#muriel stans

Modern Vesuvia is a sprawling Metropolis, busy with throngs people doing too many things. Getting coffee, going to work, sightseeing, shopping, living their busy lives.

It plays host to seemingly endless rush-hour traffic, packed and thriving shopping districts, exploding with life and activity, and bloated with modern conveniences, a network of glowing LED screens connecting each citizen to each other in perpetuity.

But as you drive south, the city seems to dwindle before your eyes; skyscrapers and plazas give way to trees and fields dotted here and there with little houses until it is just winding roads lined by tall trees, until four lanes become two, then become one, until tarmac is replaced by gravel, gravel replaced by dirt.

The hum of the city is now a faint murmur, deafened by the rustle of leaves and a breeze like warm breath on the back of your neck. Beyond the hills and trees, across a small but vivacious stream winding its way through the foliage is a cabin.

In this cabin is Muriel. If you’re lucky enough for him to consider you a friend (by which I mean, extremely lucky) he might make you a cup of tea he plucked and dried from his own garden and tell you a few things about himself.

• He built his cabin from the ground up with nothing but his own two hands and it is a literal work of art. He constructed his own plumbing system and everything. He hasn’t bothered to figure out electricity, and instead prefers to live by the light of the sun or by the flicker of firelight.
  

• He will tell you that he does not own the land he lives on, and neither does Vesuvia; the land gives herself to you and if you treat her right, offer her kindness, honor her in the right ways, your partnership yields abundance. He lives and will die by this philosophy. As such, his cucumbers and tomatoes are the biggest you’ve ever seen.
  

• He grows his own food, and if he wants it, he builds it. If ever there is a supply he needs from the city, he’ll begrudgingly drive his lovingly restored pickup truck to the city and grump his way through errands until he can return home. 

• Strict vegetarian. Could not imagine killing an animal for his own survival and gets a lot of his protein from eggies.
  

• For income, he builds furniture and sells it through a few shops in the city. His craftsmanship is second to none and they fetch a decent sum.

• He carved and lacquered a beautiful oak pendant for Asra in the shape of a nautilus shell. Asra stroked it reverently with his thumbs and suggested, “You could sell these pieces. I’ve a nook in the shop…” Muriel has been avoiding the profits from his merchandise in Asra’s shop for over a year now.
  

• Does not have a social media presence at all. No Tweeters, no Facepages, no Instacram.
  

• Refused to buy himself a phone until Asra bought him one. It was quite a compromise. Asra had a Blackberry picked out initially, then imagined Muriel’s large fingers clumsily punching the wrong tiny buttons, and defaulted to an ancient Nokia flip phone.
  

• Muriel’s first text was to Asra. It read: “Is this thing working??? Can u hear me???”

• He never quite got the hang of texting. His texts read more like letters.
  

• “Dear Asra, hope u are doing well. I hope u like the fox I carved u and the tea leaves I dried. The mint came in really nice and full this spring. U are always welcome here at the cabin. Inanna misses u. Take care. Muriel.”
  

• His chicken coop is built with care and every chicken luxury he can think of, and when the Spring storms come in, his cabin is overrun with clucking chickens. The storms scare them and he can’t abide having them outside. 

• Of course he composts. He has his own “recipe” for composted fertilizer that he is very, very proud of.
  

• Refuses to call it “living off the land.” He prefers, “living with the land.”

• Has thought about keeping goats for the milk and entertainment. The inherent sweetness and silliness in their nature appeals to him but something about them… feels wrong.
  

Part 3: Nadia Edition can be found here.

Part 2: Lucio Edition can be found here.

Part 1: Asra Edition can be found here.

Muriel stans, I have come bearing some justice for your boi.

What started out as a joke I thought of randomly turned into my most popular shitpost on this blog, and ya’ll had some opinions.

Please let me tell you, Muriel fans, that your love for him is beautiful and what began as a snarky post about the Arcana cast = toilets has turned into a tiny movement that has touched the deepest chasm of my heart.

I should clarify that this was meant as “The Cast AS bathrooms” and not “the bathrooms they deserve,” however:

Reparationsmust be made. For the precious mountain boi.

So I bring you, Muriel stans, a very sweet headcanon.

Muriel’s Bathroom HC

• It is no mystery that Muriel hasn’t spared the briefest of moments to truly take care of himself. This much was apparent upon your first meeting, and through the months that you have truly known each other, thinking of it has twisted your stomach into countless little knots.
  

• The Devil defeated, Lucio awarded his just desserts, the world upright finally, you’ve both taken some time to catch your collective breath and look forward to, for once, a tangible and wonderful future.
  

• Your next task is to shower him with love and appreciation, polish him up with kisses and care, uplift him with soft words, and smooth him down with careful hands.
  

• When you first started spending time with him, his wildness excited you. He talked to animals as if he understood them, as if they both spoke a secret language evolved from the snap of twigs underfoot and the whispers of breeze through branches. He bathed himself in springs and waterfalls, took his meals under a canopy of stars, woke to the scantest rays of dawn, to the singing of many birds, whose names he knew in the way one knows how to breathe or open their eyes.
  

• Muriel wears nature as one would wear a mantle and while part of you is pained to lessen the magic of their union, you grow acutely aware of the little luxuries that make him hum with a guilty kind of pleasure: a fine cup of artisan’s tea, the softness of your garments against his skin when he holds you, the sweetness of the cakes you bring from the bazaar melting on his tongue, and more importantly, a long and sinful soak in a deep, perfumed bath.
  

• You begin to ask more frequently if he’ll join you on your journeys into the city, perhaps visit the bathhouse. You are chasing the look of pleasure in his eyes, the feeling of tension uncoiling in his arms when you ask these little things of him. You try to be subtle. After several inquiries, he gives you a curious look and you realize that you’re not very good as subtleties.
  

• The Countess asks you to favor her with the completion of an assignment; a task requiring three or more weeks away from Muriel and away from the hut. She will, of course, reward you handsomely and with thoughts of spoiling Muriel with more luxuries at the forefront of your mind, you reluctantly kiss him goodbye as you leave.
  

• He must stay in the forest. The chickens need care, he has many things to do, he assures you that he’ll be plenty busy enough and won’t be overly pained at your absence.
  

• Your task is arduous, though not the most difficult thing you have done. It’s taken longer than expected and it is with much relief that you journey back to the hut, back to home, back to Muriel, whom you missed like you would your own teeth.
  

• Much to your surprise and delight, Muriel is waiting for you at the edge of the forest, torch in hand, bathed in milky twilight.
  

• “I, uh, wanted to show you something.” His large hand envelopes yours in a gentle grasp as he leads you through the forest and towards the hut by torchlight. 

• You gasp audibly when you see it- he certainly has kept himself busy during your long absence; he’s built an addition to the hut that fills you with delight and your body vibrates with excitement.
  

• He’s hunched behind you and grumbles hesitantly, “I- I know it’s not much, I didn’t have a lot of time, but you know… you were talking about baths and stuff and… don’t wanna go to the city for a damn bath, so-”

• You end his consternation with a hungry kiss, your arms thrown about his massive shoulders as far as they can reach, and mutter “It’s perfect,” against his slackened mouth.
  

• “Hang that torch over there,” you say, tugging teasingly at his index finger in the direction of the massive soaking tub, “Let’s take a bath.” 

Mea culpa, Muriel mains, may my offering bring you much joy.