Pillar Men - Tumblr Posts
Just to keep you updated, I’m not doing a n y t h i n g BUT I’m planning to arrange something for commissions/donations soon
Don't let it be wrong Don't let it be right Get in his way You're dead in his sights ❤️
but after every step, there is another, there’s fire behind the wall of ice. but after every breath, there is another, if there’s anyone left alive.
this will be my last Kars for now. he needs rest
Pasty nerd Brit vampire getting bullied by Aztec fitness gods
His tapping makes me giggle
@heyitstyyy
Kitties
THEEEEEEEEEM.
A scene thats kind of similar (kars not wanting esidisi to be involved with him or whateva) happens on new river on ao3 u should read it 🙏
@heyitstyyy
Love birds
@heyitstyyy
Kars invents instruments
(Hes playing his arm like how he played lisa lisas leg like the guitar)
August 2
Bonus:
Him playing Esidisis leg
July 31
OH L A W D
Wamuu‼️💪💪
No clothes vv
I DONT THINK I POSTED THIS ONE
also i gave wamuu a cat named daisy
Sep 22
My God is the Sun
So this was an entry for a prompt on the Jojo discord I'm in- this prompt was history and I of course had to go and make it weird.
Historical Fiction of the first expedition to Machu Picchu, in which the narrator discovers the reason the Spanish Conquistadors had no record of the palatial grounds.
Written in Lovecraftian style, genre: horror
It is with reluctance that I dare to transcribe the events of that night in December to paper in the fear that to repeat it outside the confines of my mind will make it tangible. The discovery of such an evil in the world however weighs on me, my remaining honor implores me to give witness of the events so that it my not be repeated in error. May my selfless recording of my own cowardice give peace to the widows and families of those lost to us, if it is possible to find peace after such a tale.
I had traveled from Europe to the mountains of Peru under the employment of one Augusto Berns, a German business man of moderate renown and ambition, but no less lacking in political connection to without doubt expunge his name from these documents should they be parted from me. My previous experience working for his competitor in Egypt had extended my reputation far enough that for a moderate pay raise I had no qualms in overseeing similar unsavory work in South America. The relics of the ancients were not scarce once there was a deposit struck, but like mining for gold or silver there needed to be an experienced geologist on hand to conduct the miners. So too there was a need for my service of identifying the treasured pieces of archeological finds between useless bits of rubble and broken pottery.
Within a few months in the jungles of this untamed land our expedition had learned from the locals of a royal palace of the Inca left untouched by time. The Spanish conquistadors leaving no record of reaching such a place in the research I conducted made this rumor at least worthy of a guided tour up the mountain. A few shining coins convinced the local boys of the village to help haul equipment and guide us to their ancient playground, nimble as mountain goats they climbed steep rock face and held balance over a decaying rope bridge to our goal. The workers of our party armed with machetes to clear vines and overgrowth thick and gnarled from our path, if not for the occasional brick jutting from the ground clearly made by human hands, I would have assumed the palace to be only myth. Surely no structures would survive the will of nature at her heart of green growth.
Finally, a monument emerged from behind the trees, a complex of buildings and rubble overtaken by tall grass and vines and wild fruiting plants but immune to the advancement of thick trees and roots. Our searching was rewarded with the discovery of a dense collection of artifacts and items crafted hundreds of years ago. By the weeks end we had established a camp under the guise of a logging operation, rudimentary living quarters and storehouse to properly care for the treasures built at the base of the path up the mountain the locals called Machu Picchu.
The easily scavenged locations produced adequate finds and we pushed further and further into the expanse of desiccated temples and chambers even as the days waned with the nearing of the winter solstice. The temples devoted to the ancient gods of the builders of this mystifying isolated city were easily identifiable like all temples are, the walls carved in intricate detail of ritual and practices not unlike the stained-glass windows of a Christian church. Naturally, the caverns connected to the grand temple served as tombs for the deceased where we found the greatest treasures so far. Raw gems and rough metal tools and a few weapons made of a strange black glass that the locals identified as obsidian and was only found in volcanic deposits.
The mummified remains of the people buried here stare at us as we take from them the last of their worldly positions, eyes long unseeing and shriveled in their skulls but watching all the same. The treasures abounded and were sure to fetch whatever price we named for them and I sent word to my contacts in England to inquire their interest in purchasing directly from me and avoiding business costs going through Herr Berns. The day after that letter posted on an outgoing expedition to the coast for resupply, we came upon the grandest cavern yet found.
This new partition of the tomb system was markedly different from its predecessors, the walls even more spectacular in their craftmanship depicting a specific ritual and repeating figure of a man standing head over shoulders of the life-sized renditions of native people. Though certainly grander and more extravagant than the chambers that came before it, the new cavity was sorely lacking in loose artifacts that may be easily traded and sold. Few raw and roughly cut gem stones were cemented into the walls themselves and the workers quickly jumped at the chance to dislodge some precious stones as large as their fists.
I allowed them to work uninterrupted as I studied the carvings and hieroglyphics on the walls, and though I was no scholar of this language their rudimentary story telling through sequence made the ritual understandable across years untold and needing no interpreter. Depictions of young men lined up and awaiting a signal of the sun and moon to align descend into a cave, an underworld inhabited by creatures portrayed with human bodies and decidedly inhuman faces. The torsos and limbs of the nonhumans posed in strange and unnatural ways as the scenes continued deeper and deeper into the cavern. Only a sliver of light remained from the winter sun as I gained awareness of what the ritual carved from solid rock entailed, what the specialized glass tools and unfathomable artifacts scattered in abandoned workshops were for.
I could scarcely stomach the contemplation of the images, knowing now what my own hands had touched in the extraction of items from the temple halls, what morbid truth the array of alters and weapons found so far had been subjected to. All in appeasement of their god, the primitive god of what I would only realize later the god of death and blood. What I had once believed to be simply decorative motifs in the floors that I stood upon served a different more practical purpose to channel the blood of their deceased into this grand cavern. And if the star alignments and depictions were to be believed, the winter solstice marked the festival of ultimate sacrifice to this blood god. The groups of men previously depicted nearer the entrance to this tomb now bent in supplication to be worthy of becoming one with this great being.
My examinations ended here with the last of the carved reliefs, and I wish now that this had ben the end of our adventure to this hall of death, but ancient stone had never posed any real threat before, aside from unstable footing. Foolishly we continued to the rear of the cavern where the walls seemed to bow out away in a circular cul-de-sac around a central pillar holding the roof stable. Though it was covered in slimy algae enough to obscure what material it was made of, enough of the monolith remained visible to see it was dotted with alcoves containing the first untethered artifacts to be found in this section of cave. Within moments I had retrieved one of the items, a stone mask carved with great care and polish, its face a haughty sneer and monstrous fangs protruding from behind closed lips. In all my experience I had never known an artifact to emit such malice and menace as simply holding this mask instilled into me.
Not having the fortitude to withstand this feeling for longer than necessary I ordered the workers to start collection of these masks, for while they were indeed eerie and disturbed, they would fetch fair price to private collectors in Europe. The novelty of possessing mysterious worship items the fad of nobles to flaunt their wealth and intellect to lecture guests on its origin. I then turned my attention to the obstructed portions of this structure and what was uncovered burns into my mind even now as I write this account. Under the muck and slime, I revealed little at a time the face of a man, carved so carefully from the stone it appeared as though he had been cursed by Medusa of Greek myth.
Though the stone man was indeed the most valuable piece of ancient art we had uncovered in this expedition, he was carved from the very structure of the cave system and I mourned for the riches that would never be mine upon his sale. I returned my attention to the workers extracting masks from alcoves and scolded one as he was about to place the mask upon his face in jest. The light from the entrance was fading quickly as we recovered all we could carry and as we turned to exit it had faded completely so that we were forced to abandon arm loads of cargo and hold torches aloft instead. The flash of flint and tinder to light them sparked in the gloom and made the shadows dance along the carved reliefs on the walls, the pictures seeming to take on life of their own as the light shifted on their features.
I had scarcely lit my own torch to lead the men back to camp when the sliding scrape of a stone being dislodged behind us froze us in our steps. The more cautious and superstitious of the group spun around and franticly searched for explanation to the sudden sound but I foolishly eased their minds believing it to just be a natural shifting of rock or discarded artifact. The sun had truly set now and shade became pitch black without its radiant presence. As I worked to calm the men so too something else was working in these obscuring shadows.
From the central pillar of the cavern a writhing mass of roots carved from stone warped as they awoke from their centuries old slumber, twisting over themselves in masses indescribable in words before shooting out and grasping the closest members of our party, binding them and constricting like snakes devouring their prey. We were reduced in that moment to our most basic of instincts, some men fleeing the cavern on swift feet before their minds could even comprehend what they were witnessing, others remaining frozen in place as if they too were cursed to remain stone. Madness must have overtaken me then, for as I watched the stone vines rise up and pierce through the ear lobes of one of the workers, another vine through his tongue as he screamed, I could only feel a sense of awe as I saw acted out in front of me the rituals I had studied on the engraved walls. Blood flowed freely from his wounds as he struggled against the embrace of the stone vines, struggled against the embrace of death.
More roots curled around our ill-begotten goods that had fallen to the ground, lifting the macabre stone masks to the faces of the other men caught in the tangled web. The collected blood from the first man splashed over them and, upon contact, produced thin bone like claws from the sides of the masks and extended into the skulls of the workers. Their blood pooled beneath them where they lay motionless and fed into the irrigation channels marked into the floor, flowing towards the central monolith at a supernatural rate. With horror, I looked up to the face of the carved man and witnessed color return to his face and hair and I felt within me the burning cold awe of witnessing the ancient god come to life. For that is the only thing he could be, the carvings and worship of the ancient people must have been correct in their depictions of this god of death.
The monolith god descended from his perch, towering over we remaining mortals and approached the bloodied man still held firm in front of him. I had no control over my own person to even draw breath as I witnessed the pillar god’s chest undulate before sprouting ribs from beneath smooth skin without drawing blood, the ribs caging the unwilling sacrifice and pulling him to the gods body, where upon he started to melt into the flesh of the stone man, screaming in terror as his bloody tongue filled his mouth to drown his own screams. As he was digested and incorporated into the flesh of the god, the others that had been sacrificed and lay immobile on the floor began to twitch and move under their own power once more. The sight must have broken me from my stupor as I next remember running alongside the few others still untethered by roots toward the exit. Blurred walls rushed by my vision before we finally spilled into the open night air, spurred on ever faster by the sounds of our less swift companions being torn and cannibalized by our former colleagues.
I was one of only three men to make it back to our camp at the base of the mountain.
In our haste to reach the relative safety of our outpost we had not the presence of mind to ensure the creatures that were once men had given up the chase at the edge of the temple grounds, our subconscious minds somehow equating their presence as static and therefore bound to the unholy place behind us. But we were soon proved wrong when from outside the door a squealing of metal and splintering of wood informed us that the main gate to our own safe haven had been breached. We three that knew the truth of what lay out in the light of the crescent moon, rendered dumb and speechless as we heard the cries of men and animals alike outside fall prey to the hunting party stalking past our door. We could not draw breath to warn the others before they too rushed outside to fend off what they knew nothing about. I regained a semblance of sense or perhaps my survival instincts overwhelmed my rational mind, but I found myself cowering behind the doors of a standing wardrobe, not daring to crack the door in hope that perhaps I would run out of air before I could be found, that my death would be kinder than the ones I could hear happening still around and inside the lodging.
I know not how much time passed as I prayed mercy, as I awaited the inevitable. Eons, years, seconds had no meaning as I counted each breath, each heartbeat that flooded my ears and rendered them useless to hear the intermittent screams of the men in my employ. Exhaustion tugged at my eyelids as surely my supply of fresh air dwindled before my breathing must have alerted the hunters to my hiding space. The doors of my salvation proved to be little more than paper to the claws and power of the men formerly human, their faces twisted in expression to match the accursed masks found in that sanctuary of death. I screamed wordlessly as they dragged me past the remains of the work crew, of the carcasses of the pack animals and past the demolished wooden gate. In my panic I thrashed though they did not harm me as they carried my body back to the temple grounds.
The large flat stone in the center of the courtyard had been speculated to be the site of ritual for animal sacrifices to the ancient gods, and I suppose to a god, humans must not be more than livestock after all. The twisted creatures held me to the slab, one on each limb as a fifth held aloft one of the wretched masks. From the cavern entrance the blood god emerged into the moonlight, his hair a shade of red matching the blood on his face and hands of the night’s sacrifices given onto him. Two black horns adorned his head on each side of his head and I knew this was no god but a demon set upon the world. We had awoken that which was truly cursed, without our greed for treasure and careless disregard for warnings of ancient people this creature would be forever still trapped in its stone prison.
The terrible mask descending towards my face obscured my vision of this demon and the sickly moon in the lavender sky, the creature biting down and spilling its own blood from its tongue in preparation of taking the last sacrifice of the night. But as the cold stone settled over my face hope bloomed in my chest as through the eyehole’s daylight cast its first red rays upon the ruins. The temple grounds were bathed in the glorious rays and the hunting party fell to the ground squealing and shrieking as their skin and sinew burned away. With my limbs free I managed to free my face from the mask as the hunters still dripping blood activated its command to impale my own skull. Even now I bare the scars of the few bone like claws that managed to break the skin of my temple and face. With my remaining strength I flung myself from the alter, the man made from the monolith unable to step foot into the sunlight lest he suffer the same burning fate as his minions. I could feel his eyes upon me even after leaving the main entrance to the ruins but I dared not slow my retreat to look back.
My legs carried me past the ruins of my camp, now to be abandoned along with the stone buildings of the ancient peoples. In a trance, I carried myself to civilization. Though I understood the local dialect, at this moment I found words beyond me, unable to reconcile the fate I had narrowly escaped and indeed believing my escape was a phantasm of my own making, a final imagining of a dying mind like that of a dream. But the comfort of the safety afforded me now, the solid walls and bright sun shining down restored my faculties, though I still dare not speak of this encounter out loud.
I fear the strain on my mind too great to bear for much longer. I am no longer able to tolerate the thought of sleeping at night and leaving myself vulnerable to the hunters come back to reclaim their lost prize. But sleeping in the bright sun as I wish to do proves impossible as well, only able brief periods of rest under the burning rays before the discomfort proves too much, my eyes now sensitive to even the faintest flicker of flame. My strength wanes as food tastes of ash in my mouth, my mental state and paranoia sapping my will to sustain myself with it. Even if it were not a repulsive task anymore to simply eat, I fear that this gnawing hunger in my belly will never again be satiated.
I wait impatiently for the next traveling escort arranged by my employer to deliver the artifacts my team had collected, and I pray they will not hesitate to abandon the task of collecting the items when confronted with the carnage left at the camp site. The temple of the bloody god and the cursed stone masks must stay hidden in this jungle, lost to time.
Author’s Note:
I read a few short stories by Lovecraft to get the kind of feel for that horror genre down and I just gotta say this writing style is pretentious as hell and totally my jam.
Let me know what you think- I know its a VERY niche market for loosely Jojo-related historical fiction horror pieces ':|
so I've made a Battle Tendency AU loosely inspired by @gingerreggg
please check them out!
tw: spoilers? idk....
What if Caesar is a Were-Pillar Man?
He's a Hamon user by the day, but at night his primal instincts take over.
He was born a Pillar Man and he was abandoned as a baby in Italy because of Kars and the Zeppeli family adopted him and treated him as if he were their own son. The reason why he seems human is that his Hamon is what kept his humanity in tact in the day.
He's kept that feral side of him as a secret for many years until Joseph caught wind of this by accidentally witnessing one of his transformations.
Let's just say he had a monsterfucker awakening after that hehe. ;)
