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carlylexwheeler-blog · 6 years

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The Chaser I Seek

Summary: Muggle-born Anne Wheeler is thrilled when she receives her Head Girl badge in the mail the summer before her final year at Hogwarts, and so is Pureblooded Phillip Carlyle when he discovers he is to be Head Boy. Neither Phillip or Anne knows much about the other, except for what they have learned from afar. Phillip has been watching from the Slytherin side of the stands for years as Anne leads the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team to victory after victory. Anne, on the other hand, has listened to the whispers about the Carlyle family and their obsession with Pureblood lineage, and she knows along with the rest of the school that the Carlyles are instrumental in Voldemort's slowly gaining success.

Neither is prepared to be jarringly thrown together their very first day by a food-fight blown out of proportion.

As both students struggle to balance new responsibilities, they will begin to see new sides to one another-- sides that Phillip has been taught never to look for, and sides that Anne is not ready to explore. But with the wizarding world taking new steps every day towards war, Hogwarts must cling to unity stronger than ever... Especially the two students who are the face of it all.

Word Count: 3,084

Warnings: Language, Food Fights

Chapter: 1 of ?

Read it on Wattpad or AO3.

Playlist

Song of the Chapter: "Start a War" by Klergy and Valerie Broussard

Chapter One: The Battlefield

Anne had been hoping for a memorable first day as Head Girl, but now she was wondering if she should have been a tad more specific.

Things had started out fine. Perfect, even, which is probably why the universe decided to deal Anne the disastrous scenario that followed. On the train, she had arrived early enough to meet all of the prefects, and so she had begun to divide the job of monitoring the various cars among everyone. By the time everybody was there, there was a set plan on how they were going to approach it, and it was being carried out perfectly. Phillip Carlyle, the Head Boy, had arrived about ten minutes into the planning. This had been slightly concerning for Anne, who had only communicated with her partner in stiff, unsure letters of congratulations over the summer. Neither seemed able to find the right words all summer. She supposed it was natural, seeing as they had never interacted before. The two of them had classes together, yes, being two of the brightest students in the school. But with advanced classes focused heavily on independent study and neither knew the other well enough to pair up for the few projects they were assigned.

That was the least of her worries, though she tried not to think about it. The Carlyle family had a reputation, and it was not one that painted a hopeful picture of Phillip's respect for a Muggle-born. The past few years had seen a palpable increase in the tension between Muggle-borns and Pureblooded wizards as You-Know-Who grew more and more powerful. Not all Purebloods held the supremacist attitude towards Muggles, of course. But the Carlyles were one of the most notorious families for this attitude and had been for generations, and Phillip Carlyle was the only heir to this legacy of hatred in a time when such superiority was thriving. The thought of what might happen while they were forced to work side-by-side had caused her more sleepless nights than she cared to admit.

However, Phillip's arrival on the train had brought no ominous thunder or sudden chill, so that had been a plus.

Really, Phillip was nothing but supportive of the orders Anne had given. He assumed the role of enforcing her plans rather than trying to make his own, which Anne discovered when she heard him instructing some of the new Fifth Year Prefects.

"She's the one running the show right now," he had informed them, and there was no malice or sarcasm in his voice as he said it. "That's good for you, because she's going to give you a little part of the plan to work with. If you do your job well, then everyone else will be able to do theirs, and we'll be able to get this train to the station without burning it down."

The two Fifth Year girls he had been speaking to had burst into giggles at that, but Anne had found herself feeling just the slightest bit flattered. She had considered going over to greet him, maybe thank him in a professional manner, but it was at that moment that a Third Year boy burst into the compartment, saying, "Umm... So, we were just sitting there, right, and then the seat started smoking, and we don't know how it happened, but there's a small hole burned in-"

"How small is 'small?'"

"I dunno, I mean, most of the seat is gone, but-"

Neither had spoken to the other after that, for as the Prefects began to do their jobs, various situations arose that demanded each of their separate attentions. This was a development that Anne did not mind, and she was happy to keep busy on the ride to the castle. By the time that the Hogwarts Express had pulled into Hogsmeade Station, Anne had successfully handled a game of Exploding Snap gone wrong, a misfired charm that caused the snack trolley to overturn, and a mess made of a pair of robes during a game of Gobstones. As she watched the students leave the Express, Anne was aware of the fact that her face was flushed and her curls were escaping her buns in wisps. But she also felt proud, like she was beginning to live up to the shiny badge pinned to the front of her worn Ravenclaw robes that were a few inches too short.

It did irk her slightly that Phillip Carlyle looked as unruffled as ever from where he stood across from her, making sure that all of the students made their way out.

After that, things were a blur. Anne and the Carlyle boy were tasked with making sure that students knew where to assume their seats since Professor Lutz was unable to do so while she was tending to the First Years. After the majority of the students were seated, Anne made her way to the Head Table to ask any of the professors what they should be doing next.

"Excuse me," she called to the nearest teacher, the blonde Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. Professor Barnum glanced over at Anne with a kind eyebrow raised. "Is there anything else that we can do, Professor?" Anne queried, hopeful. She needed something to busy herself with, or else she was fairly sure her energy would fall flat.

Professor Barnum hummed softly, appearing to think. "Erm... I don't think so, no," she replied, smiling apologetically as she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "But I am sure that Phineas said something about the Sorting starting soon. You two have done more than enough for now, I think, so you can go enjoy the festivities with the rest of us."

Anne nodded, offering the professor a polite smile that hid her disappointment. "Thank you, Ma'am," she murmured, inclining her head respectfully. She was fairly sure that she felt Professor Barnum's motherly gaze upon her back as she weaved between students on the way back to the Ravenclaw side of the Great Hall.

As Anne left the table, she saw that Carlyle had already taken this advice. He was seated in the middle of a group of affluent Slytherin students, and he was laughing at something the brunette girl across from him had said. It did not set in until that moment that Anne did not have anyone to sit with now that W.D. had graduated.

Her brother was working in the Three Broomsticks in order to support them, and Anne knew about the second job that he was hiding. She had noticed the owls coming at odd hours of the night to their tiny flat in Hogsmeade, and she had even managed to sneak one out of the trash, from which she deduced that he was doing some translation of Runes for scholars in Albania. Anne's heart ached that her brother, a brilliant Runes translator who could have found a prestigious job anywhere in the world, was slaving away at a pub for her sake every day. When she graduated, Anne was determined to pick up and leave to start a new life with W.D. They would go somewhere, anywhere, and Anne would get a job researching advanced potions until she was accepted by some major Quidditch team. But until then, Anne no longer had anyone to sit with.

She took a spot at the very end of the Ravenclaw table where no one else sat, fiddling with the napkin on the table absently. She could feel eyes on her, now that she was Head Girl... And she knew those eyes came along with whispers. They did not linger too long, as people had better things to talk about, but she still looked down at the hem of her threadbare sleeve to avoid seeing the brief glances. Anne had never been particularly popular. People knew she was brilliant, they knew that she was one of the best Chasers that Hogwarts had seen for decades, maybe even a century. But for as many acquaintances as Anne had, her dedication to her schoolwork and Quidditch performance did not leave much room for any real friends.

A few moments later, an ample distraction came to turn any unwanted attention away from Anne. Headmaster Barnum rose, and with a wave of his wand, he magicked away the tables. The Headmaster's skinny, slightly mousy appearance was deceiving, for this man was a master of the classes of illusion and enchantment. He was renowned for it in many circles, and Anne was fascinated by the slight flair for the dramatic the man had. She had always been attentive to his words, respecting the air of mystery that clung to him like cobwebs.

The Sorting commenced thereafter. It was a short one, with a particularly small incoming Year. However, there was a noticeable disturbance throughout the ceremony. Anne noticed almost immediately that whenever a surname that was well-known and respected in the magical community was announced, it was greeted with full applause. There were several surnames, however, that were known to be traditionally common in Muggle communities. The cheering following these names was weakened as if at least a third of the students had dropped out. Anne's eyes narrowed, and as soon as any student with a name such as her own was announced, she could be observed to be cheering twice as loud as normal. Several of the teachers picked up on the incident as well, and Anne was fairly sure she caught a glimpse of Professor Barnum and her husband murmuring sonorous charms so that the cheering of the teachers was magnified.

By the time that Zabel, Francine had been sorted into Hufflepuff, Headmaster Barnum had summoned the tables again out of thin air. Gasps filled the room from the First year students who had not been there to see it the first time, and Anne felt a little smile play with her lips. The Headmaster gave a quick speech, and then with a flourish of his wand, the platters before the students all became filled with enough food to feed a small army. Chatter rose to mingle with the cozy sounds of clattering forks and knives, and Anne felt herself visibly relax. Maybe she wasn't exactly a part of it, but this was the part of Hogwarts that she loved. Moments like these, where so many students just existed together, made it feel like home.

Of course, the day chose that moment to turn for the worse.

Anne had only just begun to pour a goblet of pumpkin juice when she first noticed the disturbance, coming from one end of the Slytherin table. Three boys, Fourth Year students, Anne guessed, were using their wands to send little chunks of candied carrots flying to hit a pair of Muggle-born twins across the aisle. Anne set down her goblet, preparing to rise to call the students out. Before she had managed to extricate herself from the table, however, one of the twins had turned and fixed the Fourth Years with a smirk. Anne hastened her efforts to reach the students, but it was much too late. An entire bowl of steak and kidney pudding flew across the aisle to splatter the three students and anyone in the immediate vicinity. For a moment, all conversation fell silent, and there was a moment of hollow space.

And then, the shouting began.

Wands flew out, and Anne fumbled to keep her own in her hand as she desperately scanned the room, trying to see where she was most needed. Anne's ears were overloaded with a tangle of layering spells, most of which sent various trays and plates of food zooming through the air. At first, Anne struggled to appeal to the casters of the spells, but there were far too many. She cursed under her breath as she began to nonverbally cast as many shield charms as she physically could. Invisible barriers sprung up between the attackers and their intended victims, and they effectively stopped the food from flying any further. Unfortunately, this mostly resulted in whatever was being thrown being propelled back towards the attacker, spreading still more food everywhere.

A plate of treacle tart whizzed past Anne's head, and she narrowly dodged it only to be met with a full tureen of chowder. The soup drenched her and a pair of First Years from head to toe, and a shocked gasp left the lips of the children behind her. Anne winced and quickly darted back, gripping them by the hands and pulling them under the table. "Stay here until it's over," she instructed the shell-shocked girls before sliding out from underneath again, leaving them gaping at her retreating form.

Anne fought to move forward, doing as much damage control as she possibly could. Dodging food became completely impossible at this point. What might have been an entire ham narrowly missed Anne's head, shoving her hair out of her bun and getting the soaked curls everywhere. Several pastries were hurled at Anne and smashed into her shoulder, her arm, and her chest, smearing all down the front of her robes. A bowl of lukewarm porridge dumped over her head, and the Head Girl fought to wipe it out of her eyes as she forged forward. All she could do, at the moment, was vanish whatever flying food she could hit. Luckily, Anne had fairly decent aim, and she managed to completely remove several large platters of turkey, ham, and chicken from the air before they could actually hurt someone. Through all of the fighting, she could barely tell who was who, until she stumbled into a form slightly taller than her. Anne whirled around with her wand out, ready to stun the perpetrator if need be.

Instead, she found herself coming face-to-face with a thoroughly flustered Phillip Carlyle.

He looked absolutely ridiculous, with what must have been half of a pudding plastered to his hair and the side of his face. What Anne guessed was chocolate syrup dripped down the side of his face, and what had been his pristine, brand-new robes were covered with mashed potatoes and pumpkin juice. There was a determination in his eyes that was rather comical, seeing as his normally perfect hair was in a cowlick that looked like something from a cartoon. However, as he raised her wand at her, she did not find it hard to believe that he might stun her.

"Carlyle!" she called, over all the noise. "Stop, it's Anne Wheeler!" He froze for a moment, blinking, and Anne remembered that she probably looked equally ridiculous. But then, relief spread over his food-covered features.

"Thank Merlin," he exclaimed, gripping her by the arm and yanking her to the side to avoid a flying sponge cake. "Are you the one who's been vanishing things?"

"Yes," she called, tugging her arm free from his grip immediately. She did not have time to be flustered by the sudden, unwanted contact. "This needs to stop, now, before it gets out of hand!"

"I think it's a bit late for that, as I think I just saw Headmaster Barnum quite literally pie Professor Barnum in the face."

"Are you certain-"

"I would testify to it before Wizengamot."

Anne gritted her teeth and glared at nothing in particular. "Maybe if we can get to Professor Lutz, then-"

Behind them, there was a massive boom, and Anne cried out. Carylye was touching her again, pulling her to the ground with him. She landed sprawled rather uncomfortably on his solid chest, and quickly Anne moved to haul herself off of him. As if that was not enough, a bowl of tuna salad shot by them, effectively covering the both of them in creamy goop.

"Sorry, sorry," Carlyle panted, looking up at her with blue eyes that were as wide as the saucer that broke against the wall behind them.

"What was-"

Just then, a rancid smell filled the hall, and Anne clapped a hand over her mouth and nose. Carlyle did the same, not before Anne caught a glimpse of a gag.

"Dugbob," Carlyle's muffled voice reached her ears as the disgusted coughing of many students filled the hall. Anne felt her level of frustration skyrocket.

"Dungbombs?" she spat. "For the love of all things holy, who the-"

Another boom, and this time Anne was ready. She ducked her head under the nearest table, but Carlyle was not quick enough. Mud flew through the air, hitting him square in the face. Immediately, the Head Boy turned and began to cough, attempting to get out whatever he could from his mouth. Anne stood, trying to locate where the Dungbombs were being set off. The smell was crippling, but she kept a hand clapped over her mouth as she struggled to make her way forward, leaving Carlyle behind. Another detonated, and Anne felt the mud splatter her, too. But she managed to keep it out of her eyes, and that was all that she needed. She pushed her way forward, and through the cloud of brown smoke, she spotted the Fifth Year who was detonating them crouching over another one.

"Evanesco!" Anne shouted, taking aim at the bomb. The boom still set off, but only a little bit more filth flew through the air like projectiles. The rest vanished, along with the bomb, and Anne aimed a silent 'Petrificus totalus!' at the single figure she could see in the center of all of the smoke. She heard a crack that meant that the charm had met the intended target, and then, in the haze of the smoke and the break in the fight, Carlyle climbed onto the Slytherin table, almost slipping in the spill of soup on top of it. Anne pointed her wand at him, murmuring a breathless "Sonorous."

And then, above everything, Carlyle's voice boomed, "The next student to use food as a projectile will personally volunteer to work in the kitchens for two weeks, after they clean all of this up!"

The hall was silent, and Anne let out a soft groan as she leaned against the table at his feet. No noise could be heard except for the labored breath of the students and the dripping of food off of robes. Carlyle let out a massive breath of relief as Anne rubbed her temples and stared at the growing pile of porridge and tuna fish chunks at her feet.

Anne was fairly certain she would not be forgetting her first day as Head Girl anytime soon.

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witchyxjuju-blog · 6 years

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I really want to make an Anne Wheeler rp account...but then I realise everytime I make a rp of a character, it doesn’t end well, so I won’t. So I will write fanfic instead. Please send me prompts!

#anne wheeler #fanfiction #rp #i want to write stuff #the greatest showman #carwheeler fanfic #anne wheeler fanfic

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wandamaxipad69 · 2 years

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hey!!

This is all the fanfics I will tend to write but if you have ANY suggestions please let me know!!

I will write about stuff like depression, substance abuse, mental/physical abuse, ptsd, etc. but I WILL NOT write about eating disorders, kidnappings, SA, or R***.

shows/movies I will write about include: stranger things, marvel, black phone, criminal minds, arcane, Anne w an E, etc (I literally can’t think of anymore atm but I will write Abt any suggestions you guys have!!)

Characters from stranger things I will many write about include: Steve harrington x reader, Eddie munson x reader, max mayfield x reader, Mike wheeler x reader, Nancy wheeler x reader, Robin Buckley x reader, Jim hopper x Joyce Byers, will Byers x reader, Jonathan Byers x reader, Steve harrington x Nancy wheeler, johnathan Byers x Nancy wheeler, (if you have anymore you want me to write about lmk!!)

Marvel characters I will many write about include: Wanda maximoff x vision, Wanda maximoff x reader, Tony stark x reader, Steve rogers x reader, Bruce banner x reader, Thor odinson x reader, Loki x reader, Natasha x reader, Clint Barton x reader, yelena belova x reader, Kate Bishop x reader, bucky Barnes x reader, sam Wilson x reader, (again if you have any other character you want me to write about lmk!!).

I will literally write about any arcane characters EXCEPT FOR vi x jinx. That’s literally disgusting idfk why people ship it there sisters😭

same thing with black phone and Anne with an e I will write Abt any of them I’m also to lazy to write out all the x readers💀

I also LOVE to write Abt Hanahaki disease! So you guys will see a lot of that coming🤭

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aslanjadecarlyle · 3 years

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Somebody commented on Titanic AU and, judging by their profile, they are predominantly a Carwheeler shipper. I do so love corrupting those weren’t even originally Team Barlyle 😂

(absolutely no hate to the Carwheeler ship though, cause I do ship them too. Barlyle’s just my OTP \o/)

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hxneymoonn · 5 years

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[short AU fanfic about Anne & Phillip, enjoy]

“Anne.” His voice echoed throughout the deserted building, bouncing off of every locker along the corridor. “Anne!”

She let her back face him, keeping her gaze only on the double door in front of her. Each step was painful, it crushed her soul but it was needed. She had to leave. Her palms enclosed around the cool, metal handle pushing it down to escape to the outside.

It was dark outside and the high school was supposed to be closed, no students were meant to be on site. Not like that stopped Anne, when she needed her time to feel at peace there was only one place she could go; Charity’s office.

His pace quickened as he hurried to catch up with her, before she was gone forever. It didn’t make sense, how could see just leave? After everything that happened between them, everything she said to him, every way she acted: it showed love.

"What is it Anne?" His words rang loud in her head. Anne only shook them away with a slight sigh, moving her feet along the path. It was raining, the weather had been acting unusual lately and it was predicted that a storm was coming to consume the town. "Huh, talk to me. Don't keep doing this."

"Doing what?" Her voice was as cold as ice. Anne gazed back, letting her eyes lock with his. The plain expression on her face, hiding a channel of secrets. She shrugged, rolling her eyes with irritation. "I'm walking away from you Phillip, because your voice is-"

“Bullshit!” Phillip never swore, until now. “I refuse to fall for your act again.”

Anne raised an eyebrow with confusion. “What act?”

“You act like nothing bothers you, like you don’t care about anything.” His voice grew loud not wanting to get washed away in the screams of rain that fell on the two of them. “And when something or someone catches you out on your act, you disappear Anne.”

“I never disappear; you just don’t know me to know where I would be.” She spat, hoping her harsh tone would create a bigger wall between them.

“Then let me know you,” Phillip replied. The desperation was as clear as day in his voice, he was in love with her. Despite, her continuous insults that she threw at him every day or the countless of times he almost died, Phillip knew that this girl, Anne, was his destiny. He felt drawn to her, the mystery and the never knowing of her next move, he was completely under her spell and yet he didn’t even know her last name.

No one knew her last name. No one knew Anne.

She just turned back around, walking to her car. He followed her and she knew of it. "Quit with the stalking Phillip."

"Anne, stop this." Phillip practically begged, his hand taking a hold of hers. He knew that she didn’t like to be touched, but that was the last thing on his mind at that moment. All he needed was her.

Anne flinched her hand away but his grip was stronger than hers, not strong enough to leave a mark or bruise but enough to keep her in place. His skin was soft, moistened from the rain. Her eyes fell down to her hand in his, then back at his face. “Give me my hand back, Phillip.”

"Anne." A loud sigh fell from Phillip’s lips. "You know I want you and I know you want me."

Her heart swelled but her face remained still. Yet, when she spoke again it was much quieter. “I need to go.”

“Anne-ˮ

“I need to go.” Anne tore her hand away from his, the cold air suffocating her skin that was previously heated by him. She stared at him a little longer, before walking away again.

And of course he followed. Phillip was not ready to let her go just yet. He needed to remind her of what had happened between them, when she had lowered those barriers that surrounded her.

“Did it all mean nothing?” His question made her feet abrupt to a holt. “Was I just a distraction in your act? A vessel to remind you of humanity.”

Phillip wasn’t that. He was different, he didn’t just remind of humanity, he made her feel human.

“Did you ever care about me, Anne?” His voice was close, he had caught up with her and his body was pressed against hers. His heartbeat thumping against her back and throughout her body.

“I did care.” Her words were barely a whisper, but he heard it as if it was a scream. Phillip spun her around, locking his gaze with hers.

“Say it again.”

Anne opened her mouth slightly, she was unsure whether it was the rain or not that made the lump in her throat. “I did care.”

“Then why do you act like this?” His arms engulfed her frame, shielding as much of her as he could from the rain. The rain still coated them, Phillip was no match with nature but Anne felt at whole in his arms.

Yet she knew it couldn’t be like this forever. Anne broke herself away from the safety of his arms, with a shake of her head. “You think it’s easy?” Her voice fell back to the previous artic tone. “You don’t know me, Phillip. Stay out of my life.”

“Then let me in Anne.” His frustration was becoming impossible to control but he knew that it had to stay concealed. “Let me get to know you, let me into your life.”

“You don’t want to be in a life like mine.” The artic tone had melted slightly.

He took a step closer to her. “It’s too late to say that now, Anne.”

Anne shook her head, the lump doubling in her throat and becoming difficult to swallow away. “It’s not too late.” She whispered. “You can go; you can’t be with someone like me.”

“Why not?” She didn’t answer him, which only elevating his interest. “Why not Anne? What are you so afraid of? It is okay to let yourself feel and to accept people into your life.”

“I can’t do that!” Her voice was as loud as the rain, grabbing Phillip’s complete attention. A sob escaped her lips as the lump continued to grow. She glanced up to him. “You think I don’t want to run to you. To feel safe in your arms, to let your stroke my hair until I fall sleep and feel your lips against my skin while your kiss me goodnight.”

Phillip feel speechless. Standing in front of him was not the Anne he knew, it was the Anne that she was hiding from the world. There she stood exposed for him to see. The broken, emotionally drained and afraid Anne. And it was this Anne that he wanted, he wanted to help her and most importantly to love her.

“Then come to me, Anne.” His arms extended for her.

A shakey breath came from her mouth and she took a step further away from him. "You can't fix what doesn't want to be fixed."

"Anne-"

"No Phillip!" Her shouts now held sobs that made him step closer to her. "It's not easy okay." Anne felt her voice shake and the tears leave her eyes, she desperately wiped them away. "It's not easy and I can't be with you."

"Anne, that's not true." Phillip took another step closer.

"I can't be the girl you want me to be."

“You already are that girl.” He told her, shifting closer until his hand fell onto her wet shoulder. "Anne-"

"Don't come any closer." Anne shook him away, her sight being blurred with tears and raindrops. Her voice still wobbling from the lump in her throat. "Just let me get out of this rain and go home."

"I'm in love with you, Anne." That was it. It was everything that he had left. Anne froze in her movements, shutting her eyes as her mind replayed his words on a constant loop. A familiar embrace surrounded her body and she didn’t shudder away from it. "I love you, Anne and I know you feel it too."

"Phillip-"

"Just let me in, Anne." Phillip begged. He could feel it in his bones that what they had between them was real, she just needed to realise. Phillip faintly drew her into him even more, her heartbeat now hitting his chest. Anne welcomed his actions and the coldness of the rain did not compare to the utter bliss and warmth she felt in his arms. “Just let me in.”

Anne lifted her head, he was already staring at her and she met his stare. "You don't want me Phillip." She said. "No one does. I can't be loved; I don't want to be loved."

"Why?" His voice broke ever so vaguely as he felt his heart crush. "Why can’t you let me love you?”

Another sob left her lips. “I can’t do it,” Her body shook, not from the harsh weather tearing at them, but from the battle to reframe from letting out more weeps. “If I love you, then I have to feel and if I feel..." Anne took a pause and inhaled slowly. "If I feel then it means I'll have to remember."

"Remember?” Phillip’s mind ran with thoughts, many of distress for Anne and what may have happened in her past to cause this. “Remember what Anne?”

“I don't want to remember." Her body was losing against the weeps and she separated herself from him, using her arms around to protect herself. Much like she had always done. “I can’t let myself remember.”

“Anne, what happened to you? What do you not want to remember?”

“I’m so sorry mum and dad, it was my fault you got into your car.” Her words left without any rational thinking and Phillip already knew a possible assumption. Anne kept letting her body lose, her arms hugging her body as she bawled for her loss.

It had been the first time in five years she had recalled of the accident, it had taken many years to perfect but she had completely blocked it out. Anne allowed herself to not care, not feel or show any emotion in case it led back to that memory.

A memory she always wanted to forget, but knew she never could.

Her therapists thought she had moved on, her progress within her sessions was improved and her meditation was kept up to date along with her dream journal. But it was all lies, Anne never took the pills, she lied to her therapists’ faces with a fake smile placed upon her lips. It was all a part of her act, much like Phillip said, show no emotion, feel no emotion and it worked for her. It helped distract her from the black hole that grew every day inside of her stomach.

“I’m not the one you were meant to find, Phillip.” She spoke after a few moments. “I can’t bring you into my messed up life.”

“Anne.” He didn’t know where to even begin. “I am so sorry, I had no idea,” Phillip hesitated but walked back over to her. “And I love you, which is why I am going to stay and I know that they did too, very much.”

Even though he knew it was a risk, he did it anyway. Bringing, his lips down to meet hers as his arms wrapped back around her. It threw her off guard, but Anne very much welcomed the soft texture that had once previous experienced; his lips against hers.

"Marianne." Her words were almost silent, but the distance had vanished between them so she knew that he heard her.

“Marianne.” Phillip repeated, he could see it in her eyes. This was her, this was Marianne not Anne. He brought his lips down to her forehead, planting a small and soft kiss. “It's beautiful."

"After the accident,” She paused, inhaling a shaky breath. "That's my name but I wanted to change after the accident. So I shorten my name and dropped my other names."

“What is your full name?”

“Marianne Wheeler.” Marianne spoke. She stretched up onto her tiptoes, kissing his cheek with a delicate, tender kiss. “You know I want you, Phillip." His lips lifted up into a smile. "And I love you too."

The smile extended on his face, coating most of it. "You-"

"But I can't have you." Her voice broke again and she shook her head. Phillip’s smiled dropped. "You don't want someone like me."

Marianne took a step away from him, dodging his arms that craved to hold her once more. She knew it was for the best, not matter how much it broke her heart. Her mind reminded her that they were bound to break and she didn’t need any more loss in her life, too much had already been lost. Marianne needed to forget about Phillip and Phillip needed to forget about her.

Phillip felt as if his heart had been torn out of his chest and dragged along the ground. He kept his lips shut, knowing that calling her would be no use. No matter what he shouted, no matter how must he plead, she was gone. He had meet Marianne for that blissful moment, he had kissed and loved Marianne.

But in front of him, he knew that he was watching Anne walk away from him and there was nothing he could do about it.

#the greatest show #the greatest showman #zendaya #zac efron #anne wheeler #anne wheeler x phillip carlyle #au #greatest showman #the greatest showman fanfic #one shot #love #rewrite the stars

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fandoms-equal-life · 4 years

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Rewriting Their Stars Once Again - The Greatest Showman Fanfiction

Chapter 11: Bliss

Originally Posted on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13365846/chapters/59037367

Summary: The babies are here, after everything.

Notes: Two more chapters left after this people! This one is rather short, but the last two were colossal, so let’s slow down as our favorite characters enjoy their new life.

After the initial introductions, Frank Potter and his family were invited by P.T. to meet the family.

Annie talked with Anne and helped her position the babies, so it was easier for them to latch. Emily and Rosie fawned over the babies. Frank congratulated Phillip and introduced himself to Anne. Even though she was beyond exhausted, she still managed to make him feel welcomed.

After the buzz of excitement started to die down, Dr. Turner walked back into the room to announce, “The new mother needs her rest after all she went through. Two people besides Phillip and Anne may stay to help while she rests.”

Daniel and W.D. offered to stay, so Charity could go home with her family. As the group walked out of the apartment, Lettie paid Tom his winnings, like he predicted, more boys than girls.

When the door closed, the doctor instructed Anne to rest. Before she closed her eyes, she looked around. Phillip held Penelope, W.D. held P.J., and Daniel held baby W.D.. When she drifted off to sleep, she knew her babies were in safe hands.

Phillip looked down at baby Penelope with his matching blue eyes. She was still wide awake, staring back.

The uncles, proudly, managed to get P.J. and baby W.D. to sleep. But Penelope would not shut her eyes.

She was not crying or fussing, instead she observed him. Phillip knew that a newborn could not observe like he did, but he felt those little blue eyes enter into his soul.

Phillip is sitting next to the sleeping Anne in the rocking chair Daniel gifted them. Even though he knew that it was important to keep the three on the same schedule, he could not find the time to care as he rocked his baby girl.

Watching Anne give birth was simultaneously the hardest and most beautiful event in his life. She cried in pain for two hours with not one baby making an entrance.

But when Phillip James Carlyle Jr. came into the world, he could feel her change. He knew that none of the pain mattered anymore. Dr. Turner quickly handed P.J. to Charity as he cut his cord.

Barely a minute after P.J. was born, Dr. Turner saw another head make way. He instructed Anne to push, and William Daniel Carlyle made a flashy entrance with a screech and a whole lot of flailing. It was more of struggle to take care of him, but he managed to hand off the baby to Charity.

One left. Two boys so far. Phillip was high on the excitement and worry while he waited for number three.

The minutes ticked by. No baby. Anne kept pushing, but nothing seemed to change. He was sure something was wrong. Dr. Turner warned them again and again, but no amount of warning could prepare them if something went wrong.

Finally, after an agonizing ten minutes, the last Carlyle baby came into the world barely uttering a sound.

A girl. A daughter. His daughter.

She came into the world on her own terms, wanting to be separate from her brothers. Dr. Turner said she was perfectly fine.

Watching P.T. hold the baby with his namesake was special. Phillip felt like this was the ultimate thank you to the man who brought them together. The other names were special of course, but Penelope Taylor was something else.

Phillip was exhausted. He was sweaty, his hair a mess from running his hand through his hair, and already covered in spit up from all three of his babies. But he did not care.

He was home.

The next week was a blur of happiness. Anne was on bedrest for another six weeks at least. The cradles were moved into the bedroom, on her request.

One person besides the couple was always at the apartment to help. Charity, P.T., Lettie, Tom, W.D., Daniel, and even Helen and Caroline sometimes.

Anne breastfeeds, but the doctor said they should also use formula considering their smaller size.

They feed every three hours and a routine has already beginning to form. P.J. wakes up first, always. As if it was calculated to a tee. He wakes up W.D., who screams even louder. W.D. screaming would wake up Penelope, but she rarely cried when awoken.

Someone would pass Phillip Jr. to Anne to feed. Someone would then bottle feed W.D. The third would either watch her in the cradle or hold Penelope. While she did not fuss as loud as her brothers, you knew she was impatient for food when she balled up her fists and gave little kicks.

Anne passed Phillip Jr. over to give the rest of his meal from a bottle. Penelope was passed to Anne to feed. W.D. was still drinking from his bottle because they soon realized that kid would need the most food of them all, considering he was growing much faster than the other two.

Finally, P.J. was burped and changed and rocked back to sleep. He was usually the easiest to rock to sleep after all the steps were completed. Baby W.D. got his turn with his mother, which he relished in. Penelope was given a smaller bottle; she eats less than the boys no matter how hard they tried. Once Penelope and W.D. were changed and burped, it was time to battle them to sleep.

W.D. hated to sleep, even though he was also the grumpiest without it. He would rather flail around and screech at people then close his eyes.

Penelope on the other hand liked sleep, but she enjoyed observing more. No one understood why she liked looking around at everything so much for a week-old baby. She especially liked looking at whoever was holding her, as if she was trying to figure them out.

P.T. was the best at rocking her to sleep. The tired parents could already see the bond forming between the man and his namesake.

Anne was tired. Her body felt different, but a good different, she thinks. She has not had the strength to look in a mirror quite yet though. Phillip assured her that she looked beautiful.

Anne knew he was lying to her, because Phillip looked like a wreck. He had not had time to shave and a patchy beard was starting to form. Last night, she found a gray hair. They were behind on laundry, and Phillip has given up changing shirts when covered in spit up.

She would never tell him that though. Because she loved him and all the work he does for her and their children.

Anne has been through a lot in her life. At one point, she almost lost the man next to her.

All the hardship was worth it, she decided, because it landed her right here, where she belongs.

Chapters: 1 ~ 2 ~ 3 ~ 4 ~ 5 ~ 6 ~ 7 ~ 8 ~ 9 ~ 10

#the greatest showman #phillip carlyle #Phillip x anne #anne wheeler #pt barnum #my fanfics #zac efron #zendaya

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hannahmcne · 5 years

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Our Town Too - Chapter One, a Greatest Showman Fic.

There were lights. There was color. There was sound.

Charlie spun on the ropes that hung down around the arena for the trapeze artists and aerialists(like himself) to hang onto. The crowd shouted and screamed as he faked a miss of the rope and dove towards the ground. Five dancers spun back around in perfect formation to catch him just before he hit the ground and to launch him back into the air with a mighty heave. He rocketed back into the air and snatched the rope as the audience screamed. Far down below, the two honorary 'Barnum boys', Adam and Fredrick, were breathing fire as his cousin Emma Wheeler and her little, white, half-brother Dan performed cartwheels and back handsprings with long, colorful streamers attached to their wrists and ankles. They looked like a colorful wind rushing through the audience.

The crowd pounded their boots against the stands and screamed the words along with the singers down below: "This is the greatest show!" They echoed.

Down below, the dancers dispersed as a mass character change occurred. Charlie spotted his dad rushing on from offstage in his red coattails, sliding in the sawdust and popping up onto his feet, all the while twirling his baton around his head. Lettie Lutz, the bearded lady, took up the center, but Phillip Carlyle remained the center of attention as he led the crew through the lighting cues, the music cues, and pieced together the show's finale.

Charlie lowered himself onto the ground and dropped to the sawdust in a perfect split before he joined the circus members in kicking up dust and drawing sweat, pounding the floor and showing the audience what a real good time looked like. As their closing number drew to a close, he turned and sprinted with the others to the center of the stage and watched a lithe, dark-skinned woman drop out of the sky and land next to Phillip, just in time.

Only the eldest four of the five Carlyle children were of performing age. The youngest was backstage with Helen Barnum. Three children of various skin shades gathered around Phillip and Anne, but Charlie didn't join them. He knew the rest of the circus's eyes was on him, but this wasn't the first time he hadn't joined his family for bows.

Carlie Carlyle was eighteen years old and the oldest of five children. The youngest was barely a year old. He was the only child with his dad's pale looks which, trust him, was absolutely horrible. All his life, there had been double-takes, there had been questions, there had been people frowned when they looked from him to his parents for the first time and realized that no, this kid with manners and education was not 100% white. Charlie could tell you for a fact that there was nothing worse than someone looking between him and his parents and then backing away slowly. He'd lost friends, he'd lost acquaintances, and he'd made a whole lot of enemies by simply existing.

Phillip kissed Anne, and the lights went out up above as someone drew a damper over the reflector that kept the tent lit. Then, they brightened and the circus patrons split to go an either remove costumes or show customers out of the tent. Charlie felt his little brothers and sister's eyes on him as he walked backstage, carefully undoing his wrist bindings.

Charlie found a quiet corner and a soft bale of hay to set his foot upon as he worked the knots around his ankles, undoing bright blue tape. that was there to help the audience catch onto his movements easier and to protect his joints from being pulled out of their sockets. His pale skin was red under the bindings, but it would be better within a few minutes, just like it always was. He must have just put it on a bit too tight tonight, he thought as he rubbed the joint.

Heavy footsteps fell behind him, and Charlie didn't need to look up to know who it was. "Dad." He greeted as he switched feet and began undoing the other binding. Phillip Carlyle was removing his red coat behind him. He dropped it onto the bale of hay and sat down.

"You did well out there tonight," Phillip complimented him with a tight smile. There were permanent smile wrinkles around his mouth and eyes, and the corners of his eyes had gone leathery with age.

"I always do good." Charlie rolled his eyes and scoffed. He began to roll the bindings up to be used tomorrow night.

"You do." Phillip acknowledged softly as he watched Charlie work. "Your mother and I are a bit worried about all that, actually. You've been working really hard lately. We miss having you around."

"Look-" Charlie huffed, undoing the first few buttons on his bright blue costume and turning to give his dad an exasperated look. "If this is about the whole bows thing, Phillip, it's nothing. I'm just – getting older. Parents aren't cool anymore." He tried to laugh the whole thing off with his hands in the air while not showing how annoyed he was with the whole conversation.

"Family is important, Charlie." Phillip sighed as his son began to stalk off toward the dressing area. "If you were a little older, if you'd known the circus before, you'd understand that. Back when the circus started, most of us had no one."

"Whatever, dad," Charlie grumbled, quickly weaving his way through the props and the equipment that had been left off-stage. He kicked up some straw into a pile of dung that the zebras had left and went to go and do checks on the ropes for the trapeze artists since it was his night tonight. As he came around the bend, an arm snaked out and grabbed around his waist. He was spun sideways into a dark room and found himself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes.

"Hello, handsome." Mireille smiled as she put her arms around Charlie's neck. Charlie smiled and bent forward to press a kiss against Mireille's forehead, missing her pretty dark brown curls by a few inches.

"Hi, Mireille." He whispered, carefully putting space between them, because she was a lady, and this was how ladies are to be treated. "You did great out there tonight."

Mireille was one of the earlier acts, so she had already changed back into her plainclothes. Blue glitter remained smudged around her eyes and a pretty pink color rested on her lips, the only marks of what had identified her as one of Barnum's employees.

"You too." Mireille complimented him. Her smile had faded somewhat. "I saw you didn't go stand by the rest of your family again."

Charlie groaned and let her go. He turned away, shaking his head. "Not you too." He complained. He pulled up a chair hiding in the shadows and sat down.

"That's the ninth time." Mireille frowned. "You're perfectly fine when you're alone with everyone, why are the crowds so different?" She sat down on a wooden chest that was filled with extra costumes beside him.

"It's not about the crowds." Charlie defended himself. "Just Phillip and Anne-"

"What's with this Phillip business?" Mireille wrinkled her nose. "He's your dad, not your coworker."

"Technically, he's both." Charlie disagreed.

"Technically, he'd be your boss, not your coworker. He owns fifty percent of the show." Mireille reprimanded him. She set a hand down on his forearm and squeezed. "Is this about the whole mixed-race thing?"

"No!" Charlie exclaimed defensively, wrapping his arms around himself like a shield from her words.

"Because, trust me," Mireille continued, "You're not mixed race."

"I'm one-fourth black." Charlie furrowed his brow. "There's not much else to it."

"Okay, so maybe you are mixed-race." Mireille acknowledged with an eye-roll as she crossed her ankles delicately. "But really, why does it matter so much to you? It's where you came from. And you look white anyway. You're not like your mom or siblings. They actually look mixed. By all means, you blend right in." Mireille laughed a little in thought and skootched closer to him. "So, you don't want to go bow with your family in front of all your darker-skinned siblings because you don't want people to know you're mixed race? I still go and bow with my mom, Charlie."

"Don't compare you to me," Charlie said angrily. "Your situation and my situation are very different. For one, your mom is an act, not the ringmaster. Of course, she's a famous act, but an act all the same. Your mom and uncle weren't ever runaway slaves. And you and I were brought into the world on very different scandals. Being a bar sinister is not the same as being a hybrid." He stood up and began to stalk away, again. He seemed to be doing that a lot these days.

"Hybrid? You've been reading the Herald again." Mireille frowned as she stood up and followed him. She wasn't like Phillip, Mireille was. She knew how to pick fights with him. Phillip had never really exerted control over Charlie; he'd only pulled him aside to explain the principles of things to him as he got older. Charlie didn't step out of line much, so Phillip didn't have to chuck out very much advice.

"So what if I have?" Charlie snapped back to his girlfriend, stepping into the now-empty ring. All the guests had been ushered out and people had gone to turn in for the night. He pulled the lever that released the coiled ropes from above, even though now he'd have to make the journey all the way up top to re-coil them after he checked his own portion of the trapeze equipment. "It's good to be informed." He claimed as he coiled a rope around his fist and began to climb, hand over hand.

"You know that Mr. Bennett takes particular joy in ridiculing us." Mireille frowned. She couldn't follow him up the ropes, being in her dress. "Maybe it's good to be informed, but if you only fill your mind with criticism, there won't be any room for discussion on the other side."

"Desegregated, uneducated aberrations." Charlie recited, focusing on the top of the tent. "You know that's what they call us? And you know what else?

"I don't-" Mireille started before Charlie interrupted her as he swung back and forth between two ropes above her head.

"An archaic clan of grotesques who seem to be consistently interbreeding and spreading their egregious tropes throughout the honorable members of our lower-class societies." Charlie narrated.

Mirelle snorted. "That's the first time I've ever heard 'honorable' attributed to 'lower-class'." She commented, crossing her arms as Charlie tangled his legs in the rope and flipped his body upside down. "And I was going to say I don't need to hear any of that because I know it's not true." She flipped her hair back over her shoulder and straightened her spine. "I have talent, like everyone else here. We're modern, and accepting, and free. Don't you want freedom, Charlie?" Her boyfriend twisted his legs into the rope and hung upside down, on eye-level with her as he started to recite again, even louder.

"Their uncommon traditions even extend to the leadership of the Barnum business, as expressed by the miscegenous relationship practiced by Barnum's business partner." Charlie hissed. "Do you know who they're talking about? Those are my parents, Mireille. People don't talk about your mom and her one daughter, who is one of society's prettiest people since Jenny Lind came to tour, like they do my dad, the white man who married a mulatto woman in an unratified, taboo ceremony and proceeded to have five bicultural children." Charlie untangled himself as his face began to turn purple and gently let himself down from the ropes. Mireille watched his curly hair in the light as he wiped sweat off his brow and began to tie two ropes into a square knot so that he could swing on them.

"You're full of big words tonight." Mireille frowned.

"Biracial." Charlie scowled. "Multi-circumferential. Desegregated. Mixed race. Mulatto."

"Imagine if your mother heard you say that." Mireille scolded. "Can you imagine how that'd hurt her so?"

Charlie's expression softened. "I know." He sighed. "I love my mom, I do. But I just… want to make my own name away from theirs." His shoulders slumped.

"Well, how much money do you need for university?" Mireille asked. "I know that's what you've been doing all the extra acts and working outside Barnum's Circus for."

"I'm so close." Charlie groaned as he untied the knots and gave the ropes a tug. "And yet so far. What well-respecting college will let in a man whose mom ran from slavery as an illegitimate, mixed-race child?"

"It doesn't matter." Mireille rolled her eyes. "You're smart, you're a hard worker, and you don't look black. They'll let you in."

"And kick me right back out when my family shows up to see me for the first time." Charlie despaired.

"Take them to court," Mireille advised. "Or, just go to Brea College." Brea college had been founded after the Civil War ended, ten years before Barnum's first circus had burnt to the ground. It was the first college in the south to be racially integrated. Brea was where Mireille wanted to go for college because, on top of allowing both blacks and whites, they also allowed for boys and girls.

"Frankly, I think you're making this out to be a lot harder than it is." Mireille continued. "You can't change where you come from and if your parents hadn't fallen in love, you wouldn't be here, so you might as well not resent them for it. That's the whole point of the circus; respecting where people come from and learning to find family in what makes us different."

"The circus was a money-maker for Barnum." Charlie rolled his eyes.

"And our parents made it into a refuge." Mireille smiled and stepped forward, resting a hand on Charlie's upper arm. "Phillip Carlyle, Anne and WD Wheeler. Lettie Lutz." Mireille kissed Charlie on the cheek. "We came together here and made it so that we didn't have to hide from society anymore. It's a beautiful thing; I don't know why you're so anxious to hide where you came from, even if everyone already knows." Charlie stiffened, and Mireille's smile faded. "Your parents won't be here forever, so you should respect them while they are. Besides, we can live in a world that we design."

Charlie chuckled at the reference to Barnum's song, but Mireille didn't stop there. She loved to sing. "I close my eyes, and I can see." She whispered, batting her long eyelashes at Charlie. Charlie laughed as closed his eyes, wrapping one fist around a rope as he put an arm carefully around her waist. "A world that's waiting up for me… That I call, my own."

Mireille had inherited the brightest, clearest pair of pipes anyone had ever heard from her mother, Lettie. Barnum had wanted to organize a tour the likes of which had traveled with Jenny Lind, but Lettie had kept a tight hold on her baby girl and told Barnum not to approach her until she was at least eighteen. Since then, Mireille had only gotten better and better. One of her dreams was to meet Jenny Lind and see how she compared to the Swedish Nightingale.

"Through the dark, through the doors, through where no one's been before. But it feels like home." Mireille leaned her head onto Charlie's shoulder, and Charlie gave the rope a sharp jerk. He heard a sandbag slip off the rafters up above the same moment he felt his hand launch away from his arm. Mireille gave a little shriek and curled her legs up under her dress as the took to the skies. Charlie laughed.

The sounds of four kids hitting the sawdust hit their ears. Mireille and Charlie's head whipped around to see Adam, Frances, Fredrick, and Emma rushing to the ropes in laughter. The four kids snatched up the ropes and began to swing through each other in a dazingly familiar pattern. Charlie let Mireille fall half-way and watched their combined momentum pull them down enough for him to set her on the ground before he launched up into the air.

"They can say, they can say it all sounds crazy." Mireille sang from the ground, letting her high soprano voice bounce off the walls of the tent and carry back. She stood in the center of the circle and watched the five people above her spin circles. "They can say, they can say we've lost our minds." She laughed as Emma switched over to Fredrick's rope, and the two of them began spinning in dizzy circles around each other, arms outstretched like they were flying together. "I don't care, I don't care if they call us crazy. We can live in a world that we design."

Frances and Adam hit the floor and began a hypnotizing dance while they sang along to the Barnum's song. Adam was Caroline's first son. He had caramel locks and brown eyes, like Barnum. Helen still hadn't married, so he had no cousins, but he found many friends in the circus. Even though he was only fifteen, it was blindingly clear that he and Frances had something special between them. This worried Charlie because Francis was his little sister. She was fourteen, with skin like her mother and waist-long locks in the same shade as her dad's. Charlie was the only person in the family who had actually inherited his dad's skin. When they stood together, people thought she was the oldest child because of how different he looked from each of his siblings.

"Cause every night I lie in bed and the brightest colors fill my head." Mireille and Adam sang as Frances rolled over Adam's back, caught his hand, and spun straight into his grasp. "A million dreams are keeping me awake."

Charlie flew up to the supports of the tent and rested from his flight. He watched Emma and Fredrick spin around each other in tantalizing patterns. Emma was his cousin; WD's daughter. After WD had gained a stable income, he'd brought his wife up to live in New York with them. Sarah Wheeler had, unfortunately, suffered an attack by a white man that left her pregnant with a child that was not WD's. Still, they raised the white-skinned child in their family surrounded by all the little black ones like nothing had ever gone wrong. Emma was, of all her siblings, closest to Dan because the two older ones had grown up and moved away. Fredrick was Adam's brother, Caroline's younger son. He had a goofy smile and freckles and loved the circus more than anything in the entire world. Charlie could see him growing up, falling in love with Emma, and raising a family here, just like his parents had.

Down below, Mireille continued to sing soprano with pretty chords that made Charlie's ears feel like they were being given a massage. "I think of what the world could be; a vision of the one I see. A million dreams is all its gonna take."

Charlie found himself mouthing the words: "A million dreams for the world we're gonna make."

A million dreams. A million thoughts. A million colors. He had all that, somewhere inside his head. He had something that none of his siblings or friends could understand. A drive to prove himself. A drive to be something. More than a backup dancer or an aerialist. More than Phillip and Anne's little boy and more than the son of a mixed-race woman. If he could get to college, work hard and strike out on his own, he could make it. He could be a businessman; an overseer of factories. Maybe he could move to Pittsburg. That's where all the big names were making it big. He could work in rubber; rubber was big right now. Or maybe textiles, since textiles would never go out. So long as he could stay on top of designing new patterns and colors, he'd have a business. And since he'd grown up here, maybe he and Barnum could become partners and he could supply the circus with costume materials, and everyone would see that he'd done it. He'd made it big.

Far down below, Adam switched the hand he was holding Francis's with. She gave him a smile and twirled into a pretty dip, with her black hair hitting the floor just like Uncle Phillip had taught him how to do back before he'd realized the young man would use his tricks to sweep his daughter off her feet. His heart was racing, and his ears felt warm as his cheeks took on a pink color. If his mom saw him now, dancing with the pretty black girl and holding her hand and not caring at all that he was getting all covered in sawdust and sweat, she'd scold him. Caroline, after her years of being a prima ballerina, had learned to respect the circus for providing for her education. She spoke kindly with the performers and let her children play with their children. But she didn't want her kids to grow up and intermarry with the circus workers. It would be best, she had decided, to take separate paths. But Adam loved the thrill of the circus. He loved the screams of the crowd and the costumes and the life and light of the performers. And he loved the feeling he got when he glimpsed Francis's bright smile as she bowed with her parents, danced in the light, and let her wings spread.

"There's a house we can build… every room inside is filled. With things from far away." Mireille sighed happily as she watched Charlie reappear from the rafters above Fredrick and Emma, who were spinning in dizzy circles around each other. Fredrick was trying to show off. He swung close to the pillars and began to sprint across the vertical beams that supported the tent.

Charlie swung his legs up and around the rope and split center stage, whirling to the bottom as the rope coiled around his waist and rolled him, arm over arm, to the floor, where Mireille was waiting with a small smile. "Special things I compile… each one there to make you smile." Charlie walked forward and rested his hand on Mireille's cheek. She leaned into him with an even brighter smile. "On a rainy day."

Adam and Francis jumped to the ropes again and began to pull themselves up, hand over hand. Their arms were strong from years of practice.

"They can say, they can say it all sounds crazy," Mireille whispered as she leaned up, lifted a foot off the ground, and leaned into her boyfriend's frame. The two pressed their foreheads together. "They can say, they can say we've lost our minds."

Charlie released the rope and curled both his strong, calloused hands into Mireille's thick, curly brown locks. Both of them failed to notice the crucial scene happening above their heads.

Fredrick, who was still chasing his rope around the circumference of the tent supports, felt the rope that was holding him dead center snag on something along the center. It snapped him back, and he fell to the beams. The rope swung out of reach as Fredrick's head slammed into the wooden beam. He barely managed to dig his fingers into the wood to keep from falling to his death as his vision went black. Emma swung towards him and helped him sit back up. His nose had been crushed, and a stream of blood had started to run from both nostrils. The two quickly tried to stifle the blood, and neither noticed as a single sprinkle of blood fell from his nose, past the wood supports he was trying to keep from falling off of and hit the floor of the stage.

The world started spinning; even more so for Fredrick. Only Charlie and Mireille failed to notice as she sang with her hands twisting the back of Charlie's costume with a bright smile upon her lips. But around them, things seemed to be shifting. Lavender mist rose up from the ground, and the fabric walls were replaced with sturdy brick and wrought iron. The smell of things old and stuffed replaced the smell of animals and sweat and rum.

"Run away to a world that we design!" Mireille let out a breath, and she and Charlie moved in synchronously for a quick kiss. Before their lips could touch, however, a man's loud belt of a singing voice came from the rafters.

"Every night I lie in bed." A man with neat hair, a top hat, and a brown vest called as he walked down a flight of stairs that had suddenly appeared where ladders had been posted. What had previously been the supports to the trapeze equipment and the tent was now a circular walkway surrounding a stage circle smaller than any of the ones the kids had ever seen before in their lives. He twirled a baton in his hands as he descended the steps with a bright smile. "The brightest colors fill my head; a million dreams are keeping me awake."

Adam and Francis hit the floor again, hand in hand. "Grandpa?" Adam whispered.

It took Adam's words for Charlie to put together what he was seeing. PT Barnum, at least twenty years younger than Charlie had ever seen him, was walking across the sawdust towards them. He stopped and stared at him, examining each of the kids. Charlie was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him as he looked at the stage, the rafters, the solid roof above their heads. They were in a building the likes of which Barnum hadn't owned since… the fire of 1865.

Mireille detached from Charlie and covered her mouth in blatant surprise. Fredrick and Emma carefully climbed down, with Fredrick still trying to stay the stream of blood gushing out of his nose. Barnum pulled a white kerchief out of his pocket and handed it to the lad as he frowned at the kids. Charlie stiffened.

"You know my song," Barnum said in a curious tone. "We don't sing that here at the American Museum. Where did you hear it? You seem to know every line."

"A-ha!" Mireille squeaked. She latched onto Charlie's arm and squeezed. Adam swallowed thickly and he and Fredrick exchanged cautious bewildered glances.

Charlie cleared his throat. "Ah, our parents used to sing it to us. Must be a coincidence that's it's your song." He chuckled nervously.

"My wife and I wrote it," Barnum said in a flat tone. While he had originally appeared pleased, he seemed a bit upset at their surprise and the way they were shifting their feet. He crossed his arms. "Performances are over for today as well. You're trespassing on personal property. What are you doing in my stage room?"

"Trespassing?" Adam squeaked.

"American museum?" Charlie whispered. His mind started to work at a million miles an hour. Old building… young Barnum… dated name. Holy crap.

"Are you going to give me an answer, or do I have to call the police?" Barnum growled. "Did one of my performers let you in?"

"No!" Mireille exclaimed. "We just, uh, were here after the show and we really admire the Barnum Circus and we don't mean to trespass and…" She trailed off, looking desperate to add something, anything onto the end of her statement.

"Circus?" Phineas Barnum frowned like he was contemplating the name, but he quickly brushed his thoughts aside.

"We'd like to audition!" Charlie blurted out. Mireille, Adam, Francis, Fredrick, and Emma all shot him panicked looks. "That's right, we want to be a part of the show. We know all the steps, all of the choreography. Look, Francis, Emma, and I made our own costumes in advance, and when Mireille, Adam, and Fredrick heard what we were doing, they decided to come with and see if you'd give us a chance because…" He trailed off, suddenly doubtful of his own plan.

"Because we're tired of hiding in the dark," Mireille added, looking relieved. "But you'd already closed auditions, so we decided to try and catch you after hours. We waited in the stands after the show today and hoped we'd be able to catch you, but we never saw you alone, so we've just been waiting all this time, hoping you'll give us a chance."

Charlie watched the surprise flicker over Barnum's face and swallowed. He hoped Barnum would buy it, otherwise, they'd be out on the streets in, if he was correct, 1864. He also hoped everything Mireille was saying was true because he didn't know for the life of him when Barnum had officially closed auditions, when shows had started, or even if Barnum had had a show at all today. If it were Sunday, the circus would be closed. Sure, he was wearing his red coat, but if Barnum picked a single lie out, they'd be on the streets in seconds. Charlie balled his fists up as beads of sweat appeared in his palm.

"You say you know every line, all the choreography?" Barnum asked.

"Yes!" Emma blurted out beside Fredrick, who was still dabbing at his nose. "We're massive fans."

Barnum stroked his chin and considered their words. Finally, he nodded. "I've got room for a few more acts." He nodded. "But I don't want to take in people who are behind. If you can dance our closing act properly, I'll let you stay in and board with the other performers."

Charlie let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as Mireille looked up at him nervously. "The closing act?" She clarified. "The Greatest Show number, right?"

"Yes." Barnum nodded. "You do know it, right?" He gave Mireille a scrutinizing look, examining her long sleeves and the long skirt to her plainclothes.

"Of course," Mireille said in a high-pitched voice. Her eyes were wide as she stared at Charlie, begging him for help.

Barnum crossed his arms and examined them all. "Would you like me to call in some of the dancers to help guide you through it?" He asked softly.

Mireille relaxed instantly, and Charlie nodded gravely. "Yes, please sir." Fredrick squeaked as he finally managed to clot the blood streaming out of his nose. "We're not used to doing it under scrutiny; you'll have to excuse our nervousness." He tried to rub his red hands on the handkerchief, and then held it in a palm, unsure of whether or not he should hand it back to Barnum. Barnum held out his hand, and a blushing Fredrick placed the bloodied rag in the older man's hand.

"There's a water spigot out back," Barnum advised them. "Run and wash up, and I'll fetch a few of the dancers." He turned and headed back up the stairs. The four older kids came together in a close circle as Emma and Fredrick sprinted to find the water spigot before Barnum came back.

"What are we going to do?" Francis hissed, mostly directing her question at Charlie, the oldest.

"That's not what you should be asking." Adam frowned, standing erect and straight. "How are we here?" His feet shuffled in the sawdust from first, to second, to third and fourth, and finally the fifth position, before shifting back around again. He and Fredrick were trained in ballet and walked with the posture as such. Meanwhile, Francis and Charlie were used to extending their limbs to make them seem larger than life, throwing out their chests, and holding tension in every movement. Acrobats.

"Charlie." Mireille yanked on his arm. Her eyes were wide with panic. "I don't dance. I'm the glorifying entertainment, remember? I open the show and soothe the audiences, so they never see what's coming next."

"You'll have to." Charlie shook his head. "It's not hard. It's just the same routines we've been doing the last few years. Just remember: there's less of us, so we'll need to be loud to have a similar effect." He rubbed his clammy hands on his pants as Emma and Fredrick came sprinting back. Fredrick was soaked to the bone and shivering, but clean aside from a smudge on his shirt.

A sudden thought struck Charlie. "Dear God." He whispered. "What if someone recognizes us?"

"Not recognizes us," Mireille corrected. "The circus is still called the museum. It hasn't been called that since the very, very beginning. We don't exist here. But if anyone comments on how similar we look to, say, Phillip Carlyle-" She gave Charlie a stern look as a vein throbbed in his head. "-things could get messy."

"I think you're safe," Francis said in a somewhat snobbish tone. "Your face is clean. No one will draw the similarities to Lettie Lutz without her famous beard."

"She's slim, too." Adam nodded. "But the rest of us – we all look like someone. If Fredrick or I even stand close to Barnum for too long, people start pointing out things all the time. Too many questions and-" He shrugged helplessly.

"This is insane," Emma whispered, pressing a hand to her head. "What if he only decides to hire some of us?"

"We need to stick together," Mireille said firmly. "As much as possible, until we figure out what is going on." Her dark eyes flickered over Charlie. "But here's a problem; he's going to ask our full names. Two Carlyles, a Lutz and a Wheeler all in the same place will be suspicious. At least the Thompson's are safe – there are lots of those." Adam and Fredrick nodded in agreement.

"Well, maybe Charlie and I can use Grandma's last name. Wasn't it-" Francis started.

"Wait!" Charlie interrupted her. An idea was quickly forming in his head. "I can go by my middle. That's what I'll do. Charlie Mason. That sounds distinguished, doesn't it?" He looked around for approval. "But Francis..." He trailed off, biting his lip. This was his chance to truly sever his ties with his history and begin a life by himself, as Charlie Mason. But if Francis took the same last name as him... Charlie scrambled to come up with a passable reason Francis shouldn't have the same last name as him. "Francis, won't it be suspicious if, since you look so much like Mom and I look so much like Phillip, that we have the same last name? You can go by Hall, Grandma Wheeler's maiden name, and I'll stick with Mason."

Francis's expression grew stormy and hurt. "What?" She asked. "You want to pretend we're not related?"

"Charlie-" Mireille sounded scandalized as she opened her mouth to protest. Adam, Emma, and Fredrick all looked equally uncomfortable.

"Are you ready?" A gruff tone asked from the second floor. The six children snapped their heads up to stare as Barnum descended to the circle with around seven different dancers behind him in their plain clothes. There was the woman in gold, the Russian knife- throwers, the tattooed man, and others. Not Lettie, nor Anne, nor W.D. were among them.

Francis broke off of the group with a stormy expression. She turned a cold shoulder to Charlie and addressed Barnum. "Yes, we are." She proclaimed. "I'll be substituting as ringmaster. Can I borrow a baton?"

The tattooed man and one of the throwers looked to Barnum. Charlie wasn't sure why. Barnum had shared the role of ringmaster equally with Phillip in the early days. It wasn't like it was unique for Barnum to not be leading them through the moves. Barnum's mouth straightened into a line, and then he tossed his cane down towards the sawdust. Francis caught it and planted her feet in the sawdust. "Charlie, Mireille, and Fredrick are going to take stage left in standard positions. Adam and Emma will be on stage right. Can you please come down to where you'd normally be so we can space ourselves accordingly? We haven't exactly had the opportunity to perform in the ring before."

Charlie felt a surge of pride for his little sister's professional attitude before he looked up. The performer's eyes were on him, looking at the wave of his hair and the slope of his spine. He straightened up. They might have known Charlie Carlyle all his life, but Charlie Mason was someone different. He could stand out in his professionalism and in the way that he held himself. Immediately, they looked away, and Charlie knew they'd realized he was someone comfortable in popularity and wealth – just the person he wanted to be seen as.

The performers took their places in staggered windows on the stage. Francis exchanged an uncomfortable look with Mireille and Adam, and Charlie could clearly see why. This was Barnum's original choreography, which had been mostly abandoned and revamped since the museum opened. Panic welled up inside Charlie. He hadn't danced this in at least seven years – since he'd been nine. He'd only seen it occasionally performed by the original members. He closed his eyes and prayed – prayed hard that they remembered it, prayed hard that they'd be good enough to get in.

There was no music. No movement ques other than Francis's baton, which he wouldn't be able to see all the time. Charlie swallowed, and looked at Emma and Adam, across the way. Then, before they could start, he slowly moved out of formation and went to the side of the ring.

"What are you doing, young man?" Barnum barked from up above.

Charlie walked to the stands and found, similar to in the circus tent, ropes bound in figure eights to the posts of the room. Trapeze equipment. He unloosed it and held the end up to his friends. Emma breathed a sigh of relief and left her position to help him unravel it and drag it into the arena. She took it from him since they both knew she was the better trapeze artist. Above them, Barnum stood stone-faced as he watched Emma take a new place on stage. Adam, too, found a second rope and navigated it into place from the ground. Everyone heard the clicks of safeguards locking into place as they pulled the trapeze equipment into place. Emma and Adam stood staggered center from Emma with the ropes coiled around their hands.

"I'll be substituting for Anne Wheeler," Emma announced.

"And I'll stand in for W.D Wheeler." Adam choked.

The performers exchanged looks. One of the throwers shook her head. "Don't bite off more than you can chew."

Charlie frowned. "We've all been trained with trapeze." He explained quickly. Mireille sent him an alarmed look, and Charlie had to quickly backtrack. "We… trained ourselves based on what we saw you guys doing." He said slowly. Barnum's brow furrowed, but he didn't say anything. "And we're quite good," Charlie added. He gave the rope a sharp tug and heard something slip and lock into place above his head. He left the rope in Emma's capable hands and returned to his spot onstage. He nodded to Francis. "On your count." He whispered.

Francis stared at him for a few seconds. He felt like her eyes were boring into his skull and making his hair stand up on end. Then she turned and put her head down, planted her feet, and dug the tip of the baton in at an angle. "Ladies and Gents." She announced in a booming tone that made it seem as if she'd taken on an ethereal state. "This is the moment you've been waiting for."

The background members all leaped in to complete the background noise and Charlie felt himself entering performance mode as he threw everything he had into the dance. Maybe he was rusty. Maybe they did this specific routine once every six months to a year and he himself didn't usually participate. But by god, he had grown up dancing and he would dance himself into a grave before he let them all be thrown out into the streets.

Francis introduced lighting and music cues like a pro, lowering her voice to hit all those reverberating notes just right. "And buried in your bones there's an ache that you can't ignore. It's taking your breath; stealing your mind. And all that was real is left behind…"

Emma and Adam shot into the air spinning so fast Emma's hair whipped around and coiled around her neck as she went. They were good enough that no one could spot the differences to Anne or WD if the two originals weren't performing side-by-side. It was the perks of going up in Barnum's Circus. Up in the air, even in their plainclothes (Or, in Adam's case, his white shirt), they looked like they were made of strength and color.

"Don't fight it, it's coming for you, running at you. It's only this moment, don't care what comes after." Francis doubled back through the ring to present the Russian Knife Throwers and then gestured to where the albino twins usually were, even though they weren't currently present. Charlie saw Barnum pull an impressed face at her memory and skill before, on the same beat, every single member of the cast dropped to the sawdust and broke into dance. He used his legs to pull himself into a crab position before jumping his hands back and forth, and then rolling up so he could stop towards Francis with the others as she pretended to drag her fingers along the brim of her hat perfectly.

Charlie could say a lot about his sister. Aside from how she looked nothing like him and how she fell in love way too easily(he was the same way), he could talk for days about how annoying it was that she only ever wanted to do the role of ringmaster and never wanted to be a back-up dancer. He could go on and on about how she was a horrible cook and a horrible seamstress and complain until he was blue about how she was always correcting his dancing and trapeze. But by god, he could never say his little sister didn't have talent. She had the flare and the technique and the confidence to truly shine in Barnum's circus, and this became evident as she sped up on her feet, dancing around the ring on her toes, drawing Barnum's attention from their dancing, to their acts, to Adam and Emma soaring through the sky. It was incredible.

As they neared the third chorus, Charlie had a horrible thought occur to him. It had always been during the third chorus that Barnum had left the stage to flip roles with Phillip, who would rush in to finish the last part of the dance before dropping his mom into a kiss. Charlie watched Francis and realized she was anxiously looking up to the railing, wondering if she should leave or not. Truth be told, they're never actually done this routine without switching ring masters halfway through, but there wasn't a ringmaster in sight.

Fredrick zoomed past him in formation as Francis paused, gave a wild look around to the other kids, and froze. Charlie immediately dropped out of formation and circled around the stage. She watched him with a hard look but ran off to meet him.

Immediately, they knew there was a mistake. Barnum frowned down on them with pinched lips and a couple of the performers broke character to send each other bewildered looks as Francis handed the baton to Charlie and then rushed to take up his role of back-up dancing. As the performers staggered to the outskirts of the circle, Charlie dashed back in, skidding on the ground in a little 360' circle before popping to his feet. It was a trick he'd been able to do since he was six.

Charlie imagined he was PT Barnum, rich enough to buy his wife and daughters whatever they wanted, to bring Jenny Lind to America and to create a business that literally no one got tired of. He imagined he was wealthy and important, and notable, and his chest swelled with his imagined pride. He threw the baton out and put every muscle he had behind his dancing. No matter that he'd finished a show not even an hour ago. No matter that he had literally no idea what was going on or how he got here. He was here to prove himself.

'Look at me,' he demanded an imaginary crowd in his thoughts. 'Watch what I can do. Look at how important I am. I'm going to prove just what I can be, and no one will ever judge me for being Anne and Phillip's son again.'

They struck endpose, with Adam and Emma even tangling themselves up in the ropes to do a complicated in-air pose. Charlie caught Mireille's hand just like Phillip always caught Anne's, and he spun her into his arms. She couldn't stop a smile and leaned up to kiss his cheek before the rest of the performers dropped their pose and stretched their arms out a bit.

"Who!" The tattooed man exhaled. "I don't think we've practiced that hard since we first learned that routine."

"No kidding." The eldest albino twin smiled. "You kids sure have talent." She looked up to Barnum. "What do you think, Barnum?" She called.

Barnum nodded and looked away with a bright smile before he schooled his features. "Not bad!" He called. He hardened his face a little and squinted into the midst. "You, the darker girl who was the ringmaster, what's your name?" He called.

Francis took a few steps forward. Her expression had gone dark again. She glanced at Charlie, who nodded encouragingly. This only seemed to make her madder, though Charlie didn't understand why. It would only be more suspicious if they had different skin tones and the same last names. It was better to not be related, and that way he would be able to make up whatever backstory he wanted. He could be the orphan son of two English merchants who had been taken in by his uncle and raised until his uncle had passed away and he'd been forced to live on the streets. Or he could be from the south, brought north by the factory rush. The possibilities were endless.

"Francis Harper Hall," Francis announced, dejectedly. "You can call me Francis or Fran."

"Francis." Barnum decided. "What were you doing, leaving in the middle of the show?"

Francis seemed stunned by the question. She took a half-step back and glanced nervously over her shoulder. Mireille, Adam, Emma, and Fredrick were all equally stunned by this question. They couldn't remember a single time they hadn't switched ringmasters during chorus three. But something told Charlie they'd misinterpreted something. He looked up to Barnum and tried to adopt a bit of a distinguished accent as he spoke. "I know the last part a tad better than her, so I thought I'd step in and give her time to show her dancing skills." He announced.

"Hmm." Barnum huffed aloud. "Well, I hope you can dance the dance as well as all of your friends. I don't share the role of ringmaster with anyone."

Anyone? Charlie squinted in confusion. "What about Phillip Carlyle?" Francis blurted out. Charlie forced himself to remain indifferent to the name.

It was suddenly Barnum's turn to look confused. "Who?" He asked.

Francis shrunk back in complete shock. "Phillip Carlyle?" She asked, looking around at all the performers. They all exchanged confused looks. Charlie heard the woman in gold muttering: "You know who they're talking about?"

Phillip Carlyle, apparently, didn't exist.

A surge of relief ran through Charlie. Not only was he free of his last name and his brothers and sisters, but he also didn't even have to worry about anyone recognizing him as Phillip's son. He didn't look anything like his mom anyways, so this meant that he was completely safe. "Never mind." He blurted out. "What did you think? Are we any good?"

Barnum stroked his chin and considered them all. He pointed into the crowd again. "You, white girl with the long dress. Who are you?"

It was Mireille. She stepped forward, shaking a little but holding herself steady. "I'm Mireille Giovanna." She introduced.

Upon hearing her middle name, Barnum let out a little exhale. "That's a mouthful." He decided. "Mireille, can you do trapeze?"

Mireille's lip wobbled a little, but she held firm and locked eyes with Barnum. "No, sir. I wasn't trained like they were." Mostly because Mireille preferred being on the ground where she could act like a demolition team striking through anything. She didn't like being in the air, at the mercy of gravity and momentum. She could only do basic tricks, and never anything like the Carlyle and Wheeler kids could.

"Your dancing is behind everyone else's," Barnum said flatly. "So either you have a lot of catching up to do or I can't take you on as a performer."

"She can catch up!" Charlie interrupted quickly. "And besides, she's got lots of other talents too!"

"Charlie!" Mireille hissed, sending a scathing glare his way. He realized his mistake immediately. Assuming Lettie Lutz was with the circus and wasn't gone like Phillip was, she definitely didn't know she had a daughter. Meaning she definitely wasn't fending Barnum's greedy claws off of Mireille. And if this was before Jenny Lind had ever come over to America, then Barnum was still looking for a way to propel himself to the top dogs. Mireille didn't want to become his next victim.

But it was too late. "Like what?" Barnum demanded. Mireille looked up and squared her shoulders like a queen. She swept her beautiful thick hair over her shoulders and announced: "I write songs, I choreograph dances, and I can apply makeup and fix costumes like a pro."

"Hmm." Barnum huffed aloud again. He considered her words even further. "I still want you to catch up." He told her finally. "But I could use someone like you to teach everyone how to apply things and help with things get broken. Anne and Lettie are fantastic, but we need all the extra hands we can get."

And that settled it. Anne Wheeler and Lettie Lutz were definitely real people, wherever they were. Which was probably a very good thing to have confirmed, considering they'd announced Emma and Adam as WD and Anne substitutes.

"What numbers don't you know?" Barnum asked. He began to descend the stairs as he spoke.

The kids exchanged looks. So many new songs had been written in the past decade, like Sarah Wheeler's songs and then the ones they'd written. How were they supposed to know which ones existed here already or not? "We know all of them," Francis announced.

"So you know Come Alive and Cheer, Boys, Cheer?" Barnum asked.

"Yes," Charlie answered for the group, firmly. Barnum's eyes hovered on his in a somewhat distasteful way.

"What about Finnegan's Wake and Wait for the Wagon?" Barnum asked.

"We know all of them," Charlie repeated, even firmer this time.

"We even know This is Me and From Now On!" Adam piped up from behind Francis. Everyone turned around and cast him a few strange looks.

Barnum crinkled his nose. "I've never heard of those songs." He proclaimed. The blood drained out of Adam's face as Charlie's mind went into overdrive.

"Perchance…" He started slowly. "Have you ever heard of Jenny Lind?"

Barnum furrowed his brow. "I can't say I have." He admitted. "Is she a dancer?"

"Oh, just a singer," Mireille said in a lightheaded tone. "Those songs are related to her. Our bad. But yes, we know all of the circus's songs."

They were way far into the past. This was before Jenny Lind, before the renaming of the circus, before PT Barnum's most favorite songs. This was a world where Phillip Carlyle apparently didn't exist, where no one had any children yet and where some of the songs they knew either hadn't been written or had never been shared with the public.

"Hmm," Barnum said, again. "Well, I think that you're good enough." He turned to the Woman in Gold. "Martha, could you please escort Mireille, Francis and-" He paused to snap his fingers at Emma.

"Oh, I'm Emma Wh-" She cut herself off quickly, glancing around at her friends for help.

"Will Davis." Mireille supplied hastily. "Emma Will Davis. And these two young men are Adam and Fredrick Thompson." She gestured to the last two boys as they shifted their feet in a sloppily-concealed panic.

"No middle names?" Barnum asked with a raised eyebrow. Charlie let out an exhale. Their names were actually Adam Phineas and Fredrick Taylor, but they couldn't exactly use PT Barnum's names right smack in the middle of their own when they looked like younger copies of him, could they?

"No, sir." Adam stuttered. "Just Adam and Fredrick."

"Lovely." Barnum decided. "Martha, please take Mireille, Francis, and Emma to Lettie and ask her to help them settle in on the block. Constantine, could you take these young men to Daniel and have him help them. I'll have O'Malley add them to payroll."

Charlie looked over at Mireille. They were being separated, and far sooner than they would have liked. They had no time to come up with a story, and no way of knowing where they'd end up since the building was already so different from the tents. Charlie swallowed and put his head down as Barnum continued talking.

"And kids, I don't allow trespassers and I don't always treat them so kindly. Remember that next time you want to hang around somewhere hours after showtime." Barnum suddenly seized Charlie's shoulder and turned him around. "Look, boy, you're the oldest, yes?" He asked.

"Yes," Charlie answered, trying his best not to wilt under Barnum's imposing stare. Barnum carefully held a finger up in Charlie's face.

"I'm not sure how you know that song, but I'm mighty interested in hearing whatever story you come up with," Barnum told him in a lowered tone. Charlie swallowed. He was, of course, talking about A Million Dreams. Charlie had no idea what kind of story he could come up with on such short notice.

"Go on then!" Barnum waved. He took his cane back from Charlie and walked to put away the ropes. Francis and Emma followed Martha, the woman in gold, up the stairs as Mireille hovered near the base of the stairs. Charlie walked over, and they shared a quick kiss.

"Meet you here later?" Mireille whispered.

"Probably be best to avoid the ring for a while." Charlie murmured. "I'll try and come find you. Don't hate me if I can't, though."

Mireille nodded. She gathered up her heavy skirts and headed up the stairs. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god, they weren't going on the streets.

#the greatest showman #future #time travel #phillip carlyle #anne wheeler #phineas taylor barnum #barnum #circus #lettie lutz #trapeze #fanfic #racism

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sunny-jac-blog · 6 years

Text

Take It Out On Me (Modern Barlyle)

hey guys! ok so this was originally inspired by a song i love (Take it Out On Me - Florida Georgia Line) but i kinda changed some things around a bit ?? idk have some barlyle ft. nervous kicked puppy phil

also pls don't hate me i love carlwheeler a whole lot but the only way it would make sense and to have them break up pls forgive me (also i am so sorry for not having cuts im only on tumblr mobile love yall sorry for long posts ack)

Word Count: 1.5k

__________________________________

“What’d she do this time?”

Phillip shrugged as he pushed past Phineas, who had been holding his apartment door open. He had been getting a lot of visits from Phillip recently, to talk about Anne, and something she did or said or made him feel. Mostly, they had been good, but recently things had been tense, and Phillip hadn't come to Phineas's apartment in two weeks.

When he saw the tear streaks on Phillip's cheeks, he knew that there was no getting better.

“She-... She broke up with me, Phin. Last week. I tried convincing her we could work through it, but--” He took a deep breath, shaking his head. “She… she said that she would rather end things and go back to being friends. Which I'm fine with, don't get me wrong, I don't care, as long as she's still in my life, but--”

“--You still have feelings for her,” Phineas finished, and sighed. “I'm sorry to hear what happened, Phillip… Why so suddenly?” He glanced over and bit his lip as he walked to the couch, gesturing for Phillip to sit next to him with a sigh. He moved the remote away as the younger man crossed the room, sitting with his arms crossed.

“She told me that she had other things that she needed to focus on first, and she needed to focus on herself more right now. And- And I get that, and I agree, because she's been kinda distant lately, so I'm completely fine with this. It's just… It’s the fact that I can't get over her. I can't get my mind off of her, no matter how hard I try, and I know I shouldn't be upset that we broke up, but… I-I can't help it.” Phillip sighed, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head. He looked up at the ceiling and crossed his legs.

Phineas gulped. He thought for a moment, and shrugged. “Well, Phillip, I… I wish I could say it gets easier, but breakups can be kind of hard…” He sat up, looking at him with a sympathetic smile. “What you need is a distraction. Get some of your friends, go- go on a roadtrip or something, maybe hit a few strip clubs, hook up with someone new. It doesn't have to be a relationship--”

“You know I'm not that kind of man, Phineas,” Phillip sighed. He stood, shaking his head. “This was a mistake, I should go, I'm sorry.”

“Wait, Phillip,” Phineas sighed and stood, tugging his wrist gently. As he looked down at Phillip's wide eyes, he couldn't help but gulp. Phineas found himself taking a slow step forward, sliding his hand down his arm. He chose his next words carefully. He let out a soft breath, and clasped Phillip's hand.

“Let me be your distraction.”

There was a moment of silence. Five seconds. Phillip seemed to be unresponsive, thinking something over. Phineas started to pull his hand away. Phillip gripped it tighter, took his free hand and grabbed Phineas's red t-shirt, and roughly tugged him down into a burning kiss.

Instantly, Phineas's was pulling Phillip closer, one hand on his hip while the other threaded through Phillip's hair. He pulled back from the kiss long enough to look into his eyes, and leaned down, gently kissing Phillip's jaw.

Phillip let out a soft groan, his hands resting on Phineas's chest. “Phineas, what-- What are we doing?” He asked breathlessly, and quickly pulled back, looking up at Phin with a nervous gaze. “...I- I can't do this, not now, I'm sorry,” He whispered, looking at him for a few moments more, before hurrying to the door, quietly closing it behind him.

_______________________________________

The next time Phillip saw Phineas, it was a week later. He hadn't left his apartment since going to Phineas's, and after that kiss, he was terrified. Terrified that Phineas would be pissed at him, terrified that he would get hurt again so soon.

And, most importantly, he was terrified of how the kiss had made him feel. For that brief moment, the kiss made him feel as if he was on top of the world, all thoughts of Anne vanished from view. Truth be told, he couldn't stop thinking about it, about him. Phineas was on his mind when he woke, and was the last thought Phillip had when he drifted off to sleep.

He had been writing non-stop since the kiss, and now had five drafts for five different “stories” that would never be seen by the public. That morning, around four a.m., he opened a new document on Google docs, shaking as he typed.

‘His lips were a blazing fire, leaving me burned in their tracks. He had caused me so many feelings that I knew I couldn't deny, and while intoxicated under his kiss, I was powerless. Even now as I lie awake, my mind goes back to the one encounter we shared, and I feel all over again. I love him.’

He stared at the words on the screen. Slowly, he deleted the last three words of the paragraph, shut his laptop, placed it off to the side, and went to bed.

_______________________________________

When they finally saw each other again, it was a chance encounter. Phillip had been at a coffee shop alone, staring at his laptop as he attempted to read through some critic's views about his latest published work. Since quitting the play scene and joining Phineas's lesser known entertainment company, Phillip hadn't been doing much writing, but that had all changed recently. He scoffed as he read a particularly harsh line, glancing up as the door opened.

When he saw Phineas walk in, he froze. Phin glanced around, spotting him and hesitating before walking over. He sat in the seat in front of Phillip, gulping. ”Phillip, we need to talk.”

One. Two. Three.

When phillip opened his eyes again and saw Phineas there still, he nodded and rubbed his forehead. There was no way he could run away now- he had to figure out this mess.

“Can we talk somewhere private?” Phillip asked with a sigh, standing. “My apartment is a few blocks away. Let's go.”

The walk there was silent. Phillip refused to speak, and Phineas didn't know what to even begin to say. Once at the building, Phillip walked inside, gesturing for Phineas to follow. He walked to the elevator quickly, before going to the eighth floor.

His apartment was neat. Stylized. It was decorated in shades of gold, red, black and white, and looked extremely classy. Phineas didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't that.

And he surely didn't expect Phillip to push him against the door, pull him down, and kiss him.

He had no complaints about either realization.

As he kissed back, Phineas wrapped his arms around Phillip's waist, pulling him closer. Phillip ran his hands through Phineas's hair, down his sides, up his arms- he wouldn't stop touching him, as if he were making sure that he was even real.

Phineas slowly pulled back from the kiss and took Phillip's fidgety hands, looking down at him. “Is- Is everything alright?” He asked softly.

“I couldn't stop thinking about you. I shouldn't have left, Phin, I--... I'm sorry,” Phillip murmured as he looked up at him. He looked almost vulnerable. Like he was afraid that Phineas would laugh in his face and leave.

“Phillip,” Phineas started, gently cupping his cheek. “you don't have to apologize. I understand.”

“I know, it’s just- I don't know, you make me nervous.” Phillip mumbled. He slowly walked to the couch and sat down, and Phineas followed. Phillip could've sworn to see a smirk on his face, and he gently whacked his shoulder, rolling his eyes. “Don't laugh at me, Phin.”

“What- I'm not laughing! I'm not laughing,” He smiled at Phillip, rubbing his shoulder. “Don't hit me.”

“I can hit you if I want to hit you!”

“Phillip. You're the size of a kitten.”

“I hate you.”

“They why did you kiss me, hm?”

Phillip started to respond, but he groaned and rubbed his forehead, a slight grin on his face. “Will you shut up? I kissed you because-... Because, I, uh… I like you, I think.”

“Well, it's about damn time,” Phineas murmured, grinning as he pulled Phillip closer. At this point, Phillip wa as almost on top of him. Phillip cupped his cheek and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips, before pulling back with a wide grin.

Phineas raised a brow. He smiled up at him, resting his hands on Phillip's waist. “What's that grin for, hm? Are you planning something?”

“...Does your offer still stand?”

“My- My offer?”

Phillip looked up at him and smirked softly. He leaned in closer, their lips barely touching, his fingers playing with the hem of Phineas's shirt as he whispered, “Will you be my distraction, Phin?”

Phineas only chuckled and pulled him in for a deeper kiss, deciding that maybe he could get used to this.

#the greatest showman #phillip carlyle #phineas taylor barnum #pt barnum #p.t. barnum #barlyle #barlyle fic #kicked puppy phillip carlyle #tgs #the greatest showman fanfic #anne wheeler #long reads #long post #jacque.writes #my writing

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antivanruffles · 6 years

Text

letters from the sky

written for @carwheelerweek day 7: Ensemble/Free Day. SFW. Canon divergence.

It was clear nothing was ever going to change. At least not for the better. Not with the circus in a new location; a fresh start that afforded them all so much more freedom. Not even with the longing looks and heartbreak written in their eyes. Lettie couldn’t take it anymore. She cared about them, they were her friends -- her family -- and they were hurting. She wanted to fix it.

She knew wasn’t the only one.

Her first conspirators were Caroline and Helen. It was easy enough to get information from them, and easier still for them to gather it. The little spies that they were. Unfortunately, no matter how hard they tried certain facts still eluded them. Important ones.

Once the girls were on board, Lettie found herself talking with other women in the troupe: Mary and Florence, Nea, even Deng Yan -- which had surprised Lettie -- were all keen on the idea of doing something for the pair. Eventually Constantine and Charles joined the group as well. Although Lettie kept the word quiet around W.D. She wasn’t entirely sure he would be on their side.

The next course of action was to figure out a plan. The group met in secret, near the animal enclosures in hopes they wouldn’t be too conspicuous while they talked. The last thing they needed was to be overheard.

“All right, so what’s our plan?”

“Can’t we just talk to them?” Helen asked.

“They wouldn’t listen, sweetheart, they’re too stubborn,” Charles said gently with a shake of his head.

“But they’re meant for each other. Aren’t they?” Helen frowned.

“Sometimes it isn’t as easy as in stories. That’s why we’re here,” Lettie said and gave Helen a reassuring smile.

“So the direct approach isn’t going to get us anywhere,” Charles said.

Lettie frowned. “No, it’s not.”

“Would you like my opinion?”

They all turned as one to find W.D. standing behind them, arms crossed and head tilted to the side. He raised an eyebrow at them. As far as Lettie could tell he didn’t seem angry, which was something. She decided to take it as a good sign.

“How’d you find us?” she asked.

“None of y’all are half as subtle as you think you are.” He smiled and dropped his arms.

“Are you going to tell on us?” Helen asked, peeking around Lettie.

“No, Helen. I think… I think I actually agree with you?” He stepped in closer to the group, let the Barnum girls flank him on either side. “Charles is right, my sister is stubborn. As a mule. There’s also a lot more than you know.”

“So what happened?” Lettie asked. Once upon a time Anne had confided in Lettie. Now she was withdrawn, sad. Things had changed the night Phillip took her to the theater, only none of them could figure out what exactly had happened.

“It’s complicated, which you probably guessed already. Anne made a choice, and she thinks it’s the right one. But I don’t, not anymore. Not when she’s hurting like she is.”

“Do you have a plan?”

W.D. was quiet for a moment, eyes focused on his feet. “I have something… I don’t know if it’s the best way, but it’s all I got.” He lifted his head, started looking around at the group. “Anne is stubborn, we know. She’s also competitive. And right now, even after everything, Phillip is still a sure bet. I think he always will be. But if we made her think he wasn’t, that his feelings could change. She might come to her senses.”

“So we make her think there’s some competition for his affection?” Charles pondered that, shared a look with the twins. Both nodded. “It’s not a bad idea.”

“We can’t just throw a girl in his path, that would never work,” Deng Yan said. “It needs to be subtle.”

“Subtle says the woman who throws knives for a living.”

“You know what I mean, Nea.”

“Love letters.” Everyone turned to look at Constantine as if he had grown a second head. He shrugged. “Like a secret admirer. It’s romantic, it’s subtle. It’s anonymous. Besides, even if his feelings won’t change, Phillip would still be embarrassed. Even flattered. Anne would notice.”

It sounded as good as anything Lettie had thought up. Glancing around at everyone else, it seemed they all agreed. Regardless, it was their best shot.

Lettie clapped her hands together and grinned. “All right everyone, I think we have ourselves a plan!”

cont. reading on AO3

#the greatest showman #carwheelerweek #anne wheeler #phillip carlyle #anne x phillip #carwheeler fic #tgs fanfic

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writingforthethinkers · 6 years

Text

Rewrite The Stars

The Greatest Showman

Pairing: Anne Wheeler X Reader

Word Count: 548

Warning: SO. MUCH. FLUFF

Summary: Requested: Hey! Could you right a TGS fanfic where Anne falls in love with a woman (reader) instead of Phillip? They are both terrified but everyone in the circus accepts them and gives them couagre, maybe even critics find out and take it badly? And they sing rewrite the stars and the song takes on a whole new meaning? Thanks in advance! 💖 // Anne Wheeler fluff?? I need something to soothe my sad gay heart 💓

A/N: So, I got super poetic with this one. Had no idea I loved Anne this much until I started writing this. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Here’s a link to ‘Rewrite The Stars’ if you want to listen to it while reading, I did while writing!

“Then I defy you, stars!”

- Romeo, 5.1

I’d call us each other’s guilty pleasures, but there was nothing guilty about it. I love Anne with every fibre of my being, and she feels the same about me. Regardless of gender, circumstance, or whatever other people may think. Whether it is wrong or right. Our love is one to contest with Romeo and Juliet.

At least everyone in the circus supports us, even if we know the public wouldn’t. Our family. They are behind us, and that’s all that mattered. And we have each other. More than anything, we have each other.

What if we rewrite the stars?

Say you were made to be mine

Nothing could keep us apart

You’d be the one I was meant to find.

The words held so much meaning as we sung them in unison, Anne’s hands placed firmly against my cheeks, my hands on her waist. A hand leaves my face as she reaches to her side, grabbing hold of the rope that hangs from the ceiling and wraps it around her hand, eyes never leaving mine.

It’s up to you, and it’s up to me

No one can say what we get to be

So, why don’t we rewrite the stars?

Maybe the world could be ours

Tonight.

Moving her other hand from my cheek, Anne wraps her arm tightly around my waist and I do the same with my arms, making sure I’m firmly holding onto her as she pulls down on the rope, the sandbag tied to the other end plummeting as we are pulled upwards towards the sky.

All I want is to fly with you

All I want is to fall with you

So just give me all of you

For those few lines, we soar through the air, like two birds in flight, perfectly synchronised, I can’t pull my eyes from her beautiful face. We reach the ground again soon, landing with ease and grace as Anne lets go of the rope again, both her hands gravitating back towards my body while mine never leave hers.

It feels impossible.

Her hands glide over the bare skin of my neck, smoothing down along the fabric over my chest.

It’s not impossible.

My fingertips graze along the bare skin of her shoulders, down along her arms, towards her hands.

Is it impossible?

Our faces grow ever closer, gazes flickering between lips and eyes.

Say that it’s possible.

We can’t resist. Our singing is halted as our lips unite, but the melody seems to carry on around us, within us. I feel my chest ignite with a burning love that her touches fuels, and I find myself wanting more and more of her as each second goes by.

“I love you,” I blurt out when we break apart. “And I don’t care what fate or destiny or anyone else for that matter has to say about it.”

“I love you too,” Anne replies, fingers scaling up the back of my neck to tangle in my hair. “More than anything.”

“If people find out…” I mutter, pressing my forehead to hers.

“We’ll face them together,” Anne ensures, sending small sparks of hope flickering in my stomach.

And why don’t we rewrite the stars?

Changing the world to be ours.

#the greatest showman #the greatest showman fanfiction #the greatest showman imagine #Anne Wheeler #anne wheeler x reader #anne wheeler imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #requested

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memories-are-mine · 6 years

Text

Follow up to my other thing

send requests, anything at all, make it angsty and sad n shit. i will write most of it when i can. i need ideas. ANY FANDOM!!!!

#the greatest showman #tgs #phillip carlyle #anne wheeler #charity barnum #pt barnum #phillip x anne #anne x phillip #caroline barnum #helen barnum #fantastic beats and where to find them #eddie redmayne #fanfic

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carlylexwheeler-blog · 6 years

Text

The Chaser I Seek

Neither is prepared to be jarringly thrown together their very first day by a food-fight blown out of proportion.

Word Count: 1,173

Warnings: Language, Angst, A Lot Shorter Than Anticipated

Chapter: 9 of ?

Read it on Wattpad or AO3.

Playlist

Song of the Chapter: "So Close" by Ólafur Arnalds

Chapter Nine: The Order’s Translator

The Three Broomsticks was filled with customers the same way that it always was, the way that filled the tavern with the warm and homey atmosphere that made sure people kept coming back. The two Wheeler siblings were behind the counter, and as W.D. poured shots of Firewhiskey for a rowdy group in the back, he appeared to be listening to his sister intently.

When she took a moment to breathe, he took the chance to ask a question. "And what do you plan on doing, now that you've said this?" W.D. queried. His voice was soothing to Anne, mostly because her brother had never been the type to ask her loaded questions, only the kind of man who encouraged her to answer what she could without fear of judgment.

Anne paused in her task of wiping down the bar to levitate the shots over to the table. When the men saw them coming, a rousing cheer filled the room. ""I... " Anne began, hesitating. "I plan on honoring what I said. The both of us can continue to interact, but only in a professional capacity."

W.D. let out a careful nod, and his face gave nothing away as he turned to face his little sister. If Anne had a poker face then W.D. was a stone wall. "I know you trust me with your secrets," he said quietly, "which is why I want to trust you with mine. There's something I want to tell you, Annie." His eyes searched her face, and as he did the same she felt a pang. The grave tone of his voice caused her heart to race. Was something wrong? "Have you heard of the Order of the Phoenix?"

The name rattled around in her mind, but Anne could not find a matching meaning for it. "No," she answered carefully. "What is it?"

W.D. began to work on closing the pub's windows as the sun went down by using a nonverbal spell. Each one closed with a little 'thwack' to keep the cool breeze from penetrating too far into the Broomsticks.

"The Order," he began in a cautious murmur, "is a group founded to fight. Think of them as the parallel of the Death Eaters, but or the other side." Anne watched W.D.'s face in hopes of observing every inch. Though his voice was somber, his eyes held a burning passion that Anne had only ever seen in him when he was talking about Quidditch or Runes.

"I wasn't even aware that there was another side," she replied. The pub was so full that their voices were easily lost in the chatter, and Anne did not think that they would be overheard. "I thought it was just You-Know-Who against the wizarding governments."

"And that is what they want you to think," W.D. agreed, "how he wants you to think." A grim smile graced his lips as he continued. "But Barnum started the Order-"

"Headmaster Barnum?" Anne interrupted with incredulity in her eyes.

W.D. seemed thoroughly unphased by the question. That was how it had always been growing up-- Anne asked questions, and W.D. did the best he could to present the world to his sister in a logical, impartial way so that she could explore it herself to form opinions.

"No, Charity Barnum," W.D. replied. "Phineas is a member of the Order, and his illusions are excellent for causing confusion among enemies on the battlefield. But Charity's knack for nonverbal spellwork and quick aim make her possibly the fiercest duellist of our time, not to mention her talent for extremely potent, complicated defensive charms. She also knows how to keep morale among the Order high without undermining the gravity of our situation, and she is excellent at distributing resources. There is a reason that she is the Head of Slytherin."

Anne knew of Barnum's reputation as a skilled duellist, but she was shocked. Anne had assumed that the exhaustion in Professor Barnum's eyes had come from teaching duties. Now that she knew the blonde instructor was quite literally leading a rebellion, her respect for Barnum increased.

"Of course... That makes a lot of sense," Anne admitted, trying to hide the breathlessness of her voice. "But why are you telling me about this secret organization now?"

W.D. closed his eyes in an attempt to calm down, taking in a deep breath. "Because I joined."

For a moment, all was silent between the both of them. W.D. knew that Anne's mind was racing, and they both knew that when this happened, she needed time to compose her thoughts. When she finally spoke, she asked, "What does that entail for you?"

W.D. took her hands in his and moved her for a moment to stand behind the shelves of bottles. Anne tightened her crip, and before she knew it, she was holding him like she would fall if she let go.

"I mostly do intelligence work," W.D. answered as he gently rubbed circles into her palms. "I keep an eye and a running record on all travel in and out of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, and I do my best to investigate anything suspicious. I also monitor all clandestine meetings that take place here and report the discussions and their content back to the Order."

"You-Know-Who's operatives meet in the Broomsticks?" Anne repeated with massively widened eyes.

"It's the perfect place, especially for contacts located in the school, such as the children of Death Eaters who want to follow in Mummy and Daddy's footsteps," W.D. answered. He spoke about all of this with a familiarity that gave Anne the sense he had been hiding this, waiting to tell her for a long while. "I also do codebreaking of intercepted messages. A vast majority are in Runic languages as well as other magical lexicons, which the Death Eaters correctly assume very few can read. Makes me wonder what they would say if they knew that a Muggle-born was translating their communications."

W.D. tossed her a satisfied grin that allowed her to see the pride in his eyes. After a moment, Anne returned it. "You make me so proud, " she murmured as she squeezed his hands. "Are you safe.?"

"No one is, at times like these, but I'm careful," he answered in his deep, comforting baritone. "You would make a fantastic member, Anne... The fiight against corruption needs the bright, determined, and resilient, the people who can think on their feet."

"It's certainly something to think about," Anne admitted. She understood his passion now; even knowing about the Order had put a glowing ray of hope into her chest.

"Anne? W.D.?"

They glanced at one another, and then they were both off in their separate directions to continue the fight to stay on top of the pub's bustling chaos.

Ever since their conversation a few days ago, Anne had been doing her best to avoid Phillip Carlyle. She was currently rising dangerously late in the morning and skipping breakfast to avoid seeing him (and also to get more sleep, because, for someone leading a secret revolution, Professor Barnum assigns a lot of damn homework). It was not so difficult to avoid being near him in the day.

On the other hand, it was very difficult when she was rushing around the Common Room preparing for a date.

Awkward silence filled the room as Anne scrambled about, darting from the bathroom to her desk to her bedroom several times. Anne had donned an old but well-kept green blouse that exposed her shoulders and flowed like a tunic. She wore a pair of jeans and sandals, and her hair was loose and natural around her face. Anne had even attempted a bit of makeup, and with a pair of rhinestone earrings W.D. had given her, Anne did not think she looked half bad.

The Head Girl was in the bathroom when she heard the knock on the door. Carlyle looked up from his desk as she hurried to answer it, and she was immediately greeted with the sight of Swenson. He stood before her in khaki pants and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his short hair was neat as he gave her one of his perfect smiles.

"Wow," he said warmly as he looked at her. "You look amazing."

"You don't look too bad yourself," she teased back lightly.

He laughed, but then Carlyle was speaking and Anne stiffened. "Will you be back soon, or should I leave the lights on, Wheeler?"

"You can leave them on," Swenson replied firmly before she could say anything. "Good to see you, Carlyle."

"You, too." Neither was smiling.

Anne quickly tugged Swenson out of the Common Room, and then they were walking in an awkward silence. After a moment, he spoke up.

"What was that?"

She glanced over at the Keeper, whose brown eyes were locked on her own. "What was what?" she returned, hoping maybe he wouldn't push it.

"That tension," Swenson replied. He was trying to appear nonchalant, but she could tell that their exchange had bothered him.

"We had... An argument," Anne answered, glancing in his direction. "It isn't a big deal."

"Kind of seemed like it was," he said slowly, uncertainly.

"I promise, it isn't," Anne swore. "You wanted to tell me something at lunch today?"

Swenson perked up and reached for her hand, and she allowed him to take it. "Right." He swallowed. "I was wondering if you might like to do this more often?" Her cheeks warmed, and before she could say anything, Anne had already started to nod. "How's next Friday for you?"

"Ugh, I can't. We have a planning meeting for the Seventh Year Dance."

"Sunday, then?"

"I've got to supervise detention."

"Tuesday?"

"Patrolling."

Swenson frowned and looked away. "I can't..." He stared and swallowed again, releasing her hand. HIs voice was gruff, but she could sense the hurt in it. "I can't help but think that this is about Carlyle."

Her gaze softened, and Anne stopped walking to take his hands. "Eli," she hummed softly as he looked down at her. "I swear, there isn't anything going on there. We're fine, I'm just busy." She paused. "How's Wednesday?"

He slowly allowed a grin to spread across his face. "Sounds perfect," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

They continued to walk, and Anne tried to shake the cobwebs of guilt from her shoulders as she laced her fingers with Swenson's.

#Anne Wheeler #phillip carlyle x anne wheeler #anne wheeler x phillip carlyle #anne wheeler fanfic #anne wheeler fic #carwheeler #phillip carlyle fanfic #carlwheeler #phillip carlyle #TGS #tgs fanfic #tgs fic #tgs hp au #the greatest showman #the greatest showman au #the greatest showman fic #the greatest showman fanfic

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