#empty bird cage

[galleryofart]

Genreszene

Artist: Adam Johann Braun (Austrian, 1748-1827)

Date: 1784

Medium: Oil on Copper

Collection: Wien Museum Karlsplatz, Vienna, Austria

[nyxypoo]

:((

[artbysupercres]

Caged Alleyway at Sunset (Digital, 2025)

[lynati]

Why do we

Boopify ourselves?

[totallyawesome123]

rediscovering I have empathy? craaaazyyyyy

[walmartpercyjackson]

Head empty

Only thought is an icemav Bird Cage AU

With Ice as Armand and Mav as Albert

Oh and of course Rooster as Val and Hangman as Barbara

SLIDER AS AGADOR

If someone doesn't do it I might and trust me no one wants that

[dreamyprinx]

gonna redesign this look somewhat as well

[slovakbabe]

it’s so nanami coded……..

[crowcryptid]

woke up today and felt normal so I took advantage and cleaned everything but I ran out of steam so now my computer is sitting unplugged and halfway dusted

this is one of the situations ever

[oolong-strawbby]

You're a cage without me

Your pain is eased, but you'll never be free for

Now I'm taken, the night has me

I want someone to take this soul

I can't bear to keep it

I'd give it just to give

[alaspoon]

adhd task paralysis is taking over my life

[heartofanenigma]

Then of course, nothing replied, nothing speaks to you in the night

And I walked my way home, there was no one in sight

Save a bird, perched upon a street light watching me

The cruelty of the night is akin to a silver dusted haze a lover leaves behind. You can beg the seven seas and the million lights for answers, secrets, touches, just someone to speak and hold before the overbearing lonliness renders you speechless and repulsed by touch. You make deals with charred angels and chase away the bird you housed and all the keepers it had.

[gelastocoridae]

*SIGHHHH* I should have known better than to give my finches a nest to play with, unsupervised.

So

I put my finch Parsley in my smaller cage because he was still recovering from his cat attack, needed to regain stamina n strength before going back to aviary.

And because he needed company I put his ornery brother Foxglove in there with him to return the favor from when he had sprained his leg and needed a recovery space.

And I added their auntie (adoptive) Lupine because she was getting her tail feathers plucked bloody and naked so her bullies (I still cannot figure out WHO because Parsley and a random three of his sisters also have plucked butts) had just started plucking her chest as well.

And because an odd bird out would just continue to be bullied, I added one tail-less sister, Snapdragon, because she's the smartest and least likely to get stressed by me constantly checking on Parsley and Lupine's injuries.

And I gave them a nest and hay to have a constructive activity without too much crowding, so they wouldn't get bored and their tails could grow back.

And this was fine. The kids know they're too closely related to breed and Lupine always rejected their dad and wasn't interested in the boys whatsoever. Their tails have grown back, Parsley is fully recovered, and they were so happily snuggling up in their nest at bedtime. I was planning to return them to aviary this week, maybe swap out some tail-less kids to pinpoint the bully.

IT WAS FINE.

EXCEPT SOMEONE DECIDED THEY MIGHT LAY EGGS ANYWAYS AND NOT TELL ME ABOUT IT

HOW DO I FIND OUT??

I come home after a weekend away and a full day of work, and SNAPDRAGON, my brilliant child, randomly SHRIEKS AND CHASES THE OTHERS AWAY FROM THE NEST LIKE A BAT OUTTA HELL. I grab her to see what's wrong - is she hurt or does she need time out?? NO!!

THERE ARE FIVE EGGS IN THE NEST SHE IS GUARDING. FIVE. THEY ONLY LAY ONE PER DAY. THEY HAVE ALL BEEN HIDING EGGS FROM ME FOR AT LEAST FIVE DAYS.

Ok, ok, I say. This is fine. Maybe Snap (and/or Lupine) decided the nest was too good to waste and she really wanted to Brood™ so she laid some eggs on her own. There's no way they're fertilized. They can sit on them until they're bored so they don't lay more. It'll be fine.

EXCEPT IT WONT.

SINCE THERE ARE SO MANY I DECIDE TO CANDLE THE EGGS TO BE SURE THEYRE EMPTY, AND WHAT DO I FIND OUT???

THEY ARE NOT EMPTY!! One has died early but THREE ARE STILL DEVELOPING! AND THAT'S NOT ALL FOLKS!!

NOT ONLY ARE THEY FERTILE, THEY ARE PACKED FULL!! THE FIRST COULD LITERALLY HATCH AT ANY TIME NOW!!!

I LOOK AT MY BIRDS, CAREFULLY CHOSEN. SOMEONE GOT NASTY AND ALL OF THEM HID THE EVIDENCE FOR AT LEAST 13 DAYS. IT ISN'T SNAP BECAUSE HER BROTHERS DISGUST HER. IT ISN'T PARSLEY BECAUSE HE ONLY SINGS TO GET MY ATTENTION.

SO

THE BOY WHO NEVER SHUTS UP, THE ONE WITH THE VOICE CRACK, FOXGLOVE, SHOOK HIS ASS AT LUPINE AND SHE SAID YES??? TO THE ONE BOY WHO LOOKS LIKE HIS DAD FROM WHOM SHE RUNS??? FOR FIVE EGGS?????

AND SNAP IS GETTING POSSESSIVE OVER THEM??????? WHAT DOES SHE KNOW THAT I DONT?!

Lord help me, 4 birds was fine to begin with and then they had 7 babies, and then 11 birds was enough... I can't just toss these eggs, now. What am I gonna do with 14 birds ;;

[milo-is-rambling]

REUNITED WITH FUNK!!! HE STILL LIVES AND REMEMBERS ME

[orangetintedglasses]

Whoa...

Even if he tried not to let the genuine wonder shift his expression, it was a little difficult to clamp down on the feeling enough to hide it when he was so directly connected to Canary; the awe loosely coiling around the other before he caught it and forced the feeling to fade. Yeesh... maybe don't be so embarrassing?

... but how could he not be awed, seeing the other move and work and change so easily within this space? Watching him summon leaves and vibrant, lively buds like it was what he was meant to do...?

"Why would anyone run from this, human or not...?" Star asked, and it was painfully earnest, like he'd forgotten who the both of them are for a solid few seconds. "It's beautiful here..."

... oookay, no, that's too much, walk that back a little--

"... wh... what I mean is, it's... this place itself, whether it's you or a part of something else, it's trying to heal and protect what's precious to you, and that's... it's incredible."

God, he sounded like such a breathless sap...! Did any of that even sound genuine at this point, or did it just seem condescending? Like he was making light of the other Independent's suffering? Where were his filters? Why was Canary talking about Wolfwood again, aGH-- God, the way his fluster was burning up the 'air' around him was telling--

From his overly-enthusiastic behavior, or the talk of the undertaker? Yes.

Ugh...!

Star made a face and waved his hands a little, cheeks dusted with a sweet, rosy pink for blush solidarity, "sorry, I, uh... worded that a little weird. I just think you're doing really well, even if it might not feel like it..."

At Star's approach, Canary blinks a few times before his eyes return to their original ocean blue—not that either of them have ever seen one other than in books and movies. He allows the inky vines encasing him to fall loosely to the floor, where they shift into a puddle of red and black and teal fabric; it appears that different iterations of his signature coat currently rest at his feet.

The one he's wearing is long, too long, so long it tangles between his legs and heavy to boot. It's covered in buckles and belts, bindings that remind him of his duty owed to the people of this planet. Miraculously, he doesn't stumble when he steps forward to welcome Star into this sanctum—some secluded visualization of his own mind, perhaps leftover from what Knives did.

He offers an apologetic smile before he speaks within the dreamscape; a layer of plantsong hides within his voice as well. "This is all a little too serious for me," he begins, glancing up at the roiling, electric wall clouds that surround this place high in the sky. "I come here when I sleep sometimes, but my body usually registers it as a nightmare. So, uh, I haven't been sleeping too much."

Canary scratches the nape of his neck anxiously, "I don't know... what this place is. I think it's me... but it's not? Whatever Nai—Knives—did to me connected me to the Higher Plane. I managed to sever the connection before I was rewritten, but... It seems like a part of me is still linked somehow."

His fingers trail along the curve of an arched vine; they glow purple when he makes contact with the surface. Small sparks of energy fizzle from his fingertips. Where he touches he leaves behind more budding blossoms and sprouts of leaves.

"It's the only reason I have any of my memories back," he mumbles solemnly, "This place has slowly been collecting pieces and putting them back together. Imagine a human seeing this and not wanting to run, heh."

Taking notes from the way Star exuded raw empathy, Canary offers similar, soothing waves of emotion. Gratitude, acceptance, reassurance.

"I'm sure that whatever he's seen or experienced, he's already weighed the cost of if he ever sees that again," he can't help the way a light blush dusts his cheeks, "I guess it's not up to me to decide whether they should care or not. It's probably just as dangerous to follow me as it is to stay at my side. At least this way I can protect them."

A subtle harmonic trill echoes, as though Canary's not the only one who is amused.

"By the way you talk about Wolfwood, it sounds like you love him a lot. It's a shame that we're too stubborn to admit something like that out loud, isn't it?"

[beloveds-embrace]

Until the Last Loop: Familiar Faces

(Days spent with them making new memories- a silent attempt at forging a new life before it will be ripped away once more)

Poly mercenaries 141 x princess reader

Part One

The castle breathed with life and the scent of burning tallow, but to you, it might as well have been a tomb. Its towering walls and narrow corridors, carved from cold stone and lined with faded tapestries, had grown too familiar over the cycles- prisons that wore different faces but caged you all the same, and you were the bird locked within it each life, merely with different feather each time.

You sung the same melody, regardless. A melody that would soon be snuffed out.

You moved through the halls like a shadow, your impending doom hanging over you like clock that never stopped ticking until its last moments. Servants parted for you without meeting your gaze, and although whispers followed in your wake, they no longer stung the way they once had. You had long since grown used to the weight of their words, their gazes full of pity and disdain. They had become just another layer of the endless loop, a reflection of your precarious standing with the royal lineage.

But the men- the four who trailed in your footsteps, sent by your father to report all your moves back to him with the excuse of protecting you- were different.

They were a presence you couldn’t shake, no matter how many lifetimes passed. Always close, always steady, their shadows filled the empty spaces others left behind. And unlike the others, they weren’t afraid to look at you.

In some lives, you despised them. What comfort could four men give you when all you wanted was your father’s love? Your people’s adoration? Friends your age? None whatsoever.

In other lives, you had been distant. You kept them at arms’ length, unwilling to even converse with them. They were of no use to your desperation to free yourself from this cursed cycle.

You’ve lost count of how many loops you’ve gone through. Even now, you do not know how it started; who started it. A cruel curse, that’s what it was, and you were its constant victim. It was inevitable, so why… keep away the only people willing to be near you?

And so this time, you let them close.

Soap was the first to slip past your walls, an unsurprising fact.

It was late when you found yourself sitting in the gardens, the air sharp with the chill of night. The roses were dying, their petals curling inward as frost crept along the edges, and you wondered- just for a moment- how many times you had seen them bloom and wither like this.

Too many times.

You were alone with him; no maid or lady-in-waiting was willing to accompany you, though rather than saying that, they jusy boldly lied and said they had prior arrangements to the king.

The king. Your father. It was always him. You wished he’d hate you a little less, just enough to not rob you of the care you’ll always long for like a child stumbling through the cold for a flicker of fire, of warmth.

Wistful dreams.

Soap sat down beside you without invitation, though his presence didn’t feel unwelcome. His easy smile was softer in the moonlight, and when he offered you his cloak, you didn’t refuse it.

“You look like you’re waitin’ for somethin’,” he said, voice low but steady, starting the conversation. By now, they’ve come to understand that you are… so different from whatever everyone said of you. You were quiet, your presence squeezed and molded into a tiny nook of the castle so easy to forget.

You didn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch. The words came slower, heavier now- weighted by too many winters and too many deaths.

“I think it’s waiting for me,” you breathed out, fingers brushing the edge of the cloak. The flowers fluttered when a breeze blew by, bending in the directionaway from you; they pitied you, too, for not even they’d be placed upon your grave once you were dead. “… My end, I mean.”

Soap didn’t flinch. He didn’t try to deny it, either. He did not have any loyalty to the king or keeping his secrets; no mercenary would bother even if they’d lifk the king’s hand for his gold and coins.

Snakes, all of them. And yet- they were the ones who got to live, so the last laugh was theirs.

“Well,” he said instead, leaning back on his palms, “if it comes knockin’, ye just let me know. I’ll handle it.”

You almost smiled. Almost.

Soap didn’t leave right after that, like you expected.

He stayed, stretched out beside you on the stone bench like he had nowhere better to be, his broad shoulders relaxed but his eyes sharp as they roamed the shadows pooling in the corners of the garden. The scent of dying roses lingered in the air, sweet and cloying, and you wondered if he noticed the way your hands trembled when you smoothed the cloak over your lap.

If he did, he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he tilted his head back and gazed at the stars, his voice softer when he spoke again.

“Ye know, my mum used to say the stars are just folk lookin’ down on us,” he said, accent curling thick around the words. “Watchin’, guidin’… makin’ sure we dinna wander too far off the path.”

You blinked at him. “And what if the path leads… nowhere?”

Soap turned his head to look at you then, eyes dark. “Then ye make yer own.”

It was such an earnest thing to say, so full of conviction that it made something in your chest twist painfully. You couldn’t tell him how many times you’d tried to do just that- tried to fight and claw your way toward a different ending, only to be dragged back to the start again.

Soap didn’t know. None of them did.

And yet, as you sat there with his warmth seeping through the cloak and his words lingering in the air like a promise, you found yourself wishing- just for a moment- that he was right.

That you could carve your way out of this nightmare and leave the endless cycle behind.

But that was foolish.

So instead, you leaned back against the bench and let your eyes drift shut, pretending not to notice the way Soap’s hand hovered near the dagger at his side, ready to draw at the first sign of danger.

Pretending you didn’t feel safer for it.

Ghost was harder to pin down. He lingered on the edges, silent as your grave, but his presence was impossible to ignore.

When the nightmares came- and they always did, another constant- you found him at your door. He never asked questions, never pried. He simply stood guard, silent, until the trembling stopped.

One night, when sleep refused to come after a day of listening to awful, false whispers of you, you found yourself seated on the rug in front of the hearth, staring into the flames. Ghost leaned against the wall, his mask a stark contrast against the flickering light.

“They won’t hurt you.” He said suddenly, rough and low.

You didn’t look at him. You watched the flickering fire, and was rewarded with whispers of the lives where you’d been burned at the stake. “They always do.”

“They won’t.”

And maybe it was foolish, but for once, you almost believed him.

You pulled your knees closer to your chest, eyes fixed on the flames as if they could burn away the memories pressing in from all sides.

Ghost didn’t move from his place against the wall. He was a silhouette in the firelight, broad shoulders and sharp angles, the hollow black of his mask turning him into something almost otherworldly.

You didn’t ask why he was there. He never explained himself, and you never pushed.

After a while, he broke the silence again.

“They’re scared of you.”

His voice was quiet, still rough like gravel, but it cut through the room as sharply as any blade.

You swallowed, your gaze still locked on the fire. You couldn’t look away. “No. They hate me.”

Ghost didn’t argue. He let the silence stretch, his eyes never leaving you.

You weren’t sure why that bothered you more than words would have.

“They’re scared,” he repeated finally, slower this time. Firmer. “And scared people do stupid things.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “Like cutting off my head?”

Ghost tilted his head, and something about the way he looked at you made your chest tighten.

“They won’t get the chance, princess.” He said, and there was something cold in his voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned to face him then, finally meeting his gaze. Or at least, what you thought was his gaze beneath the mask. It was impossible to tell, but you felt it- heavy, unflinching.

“You can’t stop it, Ghost.”

Ghost didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. “Watch me.”

The words shouldn’t have meant anything. They shouldn’t have mattered when you already knew how this would end- how it always ended. Those words were treacherous to whatever the king wanted and expected of him.

But as the fire crackled and the shadows danced along the walls, you let yourself believe him. Just for a little while.

Because Ghost wasn’t the kind of man who made promises.

And yet, when he spoke, it sounded like one.

… yet you knew, not all promises can be kept.

Gaz was gentler than the others. Thoughtful. Attentive in a way that made your chest ache, because it had been so long since anyone had looked at you without seeing the stain on your birthright first and you second.

He helped you practice with a dagger one afternoon, though you both knew it wouldn’t be of much use to you. The sharp clang of metal rang out against the training yard walls as he corrected your grip, his hands warm against yours.

When was the last time you’d been held like that?

Far too long ago. Far too many lives ago.

“Careful,” he said, guiding the blade down in a smooth arc. “Keep your stance steady.”

You frowned. “What does it matter?”

Gaz tilted his head, eyes searching yours. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

And wasn’t that the cruelest part? That no matter how many times you died, you always woke up again?

You didn’t answer, and Gaz didn’t press. Instead, he let you lean into him when the weight of it all grew too heavy, when the weight of more than just the training pressed down on you.

Gaz stayed close after that- close enough that you started to notice the small things.

The way his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than they should, watching for signs of exhaustion or the fear you tried so hard to hide. The way his touch was always secure but never overbearing, grounding you without demanding more than you were willing to give.

He made you feel… safe.

It was dangerous.

Foolish.

But you let him stay anyway. You stayed with him anyway.

The dagger gleamed in the sunlight as you practiced another strike, the blade slicing cleanly through the air. Gaz nodded approvingly, stepping back just enough to give you space, though his presence was still a solid weight at your side.

“Better,” he said, his voice warm but firm. “You’re getting the hang of it, princess. Maybe you’ll give us a run of our money, eh?”

You lowered the blade, breathing hard as you wiped the sweat from your brow. You couldn’t find it within yourself to be humorous “I’m not sure it’ll matter in the end.”

Gaz frowned at that, stepping closer. “Don’t say that.”

You almost laughed. Almost. “You don’t understand.”

His hand came up then, gentle as he tilted your chin to face him. The look in his eyes knocked the breath from your lungs- steady and sure, like he was trying to hold you together with sheer force of will.

“Maybe I don’t,” he admitted, voice low. “But I do know this- every time you get back up, it matters.”

You didn’t realize you were trembling until his hand dropped to your shoulder, grounding you with the warmth of his touch.

“Don’t give up yet, princess,” he murmured, softer now. “Not on yourself.”

It was almost too much. Too kind. Too hopeful.

You wanted to tell him that hope had no place here- not in this endless loop of death and betrayal and grief. Not in this damned castle- but the words wouldn’t come, caught in your throat like fish in a net.

So instead, you let him take the dagger from your hands, let him press it back into its sheath before leading you toward the shade of the courtyard’s edge.

And when he sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed, you didn’t pull away.

Because for once, it didn’t feel like a burden to be seen.

Price was the hardest to read.

He was steady, commanding- his presence filled the room like the smoke of chimneys, lingering long after he was gone. He carried himself like a man who had seen too much and lost too many, and sometimes, when he looked at you, you thought you saw the ghost of something more.

He didn’t speak often, but when he did, his words stayed with you.

“Do you ever wonder, princess,” he asked one evening, standing by the window with a wooden cup of mead in his hand. You didn’t know how he’d even snuck it in, but you weren’t going to snitch. “if we’re all just pieces on your father’s board?”

You blinked at him, startled by the sudden question.

“All the time.” You said.

His gaze lingered on you a moment longer, and there was something unreadable in it.

You wanted to ask what he meant, why the sudden question, but he turned away before you could, leaving you to sit and stew with the thought.

And stew you did.

Because Price wasn’t wrong, was he?

You already knew your father had lied- about these mercenaries, their orders, everything.

They weren’t here to protect you. Not really.

No knights would take you, no nobles wanted you, and no one in the kingdom would lay down their sword for a bastard-born princess whose only crime was existing. Yet here they were, these hardened men, mercenaries paid in coin and silence, assigned to watch your every move.

Not guard you. Watch you.

Keep you until the day you were dragged to your death once more.

You’d known it the moment Price first stepped through your door, his eyes sweeping the room like he was cataloging exits instead of protecting them. The others were subtler- Soap with his easy charm, Ghost with his patient silence, Gaz with his careful words- but Price?

Price didn’t even try to hide it.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because he didn’t look at you the way others did. He didn’t sneer, didn’t pity, didn’t hate. He looked at you like he was waiting.

Waiting for what?

For you to run? To slip up? To hand him the excuse he needed to drag you before your father in chains, so he could take the money and leave?

The thought made your stomach twist.

Because no matter how much you told yourself it didn’t matter- that the loop would end and begin again, and none of this would last- it still sank its claws into you.

And the next time Price caught you watching him from across the room, you didn’t look away.

Not at first.

He held your gaze, steady and unreadable, but there was no malice in it- no sharp edges or hidden teeth. Just something quiet. Something that almost felt like understanding.

When you finally turned away, you expected the weight of it to linger, to drag down your shoulders and settle in your chest like an unwelcome puff of smoke.

But it didn’t.

Instead, you felt the faintest flicker of warmth- barely there, fleeting as a dying ember- and hated how much you wanted to hold onto it.

Days turned to nights, and the hours slipped away like sand through your fingers. The loop pressed closer with every tick of the clock, and yet…

You didn’t feel so alone this time.

They were there- in the quiet moments, in the chaos, in the shadows of your worst fears- and though you knew it wouldn’t save you, you still let them stay.

Because this time, you didn’t have the strength to keep them away.

This time, you… wanted to have fond memories before your death.

Masterlist | Part Three

I hope everyone’s been enjoying this so far! Any guesses on why reader is in a time loop and who might be responsible? :3