Howl's Moving Castle: Delicate
Seeing as tomorrow is the day of Mourning, I finally remembered that I'd written 2 fanfics while on vacation))) Time to post them)) Here goes the first one)))
Title: “Delicate”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Timeline: post-Howl’s Moving Castle (bookverse)
Summary: She must be pretty special if he fell in love with her without a heart. [Howl/Sophie]
Disclaimer: Howl’s Moving Castle belongs to Diana Wynn Jones.
A/N: I’ve always loved the anime, but when I read the book it seemed so much more awesome! Definitely one of my favourite fantasy books now.
DELICATE
He knew how to be romantic. He honed this fine art for years, chasing maids whose faces and names barely lingered in his memory. He had spoken words he would have meant from the bottom of his heart if he’d had one. He had carried a guitar he could not play just to make an impression. His enterprises had always been successful and he had lost interest in them at the speed of light.
(She is terrified of what he makes her feel: how he makes her bosom ache and her heart flutter; but if there is one thing she is completely certain of it is that what they have is pure magic. He has managed to love her without a heart.)
He was secretly glad he didn’t have to use any of his methods on her. He would never tell her, but he still could not believe she loved him back. Of course she had a special way of showing it: by snappy comebacks, stern looks and constant snooping. He had his special way with her as well. He made a mess from scratch and whined like a child when she paid little attention to his needs and complained about her being too nosy if she tried to compensate for it.
(She has no idea how she bears with him. She wonders if they should have children: looking after a mini-Howl might prove bothersome.)
He watched her sitting among the flowers when the doorknob was purple-down. Clusters of blue hibiscus and mauve orchids swayed all around her in the light breeze, and she sat there barefoot in a dark blue dress, her red hair streaming down her back. Tiny star-shaped white blossoms grew at her feet. She had never considered herself to be particularly pretty; he knew it. He agreed with her because to him, she was life itself - and life is something that cannot be defined with one meaningless word.
(She talks life into things. That is her talent. Mrs Penstemmon had said so. And Sophie has seen the magic work far too many times. It worked on Howl after all.)
He couldn’t remember the life before having a heart now, just as he couldn’t remember the life with a heart before not having one. His chest felt a little heavier, a little warmer. Other than that, there was no difference. He was still a selfish coward, a traveler between worlds, a talented lazybones, a whiner and the most potent Wizard in Ingary. He still spent hours in the bathroom, he was still ludicrously vain about his appearance and he still had fits of hysteria should anyone have tampered with his hair spells. Somehow the routine still felt vastly different. The little hot lump in his chest meant something now that it belonged to the one who had placed it back there.
(It feels odd being young again. She is the eldest of the three; she repeated it so many times to justify all her misfortunes, but in the end, she is the luckiest of the three. She may be a little bit vain about it too. She will never admit to it though: Howl is already vain enough for both of them.)
“You are insufferable!” he told her after she had washed one of his dark suits and it became white.
“You are worse,” she returned. “Will you forget about our wedding too?”
She started the fuss because he had had the misfortune to forget about Michael and Martha’s wedding and spent the night in Wales in a pub making bets for a rugby game.
He pretended he had not forgotten. She did not believe him. The suit had paid the price. He feared she would talk to it and set it against him.
“If you keep this up, my troublemaking lady, I shall have to.”
(She can bet he loves picking fights with her. Maybe he is bored. Maybe he misses old Mrs Nose. Lord knows what he thinks afterwards when he sifts his fingers through her hair, kissing random strands and not saying a word.)
He had been waiting for her all his life. She had made him speak his mind. She made him blow his top more often than anyone else. She taught him to like the strange strumming in his chest all over again.
(She tilts her head back, leaning on his shoulder as they sit among the flowers together, his arms wrapped around her body. She remembers holding his heart in her hands and thinks that she would give him hers just to keep him alive.)
August 15, 2009
Title: “Delicate”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Timeline: post-Howl’s Moving Castle (bookverse)
Summary: She must be pretty special if he fell in love with her without a heart. [Howl/Sophie]
Disclaimer: Howl’s Moving Castle belongs to Diana Wynn Jones.
A/N: I’ve always loved the anime, but when I read the book it seemed so much more awesome! Definitely one of my favourite fantasy books now.
DELICATE
He knew how to be romantic. He honed this fine art for years, chasing maids whose faces and names barely lingered in his memory. He had spoken words he would have meant from the bottom of his heart if he’d had one. He had carried a guitar he could not play just to make an impression. His enterprises had always been successful and he had lost interest in them at the speed of light.
(She is terrified of what he makes her feel: how he makes her bosom ache and her heart flutter; but if there is one thing she is completely certain of it is that what they have is pure magic. He has managed to love her without a heart.)
He was secretly glad he didn’t have to use any of his methods on her. He would never tell her, but he still could not believe she loved him back. Of course she had a special way of showing it: by snappy comebacks, stern looks and constant snooping. He had his special way with her as well. He made a mess from scratch and whined like a child when she paid little attention to his needs and complained about her being too nosy if she tried to compensate for it.
(She has no idea how she bears with him. She wonders if they should have children: looking after a mini-Howl might prove bothersome.)
He watched her sitting among the flowers when the doorknob was purple-down. Clusters of blue hibiscus and mauve orchids swayed all around her in the light breeze, and she sat there barefoot in a dark blue dress, her red hair streaming down her back. Tiny star-shaped white blossoms grew at her feet. She had never considered herself to be particularly pretty; he knew it. He agreed with her because to him, she was life itself - and life is something that cannot be defined with one meaningless word.
(She talks life into things. That is her talent. Mrs Penstemmon had said so. And Sophie has seen the magic work far too many times. It worked on Howl after all.)
He couldn’t remember the life before having a heart now, just as he couldn’t remember the life with a heart before not having one. His chest felt a little heavier, a little warmer. Other than that, there was no difference. He was still a selfish coward, a traveler between worlds, a talented lazybones, a whiner and the most potent Wizard in Ingary. He still spent hours in the bathroom, he was still ludicrously vain about his appearance and he still had fits of hysteria should anyone have tampered with his hair spells. Somehow the routine still felt vastly different. The little hot lump in his chest meant something now that it belonged to the one who had placed it back there.
(It feels odd being young again. She is the eldest of the three; she repeated it so many times to justify all her misfortunes, but in the end, she is the luckiest of the three. She may be a little bit vain about it too. She will never admit to it though: Howl is already vain enough for both of them.)
“You are insufferable!” he told her after she had washed one of his dark suits and it became white.
“You are worse,” she returned. “Will you forget about our wedding too?”
She started the fuss because he had had the misfortune to forget about Michael and Martha’s wedding and spent the night in Wales in a pub making bets for a rugby game.
He pretended he had not forgotten. She did not believe him. The suit had paid the price. He feared she would talk to it and set it against him.
“If you keep this up, my troublemaking lady, I shall have to.”
(She can bet he loves picking fights with her. Maybe he is bored. Maybe he misses old Mrs Nose. Lord knows what he thinks afterwards when he sifts his fingers through her hair, kissing random strands and not saying a word.)
He had been waiting for her all his life. She had made him speak his mind. She made him blow his top more often than anyone else. She taught him to like the strange strumming in his chest all over again.
(She tilts her head back, leaning on his shoulder as they sit among the flowers together, his arms wrapped around her body. She remembers holding his heart in her hands and thinks that she would give him hers just to keep him alive.)
August 15, 2009