This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Theeaglestrikes on 2024-10-02 17:14:22+00:00.
Nick, your dad’s on OnlyFans, Tom (25m) messaged on Discord.
What a way to find out.
Of course, I (24m) rolled my eyes at first. It just seemed like one of my friend’s infantile jokes. A playground insult that might’ve tickled me when we were younger. I wouldn’t have taken my oldest friend seriously if it hadn’t been for the link I received a moment later.
There Dad (54m) posed, in all of his glory. Not in the nude, thankfully, but far from decent. My father’s cover photo depicted him lying provocatively on a faux leopardskin rug, revealing his greasy, matted chest hair through a silk robe of matching black and orange design.
It was not a pose that his employer would have found appropriate. And even with the knock-off RayBans covering his eyes, I recognised him. That goofy smile, once so endearing, was edged to me. It felt as if the image were cutting my eyes.
What the fuck? I messaged Tom.
He replied, I knew Pete was struggling after your mum left, but fuck, mate. That’s shit.
I’ve always wanted to see Papa Pete’s gyatt, my other friend, Simon (24m), said.
Shut up, I replied. What do I do? Do I confront him?
You should sub, Simon messaged.
Bog off, I said.
He’s kind of right, Nick, Tom said. You need to know what’s on there.
No, I don’t. I really fucking don’t, I replied.
Then we’ll do it, Simon messaged.
We? Tom asked.
Yeah, Tom. I’ll need your emotional support and a bottle of bleach after combing through all of those photos and videos. We’ll take it in turns. I look at a post, then you look at a post, Simon suggested. Pete has thousands of nudes. His account dates back to 2020.
How about you look at the first photo, let us know the damage, then I’ll subscribe if you want to share the burden? Tom asked Simon.
Already seen it, my other friend replied. It was weird.
Wtf? You subscribed without telling me? I messaged, feeling betrayed.
Sorry, Nick, Simon apologised. Curiosity got the best of me. But don’t worry. I didn’t see your dad’s pecker or hole.
Jesus Christ, I replied. Please don’t ever say those words again. Don’t send the photo, please, but describe it.
It was worse than a nude, my friend said. Your dad was licking what looked like a wax arm, and he wore a badge, attached to his lapel, labelled: ‘Mr Morphophilia’. I Googled that word… Pete has a fetish for deformed people.
Oh. That’s not so bad, Tom messaged. I was expecting worse. No offence, Nick, but it was kind of a given that your dad was into freaky shit. He’s an OF creator.
Pete’s page is insane, Simon said. His fans are unhinged, Nick. They’re commenting all sorts of degenerate things. I mean, fair play to him. He’s get a devoted following. But he might want to get some security because these subscribers are a little too into him. They’re giving me psycho vibes. Want me to send some screenshots?
I said nothing in response. I closed my laptop, curled into a ball under my duvet, and hoped I would wake hours later to find that the whole thing had been a bad dream. Or that my friends had fooled me. Created some convincing AI images of my father, perhaps. Still, I knew them, and I knew even that level of Simon-and-Tom-foolery, as I often called it, was beneath them.
I woke up around 5am, having only managed to get three hours of sleep. And when I opened my laptop, I saw that my friends had continuing messaging each other. Continued conducting their ‘research’.
I subscribed, Tom said. Shit. The next photo is worse.
I know, Simon messaged.
You’ve seen it? I thought we were going to take it in turns. You know, look at alternating posts to save our sanity, Tom messaged.
Yeah, Simon said.
I get it, Tom messaged. I feel it too. Nick, I hate to say it, but this is legitimately beautiful. Simon, did you watch the video Pete posted a week ago? Next fucking level.
I know, Simon said.
I think I recognise that girl, Tom said. She was in my class at university.
No spoilers, Simon said. Let’s wait until Nick wakes up.
No spoilers, Tom agreed. My God, I’ve not felt this way in a long time. Suadeo?
Yes, Simon replied.
There was a gap of one hour without any exchange of messages. I hoped that my friends would have changed the topic after the initial unsettling flurry of opinions on my father’s OnlyFans content. Hoped that they would’ve said something to remind me that they were my friends. But they didn’t, and they weren’t. This wasn’t some practical joke. I knew Tom and Simon well, and this wasn’t them.
Their conversation resumed around 4am. It started with a short clip that Tom had attached. And I wish I hadn’t played it.
The video opened with a shaky shot of my friend’s desk.
“Hello, Nick,” he said, gleefully giggling behind the camera.
On Tom’s monitor, I caught a glimpse of Dad’s OF page for a moment. Peeked over the paywall and felt a pang of agony. The same sensation that I’d felt upon eyeing his cover photo, but twice as painful. Even through a phone’s camera. An image of an image.
Given the change in my friends, I dread to think what gazing directly upon my father’s posts would have done to my mind. I don’t think I want to know. But it was clear that Tom and Simon had seen something which fundamentally altered their very souls. That flicker of the computer screen — fortunately, too hazy to distinguish — seared more than my eyes. It seared my skin from top to toes, stopping just shy of consuming more than my physical form.
I screamed, feeling some unbound force trying to untether my mind from my body. I didn’t know what was happening to me, but I knew it was the same thing, on a lesser scale, that had happened to my friends. Perhaps Dad had brewed the perfect combination of pixels to hypnotise folk into parting with their money. Perhaps he’d been consumed by something beyond earthly explanation. I still don’t have an answer.
“I want you to understand, Nick,” Tom continued, moving a kitchen knife on his desk into view. “Want you to see that your dad has done a beautiful thing. I’m going to be a part of that thing.”
I trembled as I realised what was about to happen.
My friend placed the camera on the desk, making sure he was in shot. There were no theatrics. No pause. No grand monologue. He seemed to be hurrying, and that was what made it all the more awful.
Tom didn’t utter a sound as he sawed through his right arm. A sound that even my piercing shriek didn’t drown. His calm demeanour, whilst enduring such pain, almost made me doubt the validity of the footage. But his face was finally in frame, and it told me that this was real. There was no faking his ghastly smile, accompanied by tearful, jubilant eyes.
That wasn’t my friend.
With the awful squelch of innards and sharp cracking of bone, my friend’s forearm came loose. Came free like pulled pork, just below the elbow joint. Tom released a triumphant roar as his blade met the blood-soaked wood below, then he let his severance instrument splash into the growing pool.
My friend was shivering not with agony, but primal delight as he lifted the dismembered limb with his remaining hand. Lifted the bloody appendage towards the camera.
The video ended there.
My face was painted with snot and tears, and I was struggling to breathe through sharp intakes and releases. Through a throat hoarse from screaming. That was why, when I saw a Discord message from Simon had been removed, I felt relieved. I don’t know what my other friend sent, but if it were anything like Tom’s video, I wouldn’t have wanted to see it.
However, the final three messages brought my teeth together.
Nick isn’t ready for mine, Simon messaged.
No, Tom replied. He isn’t. But he felt it for a moment. Felt what we feel. And he felt it for free, Simon. For free. What a gift. Do you think Daddy wants him to see?
I think Daddy wants all of us to see, my other friend said.
My garden’s motion lighting suddenly sprang to life, and less than a moment later, a rock punctured my bedroom window. Tore like a bullet into my room, leaving glass shards on my duvet and a lasting jolt of fear in my chest.
Quivering, I shuffled along the bed, then peered around the edge of the window frame. Something I immediately regretted.
In the garden, stark naked, were Tom and Simon. Without clothes to hide behind, there was no fudging the facts. Under the bright, white glare of the garden’s lighting, no practical effects would’ve explained the dismemberment of my two friends.
Tom stood, right arm absent, with his remaining hand gripping the left handle of the wheelbarrow below. And lying in that cart, like a bloody mound of mulch and brambles, was the still-moving body of Simon. A living, breathing body without arms and legs. A torso immobilised, but somehow more alive than ever. Even from the top window of my home, I saw the smile on Simon’s face. A face coated in trails of blood from the eyes he had plucked from their sockets.
“Nick!” Tom called from below. “I see you.”
Simon yelled something incoherent, opening his mouth wide to reveal that he also lacked a tongue.
“Simon says it’s time for you to see Daddy’s page!” Tom shouted, before pushing the wheelbarrow towards the patio doors.
I yelled at the sound of shattering glass, then I hurriedly slipped into my joggers. I did not run towards the front door, as I knew I would only meet my two unhinged friends. I tore open the bedroom wind...
Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1fuljlv/my_friends_found_my_dads_onlyfans_account_and/