#scourge of the south

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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.