s cervix into his womb.

Oliver Banks / The End

John had somehow fallen asleep after Jared’s attack, he found his body healed and clean afterwards. He sighed softly, feeling inherently warm and comfortable. Perhaps he had woken up after all? No. This wasn’t his room, not his bed, Martin was not curled up next to him. He sighed, of course. Oliver hated seeing him harmed and hurting, the figment would be so loving whilst it was his turn. As if that made what was about to occur any better. At least this time he awoke before Oliver’s attack started, usually he was still asleep. He felt the long wandering arms touch his body, and John signed, remaining stiff and cold.

“It would be a lot easier if you lent into it, you know,” Oliver said, his hand slipping beneath John’s pyjama bottoms and teasing his pubic hair.

“Oliver. You know I would not enjoy it either way, just hurry up. It’s been a long night,” John sighed.

“I suppose that’s the problem with coming last, huh?” Oliver began fingering John’s hole, which whilst was physically unharmed John still winced from the memories of violation that had occurred again and again that night. “I don’t want this either.”

“Then stop.”

“I can’t. This isn’t real, remember? The real Oliver wouldn’t even be in the room. But your brain? The thoughts Elias put in here? They’ve got to keep going until the job is done. Sorry.”

“Fine. Just. Be quick.”

“I’ll try. You’re not really enticing me though, which would help,” Oliver mumbled as he straddled John’s body. Somehow, the kisses on his neck, caresses, and the gentle way Oliver slowly pushed his cock into John’s cunt somehow makes it so much worse.

BONUS: Hurt/Comfort Martin / The Lonely

John awoke with a start, reaching out to his surroundings. He felt Martin’s warm arm first, then his pillow, and he opened his eyes to see his forest pattern bedding. He sighed and turned onto his side, wrapping his arm around Martin and holding tight as he buried his face into his soft warm back. He didn’t know whether it was his right grip or the crying that awoke Martin. Either way he turned around and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. His previously black curls were streaked a shocking white, they fell in front of his face as he slowly woke up. He didn’t technically need to sleep now, not since Peter Lukas… but it felt normal, nice even. He gave a sad smile as he saw John curl into his side.

“The dream again?” Martin asked, holding John as close as he could whilst still being gentle. All John did was nod, and Martin kissed the top of his head. “You’re safe, love. Just us two here. Just us two and no one else.” John whimpered and shuffled closer, resting his head on top of Martin’s chest. His head heavy as he desperately wished they had a normal, happy life.

19 notes · View notes