Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Note: These were written in a notebook as a writing challenge for June 2019. The goal was thirty days, thirty prompts, thirty minutes (which is why some might seem abrupt: time limit). I'd hit a bit of a dry patch and just wanted to write. These are unedited and mostly just fluff pieces, but I really enjoyed some of them and hey: what's the point of fic if you don't share, right? Even if it's goofball trash.

06 June 2019

Prompt: This Good Dirt

Fandom: Howl's Moving Castle (Bookverse)

Character/Pairing: Howl Pendragon/Sophie Pendragon

Rating: K / G / All Ages

Notes: Just to cover all infringement bases, that bit about the hair is a direct quote from Jones's Tough Guide to Fantasyland, which is an absolute joy any fantasy/sci-fi fan will get a kick out of (p. 39, "Colour Coding: Hair", specifically).

The flowers from the little shop in Market Chipping, the one where the hat shop used to be, are the most beautiful blooms to be found for miles. Some say it's because the owners procured an enchantment from the Wizard Howl, or perhaps because they had struck a deal with him. After all, it wasn't long after Horrible Howl's moving castle had disappeared from the hills beyond town that the new shop had opened. That was quickly refuted, others claiming that it was the shop owner herself – the young woman with the red-gold hair – who was an enchantress (everyone knew red hair always entails magical powers, even if these are only latent, after all).

The young man who helped in the shop only laughed when he heard that.

"Oh, Sophie's a witch, all right!" he laughed. "The worst witch there is! She's even bested Horrible Howl!"

Those rumors quickly died after learning the shopkeep was none other than Sophie Hatter herself. Most of them had known her all her life and knew there wasn't a lick of magic in that girl (despite what her hair might say).

The man who sometimes helped in the shop – Sophie's new husband, it was said – had claimed Sophie was more likely to kill the plants than enchant them, and the secret smile he'd shared with the young woman had only served to confuse the couple he'd been speaking to, who thought Sophie seemed to do rather well with the plants, actually.

"Enough of you," Sophie had tutted, turning her husband towards the back of the shop. "I can never get anything done when you menace the customers. Go work on your spells!"

(Which had, of course, led credence to the opinion that there was at the least something magical going on in that shop.)

She had finally let slip that, really, there was no secret at all. The meadow she grew her flowers in had been tended to by both Royal Wizards, and as such she was blessed with the best flowers in Ingary.

"That's all," she said, smiling at the Mayor, who was purchasing a brilliant bouquet of orange and purple. "Royal Wizards, so a touch of magic. Well, that and some good dirt."

"The dirt's only good because of the touch of magic," Howl said the next morning as they followed behind the enchanted bucket. "The Waste was a waste before Ben got to it."

"You should know better than to insult the dirt," Sophie tsked. "It's rather finicky. Likely to swallow you right up."

There was a squelching noise, and she turned to find Howl had sunk to his waist in mud, gilded sleeves trailing miserably in the muck. He gave her a rather put out look, but she only smiled as she considered him.

"There you are," she said with a laugh. "Good dirt."

"Sophie!" he whined, and she paused to consider him a moment.

"You know, Calcifer once mentioned your true hair was mud-colored," she commented. His face grew as pale as his flaxen locks, his jaw dropping.

"You wouldn't…"

"I think I should rather like to see that," she said with a smirk, and he shrieked as the mud swallowed him up. He emerged a moment later, howling and filthy. She gave him another considering look before turning to follow the bucket.

"Huh," she said. "Perhaps I was wrong. I do believe I rather prefer the blond."