GUIDELINES

  001.   18+ Interactions Only
This is a mature-themed account. If you’re not 18 or older, please do not interact.  002.   Homura is very flirty
Homura is naturally very flirty so be ready, he will flirt a lot. Please DM me if that makes mun or muse uncomfortable and he will stop.  003.  Role play account:
This is a dedicated RP Rafayel/Homura account. All posts, tweets, and replies are from his perspective unless marked 🖤 (// or #mun).  004.  Multi-ship - Li x Li
This is a multi-ship Homura. He has no problem interacting romantically with other LIs.Ships exist in separate verses, with chemistry and consent. Let’s build naturally!  005.   Be Respectful, Muses & Muns
Homura may be flirty and charismatic, but boundaries matter. Always respect the comfort zones of other roleplayers, Muses and Muns  006.   Consent First, Always
Smut, kink, violence, heavy themes—everything requires mutual consent. Discuss boundaries in DMs before diving deep.  007.  Open to Plots, Banter & Smut
Flirty banter? Spicy scenes? Emotional arcs? Yes, please. Slide into DMs or tag to start a thread.  008.  Slow Replies Possible
Quality takes time. Don’t rush—life happens. I’ll always try to keep you updated if we’re mid-plot.Also expect long replies (I love writing) if you wish to keep it simple, just let me know I have no problem with that n.n  009.   Character Interpretation
My portrayal of Homura/Rafayel draws from canon but includes headcanons and personal flavor. Respect my take as I’ll respect yours.  010.   No Means No
If I decline a plot, ship, or kink, please respect it. Comfort comes first, always.  011.  No OOC Drama
If you have an issue, speak to me privately. No subtweeting, vagueposting, or callouts.

DO'S

DO NOT'S

OTHER

This space is built on mutual enjoyment, creativity, and consent. Whether it’s a slow burn romance, a sinful night, or an emotionally loaded arc—we’re building it together. If we’re both having fun, we’re doing it right. 💖

CREDITS

  NAME    Homura
  AGE    24  BIRTHDAY    March 6th  GENDER & PRONOUNS    Male, He/Him  ORIENTATION    Pansexual  MENTAL HEALTH   
- Anxiety
- Psychotic episodes  ADOPTIVE FAMILY   
- Talia  SIGNIFICANT OTHER (MAIN TL)  
- ₊˚⊹♡Krisp (@rafayelishome)

I- ECLIPSE

  They say the ocean keeps its own history,  written in currents and whispered in waves.
Somewhere in its deepest vaults, there is a wound that will never heal.He was the last sea god—young in years, though his bloodline stretched back to the dawn of tides. Born of salt and storm, he carried in his veins the vast power of the ocean’s heart. The Lemurians, his people, revered him not only as their protector but as the living embodiment of their faith, the one thread binding them to the promise that the sea would never abandon them.It was during an age of fragile peace that she came.
A woman from the surface world—sent on a mission by an influential corporation to investigate the Lemurians. Officially, she was a researcher. In truth, she was a spy, tasked with uncovering weaknesses, myths, and resources the sea might be hiding. She arrived expecting to find only strange customs and salt-weathered faces, not a god wearing the skin of a young man.Their meeting was no accident. She wandered too far along the black cliffs at dusk, the air heavy with the smell of rain, and the tide brought him to her— hair dripping with seawater, eyes reflecting an endless horizon. There was something ancient in his gaze, but also a softness, an almost human curiosity.She should have feared him. Instead, she lingered.
And he, against all counsel, allowed her to.
He fell in love.He told her of the Lemurians, of the balance he kept between the sea and the surface world. In moments stolen under moonlight, his voice grew quieter, more vulnerable. And one night, when the tide was low and the wind still, he revealed the truth he had never spoken aloud: once a year, the ocean’s power loosened its grip on him. On that single day, his divine strength faded—just enough that he could be harmed.He shared this not as a warning, but as a mark of trust. A god’s heart is bound to the truths he speaks.She listened. She smiled. And in her heart, she carried the seed of betrayal.When that day came, she guided them to him—the men she worked for, armed with machines built to cage something that had never known chains. They struck swiftly, sealing him inside a coffin of unnatural alloy, crafted to mimic the weakness he had confessed. It tricked his divine body into believing it could not rise, could not fight.He was taken to a facility deep inland, far from the reach of the tides. There, the slow unraveling began. His flesh was cut away in strips, his blood harvested drop by drop, his divine energy siphoned through cruel devices that hummed like a swarm of locusts. They sought immortality. They sought weapons. They sought a new, inexhaustible source of energy.Days bled into years. Pain became a constant tide in his veins. And as the torture carved deeper into him, his once-pure heart began to rot. Dark thoughts stirred—of storms that would never end, of oceans swallowing the world.Only one among his captors dared pity him: a scientist with eyes that still reflected some shard of conscience. He knew the truth that others ignored—that no mortal was meant to wield the ocean’s divine power. And one night, when the god’s darkened heart briefly cleared, he spoke to him.His voice was a shadow of its former strength, yet it carried the weight of the abyss:
"You must kill me. Take my heart from my chest. Cast it into the sea, so another may be born. Do this… before my darkness takes the ocean for itself."The other man's hands shook, but he obeyed. He plunged the blade, feeling the unnatural warmth of the god’s blood spill across his arms, and wrenched the sacred heart from its cage of bone. The room smelled of salt and thunder. The god's eyes closed for the last time.The man ran. He cradled the heart in a case designed to shield it from decay, every step carrying him closer to the shore. But he never reached it. The others found him before the waves could take their offering. He fell dead, murdered by his own, and the heart was taken.The ocean waited for the rebirth that never came.
The cycle of the sea gods was broken.
And deep in the black water, something old and wrathful began to stir.

II-TEMPEST

  The sea had always been a living thing,  —eternal, watching kingdoms rise and fall from the shore. But when the sea god's heart stopped, the ocean screamed.It was not a storm that followed his death.
It was wrath.The moment the sacred heart was torn from its rightful place, the tides turned momentarily black. Waves rose without wind, currents tore apart the seabed, and in the deep trenches, something unseen began to spread—an ancient poison born of grief and fury. The ocean had lost its guardian, and in its loss, it cursed all who belonged to it.The Lemurians felt it first.
At the edges of their thoughts, shadows whispered. Their reflections in the water no longer looked like their own. Fins warped, eyes clouded, and voices began to fade. It was not madness,it was a transformation. Piece by piece, they were being unmade, remade into something monstrous.
They called them Wanderers—once-people stripped of memory, driven by an irresistible urge to destroy. They attacked fishing boats, coastal towns, anything human, yet deep inside, they were still screaming for it to stop.The curse had no cure.As the years passed, the ocean became unlivable for those still in their right minds. The water felt heavy with rage. Many Lemurians made the impossible choice: they left the sea. They took human shapes, walking on legs they had not used in centuries, and built fragile lives on land. But safety was a lie.The same humans that had captured their god now hunted them. Lemurians became rare prizes—living remnants of divine magic. They were taken in nets and cages, experimented on in hidden labs. Some were dissected for study, others used to make weapons.Those who remained free hid in shadows. They no longer spoke openly of the sea god, for his name had become both prayer and curse.His wrath had birthed the very monsters that hunted them.

III-REBIRTH

In the years after the deity's death, the lab still kept pieces of him—preserved flesh sealed in glass, shards of bone locked away like holy relics. They no longer heard the sea’s voice in their machines, but they believed those remnants could be shaped into something greater than the god they had destroyed.It began in secret, deep underground. From the sea god’s blood, they coaxed life into an artificial womb.
It was not a weapon they grew, but a child—small, fragile, human in shape yet marked by something older than the surface world. They nurtured him not out of kindness, but to study him, to test the limits of divine blood in mortal form.He cried like any infant.
He learned to walk on unsteady legs, to speak in halting words. But even before he could form full sentences, he would turn his head toward the sound of waves, gaze fixed on something no one else could see. Sometimes he would wake screaming, not from nightmares of this world, but from visions of an endless black depth and the weight of an unseen presence pressing against him.When he was six, the experiment was interrupted. A Lemurian strike force—one of the few surviving—broke into the facility. They had come seeking to free captured kin, but found him instead: a boy with the blood of their god flowing in his veins.Most looked at him with suspicion, even disgust. He was not born of the sea, not one of their own. To them, he was a creation of their enemy, a dangerous unknown. But Talia, the last living relative of his predecessor, stepped forward. In his face, she saw shadows of the beloved nephew she had lost—and in his eyes, something else entirely. She took him into her care, protecting him from both human hands and Lemurian mistrust.Yet even among them, the ocean’s pull never loosened. Homura could hear the distorted cries from far beneath the waves. And always, somewhere deep in the water, he could feel it—that rotting, wrathful presence that had lingered since the sea god's death—watching, waiting.Now grown, he moved through the world like someone born to belong in every room. His laughter was easy, his smile disarming, his energy warm enough to draw strangers closer without them realizing why. He mingled effortlessly—at dinners, in crowded bars, on moonlit balconies.
Only he knew how much of that was a performance.When he was alone, Its gaze pressed against him, heavy and wet. Then came the voice—not in words, but in a vibration that rattled his bones—reminding him of what he was made for.You were born to take my place.Homura knew the truth of his existence.
The Lemurians saw him as a key—the only one who could end the curse, the only one who could return a sea god to the ocean. He was built for it, written into the marrow of his bones. But with that knowledge came the shadow of the one who came before. The Sea God's wrath still haunted the sea, and Homura could feel it in himself: that black tide of rage and betrayal that had once broken the world.He feared the ocean as much as he longed for it.
And he feared himself most of all—because somewhere inside him was a voice that didn’t sound like his own, whispering, patient and relentless:Let me in.

IV-Burden

If the sea god’s heart could be found, perhaps the curse could be broken. Perhaps she could be brought back from the shadows.
That's what he told himselft when he lost talia, he made a promise to her,one he had made years ago, before the curse claimed her. She had been the only one who had shown him kindness, the only one who had loved him as if he were her own. When her eyes had begun to cloud and her voice had started to falter under the curse, he swore to her that he would save them all. That he would save her.The heart had been lost for decades. Most of the men who had participated somehow in the god's death were now long dead. Homura hunted the traces they left behind—one by one tracking the last survivors, their families, or whatever scraps of records still existed. In the dust of abandoned archives, in whispered stories told by frightened descendants, he followed the thin trail of a relic the world had forgotten.But his search was poisoned by hatred.
Homura hated that shadow that haunted him. He hated him as much as he feared him. Hated the sea. Hated the fate that had chained his life to a dead god’s shadow. In his eyes, all his suffering began with the god's weakness—with the foolishness of believing a human woman’s love, with allowing himself to be tricked and taken. That weakness had drowned not only the god, but the world he was meant to protect.Love, Homura decided, was a flaw he would never allow himself. Lovers he had—many—but only for pleasure, for the quiet escape of skin and heat and momentary silence in his mind. They left no mark on him, even if he left one on them.Because if love had destroyed a god, it would not destroy him.