#lluychu
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The south Andean deer by marvgtaylor
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five leaves on my head right now
#:-D i just thought it was really sweet#this is basically me as a cat and the leaves are: common oak (hi lluychu!)/ silver bitch / tatar maple / common ash and cornelian cherry :)#DID I SERIOUSLY MISSPELL BIRCH AS BITCH
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heyy! i run andean-deer, and idk i saw ur page and i don’t really kin deer.. but they have been one of my main sources of support and i really see them as family.. for that reason, i bear their name (lluychu: deer in central quechua).
i think i might be deerkin.. not sure what type of deer just yet though i’m leaning white-tailed deer.
eee..! i’m mostly catkin but… i can’t really explain it but upon stumbling onto your page, i feel like prancing around and threshing grass on my antlers and shakin’ about!!
why hello there!! [tail waggle]
ANOTHER DEER ANOTHER DEER!!! 🦌🦌
ANOTHER DEER!
I don't see many deer in the alterhuman communities but I am so happy to meet another! Even if you don't end up being deerkin you are welcome here to prance about as much as you like ^^. White-tailed deer are gorgeous ^^
I'm mostly coyotekin but seeing other hoofed kin really makes me feel more like a deer! I'm glad that you've been able to find strength in comfort in deer. There's something about them that's always felt like family to me, too.
Also, your name is so beautiful! Did you choose it? The significance and power in choosing one's name is such a wonderful thing. And if not, then that's a great coincidence!
I wish you luck on your journey of discovery, my deer friend :D
#Sorry for all of the exclamation points I am excited#deer friends!#otherkin#otherhearted#deerkin#therian#asked and answered#orias replies
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deer crossing deer crossing... you are now crossing into the realm of the deer. this is my secret story set in a most colorful world.
i am the qillqaq, that is i am the author of this pocket-sized dimension. my name is lluychu.
im really starting to see this as a book / chapter-led sequence. as is according, each chapter will be linked to a pachakuti (overturning of spacetime) before resuming.
maybe in various wavelengths of light and shadow. could be a traditional book, a comic or a different form entirely.
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i follow you because i think your insights are really helpful and like even just the little things... you have a sharp mind!
thank you lluychu, that means a lot,,,
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Ceremonial Knife (Tumi) from the 15th - 16th century made during the time of the Inca Empire (Tawantinsuyu).
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Zona de venados by musangi
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Velocista de altura by Rolly Valdivia Chávez
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Venado Cola Blanca by Marco Silva Navarrete
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A Tender Moment by Karen Hooper
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White-tailed Deer by Luis G. Restrepo
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Volcán Antisana in Ecuador by Peter W. Wendelken
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Cayambe-Coca NP by Peter Edmonds
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untitled.
by lluychu
…and we, though many— throughout the earth—we are one body in this one…
these hymns and melodies have curled like the horns of a ram, crammed inside me like the sound of the ocean is supposedly captured in a conch. phantom psalms and the empty flipping of print and paper, shake my head. don’t want to remember.
when i am left in silence, i find myself returning to the aisle with tiled floors and wooden pews that smell like dust and shed skin. the scent of incense and candle wax is inescapable and deliberate. it is a visceral feeling embedded in my skin like wet teeth.
lift your hands to receive the bread that tastes more cardboard than wafer, and make the sign of the cross like you only live this way.
like mountains, your shoulders rise when you stand to listen to the gospel. and when you sit, they set, impaled by the word of god.
and then the homily begins…
shake my head, don’t care to remember. it is deceptively easy to forget how much of a stain i am on their holy grounds.
how is this not a nightmare to remember? why am i not shaken by returning to that passive consciousness where my choice was just a passing thought? while the others were so devout they offered that i should join him every sunday, even when i realized the faith was never going to accept me. every step towards the altar was overshadowed by my unspoken sins, and i was told that feeling rocks in your shoes was normal. every confession would make no difference, i was just existing in impurity, in matrix.
even if they dragged me kicking and bleating from the stall, i was not ever without blemish. i was not an acceptable sacrifice. after that day, there was no holiness in that place.
unable to arrive late, the sacrificial lamb was brought up to the altar and its body was broken in half to be eaten by the congregation. blood filled chalices and became wine, with a sickly color. the heart of the lamb was removed and the priest carried that dripping weight to the golden tabernacle, behind him the blood continued to pool, slow, oozing, fat-laden ichor. try as he might, the door of the tabernacle refused to open. his anxious hand squeezed that pulse and the heart gushed out enough to change the color of his ceremonial cloth. turning back to the congregation of hungry doves, he declared the blood unsavory and the flesh unclean. what would god do to the eager ones who pecked out my eyes and slurped through my bones, the marrow i once had.
the doves dropped dead from such blasphemy and i rose on shaky knees, wobbly like i was draped in embryonic silk, i had nothing left to give to them. predictably, i fell and my hollow trunk floated out of the church and the doors slammed shut on my neck, ending my misery.
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rage
by lluychu
consumes me
engulfs me
i glow like a colossal moose being backlit on a frozen road
red embers
pooling out when i shake my head
summons a bark
rivaling my own mass
clawing at my insides
hooves digging up snow
eating wheat
rye churns in my stomach
as i ruminate
over
the conviction of many
haunts me
thoroughly
symbols twinkle in my mind’s eye
navigate sorrow
wade through gullies and trenches
tall enough for just my neck to lie above the water
swimming in deep valleys
crystal clear beneath me
smoke rises off me
but still
the claw marks piercing my hide
sting terribly
where you see a hiker
my yuraqchupa eyes see a settler
smell their untended campfires
engulfing me
and the farther i swim
the louder the crackling flames become
trees falling like logs
rolling over litter left by campers
calling themselves witches and nomads
when the land refuses their colonization
through fire its screams are heard
and i swim faster
my antlers burden me
and it screams through me again
deny the settler the satisfaction
deny its claims to your bones
deny it deny it deny it
entry
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