#rolance

Give Shance a chance

Give Klance a chance

Give Allurance a chance

Give Mance a chance (I know it’s usually latte but I needed to include it)

Give Hance a chance

Give Lotorance a chance

Give Nyance a chance

Give Rolance a chance

Give Oliance a chance (olia is a furry I know)

Give Romance a chance

Give Plaxance a chance

Give Lance a chance!

Give Lance ALL the chances cause he deserves love!

Most people didn’t see the world the way Ulysses did, or had rather. He supposed none of that mattered anymore--only one thing mattered to him of that old life, his wife Rolance. Sure, their had been other flames, other interests, other infatuations but those all boiled down to distractions, nothing more and nothing less.

“I just came home from being in prison,” The words weren’t his, but rather his wife’s even now, an entire reality away, the eldritch magic that saturated Ulysses being--and now the reality he had created, linked them all together, her words and thoughts able to bleed over much like how a pen or a marker with too much ink was able to bleed over to another page beneath leaving its mark, echoes he supposed, but it felt like more than just echoes. Could space, time, and reality itself have memories?

“Just like when I died to the Crows, nobody came to save me… Well. Me in particular. The group was saved.” There was a pause, “But for me, I think the person who was the most visibly concerned was Kelly, and you know how she is… If she cares the most for you, that’s pretty sad.” He smiled at that, though found no laughter or joy in Rolance’s words. He was merely listening as he worked.

“Suppose I am pretty sad right now.”

His hands flourished once, in this realm creation was his right, his mere will was all he needed to play, no, be a god. Ulysses sheer will had manifested before him a forge--not a heavy handed blacksmith’s forge, the tools here were smaller, more precise, more clamps and small furnaces and kilns, molds and sharpened tools meant to work with softer metals, this was the forge of a whitesmith.

“Do you know the shit I did for you? I stormed a Legion ship for you. I became a soldier for you. I learned how to manipulate time and space to bring you back from certain death…” He did know. of course he knew, he was Ulysses Trevaleyn, it was his job to know. That was how he had undid the damage and alterations to Azeroth’s reality and created his own.

“Can’t think of any times you saved me. You said letting me die was something like payment for how I’d wronged you, if I remember right…” The sound of a bellows in the background as he listened in across the barriers of realities, though perhaps listen wasn’t the right description, he more felt the words, like thoughts he might want to say aloud, words that hovered in the forefront of his mind but he knew the source wasn't him. A jeweler’s hammer had manifested in his hand along with a pair of almost wire thin tongs as he began to shape what he was making carefully, meticulously so.

“This was just another time that you weren’t there, I guess. That I would have been if it were you in trouble.”  He could feel pain alongside those words, the Eldritch was inside Rolance’s body right now, acting to suture her back together. Despite feeling the ghost of Rolance’s pain, Ulysses still did not react, he had become more stoic in this place and on his own.

“I should hope one day I meet someone who cares for me like I cared for you.”

Their were tears then as he worked, though they weren’t his own. Borrowed from the link they shared, these we're Rolances tears he was wiping from his cheeks, taking a moment to compose himself though he knew Rolance was still bawling like a babe, curled up on their couch.

Despair, it had always gripped Rolance so easily without Ulysses being around, one lesson the tempest of a woman never had learned was that exact exchange was a lie. People took different things from different relationships, Rolance had been with Ulysses because she craved a man who would stand up to her, to tell her what to do, to be a sort of check and balance against her actions and to correct her moral shortcomings.

Ulysses had been with Rolance because he respected her ferocity, her strength and cunning, but also her passion for what was right and wrong. Though those lines blurred often, what did them in was that he had never forgiven the woman--he couldn’t, he couldn’t forget what she had done, but then again the hard part was always letting go.

This was his reality, his dimension where he could sculpt whatever he liked--right now, the product of that desire to create was a chain of eldritch rings. The gloss of silver and gold combined with the glamour and glitter of rubies and garnets, on Azeroth it would have been a weapon unlike any other, something that would have allowed for total and complete destruction of the planet, here it would be a tool of creation.

“You’re not alone,” he said aloud, “You’re never alone Rolance, that’s your problem. You relied on me to make you into something,” he wasn’t sure if the link worked both ways, though he just wished to speak the words out loud, to get the feelings that protested her assumptions out in the air, “You can’t be alone because you don’t know who you are. Your hair, your skin, your scars, always changing, even the powers you drew from were always changing. You have the heart of a dog. No meant yes, attention either good or bad wasn’t discerned, you just cared that you got it. You did not love me. You used me to make yourself feel better and I simply didn't care."

The finality of those words would echo here forever. This reality Ulysses was building was for himself, not for them both. Slipping the chain on over his neck, he grew a smile that seemed sad and genuine, “Without me, you revert to the same old tactics, throwing yourself in harms way to feel something, throwing yourself at the feet of controlling, abusive leash holders. You scorned me for wanting to break that lead. You kept crawling back, over and over when I had no desire to control you. I wanted to show you how to be your own person but you took that as a desire to be like me. To crave power and avarice and hunger for more. You got that from me, I know it. It’s not a gift to you like it is to me. You were always unwieldy with your emotions Rolance.”

A wave of his hand dismissed the forge he had created, tools and molds, foundations and furnaces disintegrating into dust. He no longer had need of it. Ulysses wondered what Rolance would have thought of him now, how both his mind and body had changed. As a god in his own realm, Ulysses looked younger--perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties, though he had always been an ageless looking man, his hair was a brunette mane that hung about his shoulders, his body bore no scars or blemishes, even his tattoos, each and everyone one of them was gone, leaving a bare sun-kissed look to his skin, he wore no armor, only a simple cream colored long-sleeved shirt a belt, loose fitted black pants and some simple leather wrapped shoes over his feet, though his hands and ears were ever adorned with jewelry.

“Do yourself a favor: make something of yourself. I gave you every gift I had but I guess I could never give you the foresight on how to use it. You have the power of a god in your blood now, and yet you’re weeping on our old couch because no one is there to tell you how to use it. I love you Rolance, that’s why I dedicated myself to giving you that power. Death, injury, even how you feel right now? Irrelevant, you only need to see that to move to the next step. I let you die because that's the price. You learned that you are immortal."

Goddess. He had been trying the entire time to forge Rolance into a goddess, but he was a mere mortal then. He supposed in a way he still was here, though he didn’t need to be. Were someone to somehow enter his realm and destroy his physical form it wouldn’t matter, this dimension was sculpted with the very eldritch essence of Ulysses body, along with arcane and light magics, he would just manifest in another physical form if he needed it, though the reality of it was, he didn’t. He merely existed in this form because it felt comfortable.

“I have work to do. The Titans chain Sargeras. Someone must impose the order of creation without them.”

Someone indeed. His left hand reached up to the chain around his neck as that sad smile he bore turned a bit more pleased, Rolance was linked to him. Perhaps one day she would learn to dip into the powers he held now, perhaps not. He had work to do, he always did, emotions that were literally a reality away couldn’t and wouldn’t impede him now.

He lofted a palm and aimed it into the mostly black void of this still new, unborn reality, eyes lidding as he focused his powers. One by one, stars began to form, twisting, churning, candle flames igniting in the dark, distant or entirely to small. In a matter of minutes a galaxy would be birthed, and he held it between his palms. One day she would join him, then her pain and suffering would melt away, they could even become one singular being if they chose to make it so. For now, Ulysses had an eternity to craft. How utterly divine, he thought to himself.

I did this MONTHS ago for a friend so this is super old....What would this ship name even be? Rolance? :0 

How interested they are in having sex with them:

His eyebrows lift, “With Rolance?  Well-- shit, sure ‘m interested.  Don’t know her real well, but if she’s interested an’ JJ’s okay with it, then yeh.”

How much they would pay (or have to be paid) to have sex with them:

“I didn’ know she was a sex-seller?  Or-- is this hypothetical?  Dunno that I’d buy sex from ‘er, if she needed tha gold I’d jus’ give it to ‘er.  This question ‘s sorta stupid, y’know.”

If they would rather bottom or top them: 

He has to think on this one for a moment.  “Well-- hm.  I could go either way, but I wanna say I’d like ta top.”

How good they think they would be:

“I’m sure she’s damn good at it,” he chuckles.  “Actually, ‘m sure of that, seein’ as she had some advice fer JJ that he used on me.”

If they’d prefer kitchen counter, wall, or shower sex with them:

“Shower actually sounds real nice...”

If they’d fuck, have sex, or make love: 

“This question still don’t make no damn sense ta me.  All three, damn yer eyes.”

If they were going to make it a threesome, the third person they’d pick:

This doesn’t seem a hard question to answer.  “Gen.  Fel-- I’d wager that if we had a tumble, it’d be first with Gen there, anyhow.”

If they think there’s ever a possibility that it would happen:

So self indulgent.