✧˖°. From the Heavens Above ‧₊˚.
Howl’s Moving Castle Oneshot [reader insert]
✧˖°. Summary: You were sky drifting where you shouldn’t have been, with magic you barely understood—until everything changed, and you fell. Through clouds, and a stranger’s laundry line… and straight into the company of a wizard with stars in his eyes.
✧˖°. Word Count: 1.3k
✧˖°. Author's Note: Finally watched Howl's Moving Castle for the first time this weekend and I am absolutely in LOVE! I've gathered that this movie was adapted from a book, but this fic is purely based on my knowledge of the movie (to be fair, I've watched it four times over in two days). I love you mis pan dulcitos ₍^. .^₎⟆
The sound of propellers interrupts your afternoon nap. Sunlight beams down on your skin—warm and inviting—making it nearly impossible to keep your eyes open as you squint into the distance.
“Do you see that, Sisial? Over there, near Kingsbury.”
The cloud spirit you befriended last week rumbles beneath you, like an old woman clearing her throat. “If you’re just trying to trick me again, I’m not looking,” Sisial mutters.
You prop yourself up on your elbows, eyes catching a glint of metal. Three military aircrafts have been deployed from the capital–grey, hawklike, and ugly against the soft blue sky.
“No, no. This isn’t like the rainbow thing,” you promise, but it’s no use. The stubborn spirit doesn’t even budge.
“It’s the royal air ships,” your voice comes out softly. “They’re sending more.”
“Make an awful mess of the sky, if you ask me.” Sisial exhales a puff of wind, more sigh than breeze. “Bit like you, ever since you started fiddling with that wind magic and crashed into my life.”
You roll onto your side. “Oh, hush. No one asked what you thought.”
“They should. I’ve been carrying brats like you since before your bones knew what life was..”
A faint smile pulls at the corner of your lips as you fall quiet, your gaze trailing the ships’ path.
“…You think it’s really starting?” you ask after a moment. Sisial doesn’t answer right away. The wind shifts—cooler, tighter. Then, in a low grumble, “Wars never really stop. Just the way these things go.”
The air ship’s engines thunder closer now, close enough to rattle your ribs. You sit up straighter. “They’re coming this way.”
“They wouldn’t dare,” Sisial grunts. But they do.
The three metal beasts roar overhead, slicing through the sky like blade through silk. They’re deafening, churning the clouds surrounding you into a panic. You grab fistfuls of vapor, trying desperately to hang on, but Sisial’s form shifts, growing thinner beneath you.
“They’re too close, Sisial!”
She hisses as she struggles to gain stability, throwing your body between cloud puffs in the process. “Stupid boys and their stupid machines–”
Her voice evaporates into mist, and you realize she’s gone.
“Sisiaaaal!”
The air is stolen from your lungs as the sky yanks itself out from under you. Wind roars in your ears as your limbs flail helplessly. For a dizzy, terrifying moment, all you can think about is that you don’t recall where Sisial was flying over: a lake, Porthaven… the Waste.
Whump.
Fabric grazes your cheek like a lick of fire–white, sun warmed, and stretched taut. A sheet. Another. Then an entire row of laundry snaps around you, catching at your arms and legs. A ruffled button down tangles around your head before you crash through one last quilted blanket.
You tumble onto a narrow iron balcony with a final thud—winded, dizzy, and absolutely stunned. For a moment, you just lay there, staring up at the sky you fell from. The scent of lavender soap and fresh air drifts around you, coaxing your body to relax—until the ground beneath you moves.
A deep, steady vibration hums through the floor, like a train engine rumbling through stone. Blinking through the daze, you take in your surroundings. The balcony juts out from the side of a sprawling, elaborate house—but not a normal one. This house moves–its walls hidden by clouds, its walls creaking with age and strange magic. Laundry lines crisscross the railing, a kettle whistles somewhere inside, and smoke puffs from a crooked chimney.
You’ve landed on a walking castle.
“Bit dramatic for a landing, but I suppose I’m in no position to judge.”
You jolt upright, heart thudding. In front of you, seated comfortably at a wrought iron table, is a young gentleman. Golden hair curls in soft waves around his decorated ears, and his shirt looks too white to be a common townsperson such as yourself. He holds a porcelain teacup between two elegant fingers, barely looking at you.
His expression is politely bored–like he sees oddities like this all of the time. But judging by this moving castle of a home, he probably does.
“Who–who are you?” you manage, scrambling to your feet and running your fingers through your hair self consciously. The gentle curl of his smile makes you wonder if he’s witnessed the whole ordeal.
He glances at the linen shirt still draped over your shoulder. “You fall from the sky onto my balcony,steal my favorite shirt, interrupt tea time, and you want answers?”
The man’s eyes pierce through you, sharp and curious behind his amused expression. “At least you’ve made yourself at home.”
Your cheeks heat as you blink at him. “No, I–I didn’t mean to! You see, I didn’t know where I was falling. I mean–this wasn’t–”
He sets his teacup down and gives a low, theatrical bow.
“Howl Pendragon–wizard, and owner of this fine castle. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
You freeze. Everyone’s heard of Howl and his moving castle–it's almost all girls your age talk about. “Wait… you’re Howl?”
“In the living flesh.” He gives a faint shrug, as if the name means nothing to him. “Though I’ve heard I’m taller in the stories–and sometimes less charming.”
Dread settles deep in your belly, and you step back instinctively. “Everyone says you eat the hearts of girls. Is that true?”
“Ah, well.” Howl glances towards the open sky. “That would be the less charming bit of those tall tales.”
You don’t quite know how to respond to that, so you tug absently at the hem of your dress, eyes searching anywhere but his. After a subtle beat, he gestures lazily to the chair across from him.
“Sit, if you can manage it without destroying the rest of my wardrobe. Tea?”
His voice sounds almost detached, but not quite unkind. You hesitate, still catching your breath, and still unsure if you’ve actually survived or if floating castles are just part of the after life.
“…Okay.”
You sit down carefully, arms crossed tight around yourself. The porcelain teacup feels warm when he hands it over–it smells faintly of rosehips and honey.
Howl watches you quietly for a moment. The wind tugs gently at the sheets behind you. Quiet settles amongst you, but it feels serene rather than uncomfortable.
“You’re not from around here,” he says eventually.
“I’m not from anywhere in particular,” you reply. “I was sky drifting with a cloud spirit. Sisial.”
“Ah, her.” His eyes twinkle with recognition. “Grumpy old thing. Smells like sea salt. She always accuses me of redirecting the winds, you know.”
“She got snuffed out by the airships,” you explain quietly, your voice gentler than before. “They flew too close. Too fast.”
The words linger in the space between you, soft but heavy. You try to keep your tone neutral, but something flickers behind it—worry. You’ve grown so fond of Sisial, and you didn’t get the chance to say goodbye.
Howl’s expression shifts into something gentler, more knowing. “Ah, don’t worry about her,” he says, swirling the last of his tea absently. “She’s older than the mountains and twice as stubborn. That one’s survived lightning storms and falling stars. A little accident like that won’t keep her down.”
You exhale, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly. When you finally look at Howl, really look, something about him knocks the air out of you all over again.
He’s beautiful, yes—but not in any way that feels safe. There’s something untouchable about him, something unreal. Like trying to hold moonlight in your hands. But beneath the charm and ease, his sapphire eyes are clear, focused. There’s a stillness there that makes you think he sees far more than he ever says.
“I really didn’t mean to land here,” you murmur, glancing down at your hands. “I didn’t even know where I was landing.”
Howl tilts his head, a faint, amused glimmer returning to his face. “Well,” he says, voice warm, “I’m rather pleased you did. I was starting to think the wind had forgotten how to deliver anyone interesting.”
Hope you enjoyed ! ₍^. .^₎⟆