Julie and the Phantoms Imagines

Little Songbird (Caleb Covington x reader)

Please check bio to see if requests are open before sending any in!

Request: (@D0uble_Suicid3 on wattpad) Could you make a Caleb Covington x Reader one? My sister has been hounding me to write one and why she simps for someone 3 times her age is beyond me. You don't have to of course, it's just so I can laugh at her XD

Prompt/summary: Reader finds herself in a mysterious bar after her untimely death, singing for a mysterious man who seems too eager to strike a deal.

Word Count: 1,278

Author's note: HEAVILY inspired by Hadestown, if you haven't listened to it I highly recommend the songs "All I've ever known (In Spite of Herself", "All I've ever known" and "Hey Little Songbird" definitely pushing myself a bit to stir up some creativity for me, but I hope your sister enjoys it!

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TW- Briefly describes dying from hypothermia, as well as starvation!!!

(Y/n) was nothing if not a poet first. A nobody trying to be somebody, a starving artist who had dreams bigger than life itself. A girl with her guitar in one hand and her notepad in another, singing to anyone who'd listen. Everyone knew her as a runaway, from anywhere she'd ever been. As soon as the wind picked up, so did she. Each town being different than the last and offering her a new muse for her poetry set to a melody.

She wasn't a stranger to the world, and no stranger to the wind.

But the nights got cold, and her travels and lack of funds left her exposed to many things.

The night had started like any other. (Y/n) laid her pack under her head and pulled the thin frailing blanket over her body. Her guitar case laid to her left, blocking out the wind from the underpass. Her stomach growled. Maybe she could use the slim funds she had collected that day to get a meal the next morning.

Exhaustion had overtaken her from walking, hitchhiking, and singing for money. The cold hadn't helped, leaving her body with aches and chills she tried to ignore so she could rest.

Soon enough, she woke up to the darkness. Searching desperately in her bag for a match to keep her hands warm. Her fingers seemed to fumble over each other, her body had stopped shaking, and her lungs felt light and breathless. Where had she put the matches? Where was she again?

Her mind felt clouded, her vision grew darker as she curled into herself trying to keep the warmth as close to her body as she could.

When she woke up again she felt light. Her entire body felt weightless.

She saw her case, and her pack, and also a lump under her blanket.

"Hey, did you steal my blanket?" she asked the figure. Nudging it with her foot.

When the blanket fell away she let out a gasp as her own complexion stared back up at her. Cold. Empty.

She looked around for any sign of what was happening. The familiar weight of her guitar on her back left her even more confused.

"Am I dead?"

Her mind rushed with questions. Where were the gates of heaven? Was this hell? Purgatory?

Her body in front of her was haunting. It's skin was starting to turn blue and it's mouth hung open as if it was screaming for help. Had she screamed?

Sunlight peeked over the horizon, and as (Y/n) walked away she pondered what she was supposed to do now.

~~~~~

(Y/n) stayed away from the cold. Somehow she had made it from the cold underpass she had died under to the sunny streets of Los Angeles.

She had stopped writing songs. Why write or play if no one will ever hear it?

She wandered the streets watching the people and time pass as she stayed stuck in her constant state.

Finally, after what felt like years she pulled the guitar from her back and began to play the familiar melodies she had almost forgotten.

She played as the people passed, and so did time. Every day she sat in the same spot in the park picking away at her guitar.

"Sometimes if you're here at 3 AM, you can hear the ghost of a girl that was killed here playing her guitar."

She chuckled as the group of kids scoffed, "No way."

"No seriously," the boy said, "I heard it once."

(Y/n) let out a laugh along with the children. Deep down, she wondered how much they heard, or if they truly heard at all.

It was comforting. Never having to worry about food or clothes or shelter. All she had was her guitar, and her songs. Her belly was never empty and her fingers never numb from cold. Her hands never tired from playing or got raw from the strings. All she did was sit in the warm sunlight and listened to the people around her.

After a long while, she started to notice a figure.

He stood tall, donning dark purple and black clothes. Always nearby, but never close. The park bench he sat on was directly across from her spot near the tree. His dark sunglasses blocked his eyes, but somehow (Y/n) knew he was staring at her.

He got closer and closer as the days came and went. Children began to gather every night to try and hear the faint sounds of a guitar playing near the tree, and every day the man returned to the other side of the park. (Y/n) began to sing again. Letting the children hear her soft voice during the darkest hours of the night. She didn't know why it was only then, but she was thankful someone heard her again.

Finally after weeks or maybe months the man finally approached, and his words seemed to glide smoothly off his tongue, "Give me a song."

It was hard for (Y/n) to resist the urge to cry. Someone could see her. Someone could hear her clear as day.

So she gave him a song. A long, melodic, poetic song she had written years and years ago before she ever went to the underpass. A song of yearning and sadness. A song of her struggles.

When she looked up from her six strings she finally saw his eyes free from the shades he had hidden behind. His gaze seemed to rip through her right into the depths of her soul.

"What's your name, little songbird?"

"(Y/n)," she said breathlessly.

"A beautiful name, and mine is Caleb."

She looked up at him, "How did you die?"

"It's a very long and complicated story, but what I would like to know is how such a beautiful soul like yours wound up here?"

She didn't know why, but she told him. She spilled her life story and death to this man she had just met but felt like she had known her entire life. Every chance he got he would ask her to play more, and the pull she felt to him seemed to grow.

"How would you like for thousands of souls to hear you? Every single night. You would be a star."

(Y/n) looked at him curiously, "How?"

"We're all souls there. You can eat, sing, and play every night. You'll never have to be alone again and everyone will be able to admire your work like they never did before. You can do it forever."

She felt like she was going crazy. One part of her was screaming to run. To leave again like the wind and never look back. The other side... was telling her that this might be the place she belongs. A place where she would never have to be alone.

Somewhere she could be somebody.

His eyes seemed so sincere. His smile seemed as warm as the sky above. His outstretched hand felt so inviting. She reached up just as the searing dark purple mark appeared on her wrist.