"#like its very HMMMM that they made ebyssian a tauren instead of a human despite all past black dragons being human #and a large portion of them poc" the fact that so many are POC is honest to god fucked up isn't it? Blizzard also hardcore fucking whitewashed Nefarian/"Lord Victor Nefarius". look at his ingame model vs. his Hearthstone art. it's fucked.
like without the contextt of the black dragonflight being the “corrupt” dragonflight it wouldnt b bad but like, when u present us w an uncorrupted black dragon who for the first time in wow has no ulterior motives and is like a straight up obvious good guy and u have his bipedal form forgo the typical person of color look we get w the Evil Black Dragons it makes the connotations of having a lot of Evil Black Dragons being poc even worse like. Wow
also im not surprised, they dont quality control their colorists at all, even for important things like skin color
op of "To be clear I do support the actual literal murder of rapists and especially of repeat offenders" is a terf just so you know! (according to shinigami eyes)
i genuinely had no idea;;; ill delete that post. i dont know if its true or not but i dont think one shitpost is worth it if theyre actually problematic, so i wont take any risks. thank you!!!
Finding an old fic of an old pairing and being forced into rewriting it by nostalgia
That moment when you’re bored out of your mind, end up going through your old files, find a wrathuin fic from God knows how long ago (2014 maybe i don’t know) realizing how shit it is compared to how you write now and being dragged into rewriting it by your toes through the combined efforts of nostalgia and the need to do better.
I don’t know if I’m even going to post it on archive or not. I might but i might just write it to have fun who knows.
I just discovered this and yes I know that all this action was in MoP but like.... I never got very far in the The Black Prince quest line so i didn’t realize the relationship and omg... Everything about this ship though...
Excuse me, but does anyone know where I can find more things for/about this because oh my gosh, Wrathuin!
Summary: Upon the advice of a pandaren healer, Anduin Wrynn moves to the Tavern in the Mists while recovering from his injuries. Although at first hoping to contribute to the Alliance campaign by investigating a particular black dragon, he soon grows more interested in the Son of Deathwing than he ever intended.
Notes: Anduin is cis and Wrathion is trans. Warning for discussions of body dysphoria and physical injury/recovery.
[ on Ao3 | warnings: character mortality discussion, amputation ]
It had been a shamefully long time since the two of them had seen each other.
He was far too big to fit inside the Keep in his dragon form these days, so he was waiting for the King by the entrance. Not that there was much of a Keep to be inside of anyway. The fight with the Legion had taken its toll on the architecture, and as sturdy as it was, the dread lords who had attacked it had proven sturdier. Stormwind’s castle might have fallen, but thanks to Anduin’s wisdom and the tenacity of his people, Stormwind itself had held.
Wrathion was the one who had been responsible for saving its civilians, and the civilians of so many other cities. He’d spirited them away to Draenor, not only a world away but a timeline away - where the Legion would never even think to look. And now they were home, rebuilding; and Wrathion himself had been called to Stormwind to be thanked.
He wasn’t, contrary to popular belief, actually a particularly big fan of large ceremonies. He’d contemplated sending any number of Blacktalons in his stead to accept whatever medal they were going to give him. But he’d decided in the end that he wanted to see Anduin again.
He wasn’t left waiting long. Wrathion was such a prestigious guest in this instance that the King himself was sent out to greet him - and much to Wrathion’s relief, he was not accompanied by the usual entourage of twenty guards and at least three people in very bright uniforms with trumpets and bells and scrolls full of announcements to make. Just his familiar two - they were getting on in years now, but Anduin was known for his loyalty to his staff - and Anduin himself. The crown sat easier on his head than it had the last time Wrathion saw him.
“Good morning, Wrathion,” he said. His voice was much deeper than it had been the last time Wrathion had heard it - full of age and wisdom and all the sorts of things kings were supposed to accumulate over time. Anduin was a walking cliché, but he was an alive one, and given how little ago that wasn’t a certainty? It was something Wrathion was glad for.
“It’s King Wrathion now, if you were wondering,” he snarked - then watched carefully to see how Anduin would take it.
To his relief, he chuckled. “Very well. Finally earned that ‘Your Majesty’ you were always so fond of?”
Wrathion couldn’t help but incline his head, pleased they could pick up where they’d left off… what, five years ago? Ten? “Yes. By way of the death of Queen Alexstrasza, mind you, so don’t congratulate me too much. People might think you’re smug about it.”
“I’ll bear it in mind. You do look magnificent, though. Worthy of the title.”
“Thank you.”
They began walking towards the in tact remnants of the Keep. Anduin was a fair height himself now, well over six feet; but Wrathion towered above him, easily the height of the first floor off the ground. He kept his great wings tucked into his side, his three huge pairs of horns towering into the sky above them both. But Anduin, just as sharp as ever, noticed something wasn’t quite right.
“If I may,” he asked, quietly, “what happened to your back left paw?”
“It’s just a limp,” Wrathion lied. “It took a knock during a dog fight with one of those awful airships they built. They say it’ll heal.” Well. Only half a lie. ...Two thirds of a lie. Close enough.
The older King sighed. “It’s after lunch. Which you’re invited to, by the way. Will you come? It’s just me, Tess, and Father.”
“Your father’s still around? Impressive, for a man of his history,” Wrathion commented. “Very well. I will join you for dinner.”
He began to regret coming as soon as he’d sat down to dinner.
He’d forgotten how formal human dinners were, even if one of the people at the table wasn’t strictly human any more. Tess Greymane - now Wrynn by marriage, much to the amusement of everyone who knew the orientations of her and her supposed husband - had taken the Worgen curse by accident many years ago now, but you wouldn’t know it from how she held a fork. Wrathion hadn’t needed to use a fork in years. Or a knife - on anything that wasn't still alive, that is. The temptation to pick up the meat they’d been served with his fingers and eat it properly was almost overwhelming... but he resisted it for Anduin’s sake. And Varian’s, he supposed. Not that Varian was anything like other men his age when it came to frailty.
It was over quickly, thankfully - only one course, which Wrathion might have found insulting if he wasn’t just glad to be out of that tiny room with its tiny utensils and tiny furniture. But, then… now came the ceremony itself.
Two Stormwind guards came to fetch him once he was done washing up after the meal. They were both young, fresh-faced humans that Wrathion didn’t recognise. They lead him up onto the foyer just behind the balcony which backed onto the new main camp of Stormwind - the city itself was still dangerous in large parts, so what once had been a private balcony intended for viewing the countryside had now become one for making public announcements to the large group of tents clustered between the mountainside, the lake, and the remnants of the Keep. Everything had changed so much since Wrathion was last here, and unpleasant as though that was, he couldn't say he hadn't expected it.
He heard his name announced, and he forced a smile and walked out onto the balcony. The sun was bright - not shining into his eyes, but it did make it hard to see, and he resisted raising his hand to block it out as he waved and stepped forwards to stand opposite Anduin. He was saying something, but Wrathion couldn’t make it out over the noise from the crowd below. Understandable - many of them no doubt recognised the dragon from when they’d been lead to safety in long-ago far-away Nagrand, and wanted to thank Wrathion. All it meant for him was an awful racket. He wanted to go home.
Anduin approached him, and for a split second Wrathion suspected he was going to kiss him - he leaned in, but it was to murmur in his ear as he placed the medal around his neck. “You can go inside now; just one more wave to the crowd,” he reassured. Wrathion wasn’t going to argue with that.
Once inside, he sat down heavily. That… was about as exhausting as it possibly could have been, given all it really was was standing around and waving.
He rested his head in his hands for only a few moments before he became aware of someone else moving inside after him. Looking up, he was surprised to see Varian, not Anduin - the elder Wrynn was well into his seventies by now, his hair grey and his face creased. He walked with a cane, like his son did; Wrathion briefly wondered if joint pain ran in the family. But, like his son, he was now dignified and wise. Wrathion supposed he would have been proud of Varian if he’d have known him better in his younger years.
The old King-Father sat down on the bench next to Wrathion, then sighed.
“So. When are you going to tell him about your leg?”
Wrathion blinked. “You… noticed.”
“I did.” The intensity of Varian’s gaze hadn’t lessened any over the years.
Wrathion inclined his head and broke the eye contact. “I suppose that’s to be expected, from a former gladiator.” He sighed. “I wasn’t planning on telling him. I’m sure he’ll work it out for himself if he thinks it’s important enough.”
“You should tell him. He’ll have more respect for you that way.”
Wrathion might have objected indignantly to that, years ago - but now, he was old enough to know there was no point. “I’ll bear it in mind,” he said, with a curt smile.
That was enough for Varian, who moved off. Wrathion was left alone with his thoughts and the muffled roar of the crowd.
For an entire five minutes, anyway. The wall of noise when the balcony doors were opened again made him flinch; Tess and Anduin walked inside, followed by numerous guards. Wrathion covered his ears; Anduin, recognising his discomfort, moved over towards him and gently pulled him to his feet, leading him into a different room.
“Sorry about that,” was the first thing Anduin said to his old friend. “I didn’t realise it would take such a toll on you.”
“Yes, well. I’ve grown rather more used to peace and quiet in my years working alone,” Wrathion smoothed, neatening his clothing.
Anduin looked down. “I suppose it would be selfish of me to ask you for your company this afternoon.”
“Depends on what you were thinking.”
“A walk around the royal gardens, perhaps? They’ve just been restored. Tess said it was better for morale, and she was right. It took less than a day with her druids’ help.”
“So they’re open to the public?” Wrathion hesitated. His real question was whether Anduin really hadn’t noticed exactly what was the matter with his leg yet, considering he was suggesting a walk...
“Yes, but… nobody’s going to be there today.” Anduin smiled, perhaps a little sadly. “Please?”
“...alright, but only because you used that pathetic voice of yours,” Wrathion grinned. “Use it sparingly before I grow tired of it.”
Anduin rolled his eyes, smirking. “Duly noted, King Wrathion.”
The gardens were beautiful. Wrathion had always had something of a private appreciation for foliage, and the Queen’s druids - no doubt herself included in their number, for she was as formidable a plant-weaver as Anduin was a priest - had done a wonderful job. Boxed hedges penned in beds of any flower or herb you could think of; the healing herbs in particular were a working area of the garden, constantly harvested and regrowing, but the others were simply pretty. A demonstration of hope for the restoration of the world at large - as Stormwind in general, and its royal family, were said to be.
They walked for around ten minutes, away from the Keep, before Anduin stopped them.
Wrathion was prepared to be quizzed on his leg, but, somehow, he hadn’t prepared himself for the actual question that came out of Anduin’s mouth:
“So. Why haven’t you visited?”
Wrathion came up with something fairly quickly. “I have been incredibly busy, you know.”
“As have we all. I still found time to write letters. You never replied to them. Why.”
“Did you bring me out here to accuse me of something, Anduin Wrynn?” Wrathion didn’t hide his irritation.
“Yes, actually. Of avoiding me. Why?”
“I told you, I’ve--”
“On purpose, Wrathion.”
Wrathion curled his hands into fists and looked at the ground. There was a reason, but it wasn’t one he’d wanted to share with Anduin. He supposed he didn’t have a choice now, save leaving and not coming back. “I’m… sorry.” He took a breath. “I suppose I’m just. Frightened, really. Of what will happen when you’re… gone.”
Anduin’s frown faded to a look of sympathy, and he reached out a hand towards the dragon. “Wrathion…”
“I never had a true friend before or after you,” he continued, “and I’m-- I’m not certain I ever will. So it’s… practice, if you like. For being alone.”
With Wrathion not having pulled away, Anduin rest his hand on his shoulder. “But you don’t have to be alone now,” he said gently. “I have another… twenty, thirty years. Maybe forty if we’re lucky. That’s almost twice again how old I am now. And with the Legion defeated… there’s not much reason for us to spend any of it apart.”
“How will I cope, after that twenty years is up?”
“Maybe that’s something we could talk about together!” Anduin gripped his shoulder. “We… we used to be in love, Wrathion. And I miss you. I miss you a lot. And I’m sorry I have to go before you do, but… please can we try and spend some time together, before then?”
Wrathion breathed out steadily, not looking up. He was… honestly, frightened was the right word for it. He was scared. But… Anduin was right. And wasn’t his entire mode of operation to do what was right, no matter the cost?
He forced a smile, which became less forced when he looked up at Anduin’s face. It was older than it was last time they’d seen each other - wrinkles had set in across his forehead and his sideburns were turning bright white instead of their usual blond, but… he was still. Beautiful. A shining beacon of hope for a better world. “Perhaps today’s the day when the Wrynn family finally begins being correct about things, then. Alright. I’ll stay.”
Anduin’s laugh was enough to brighten Wrathion’s mood almost completely. “You will?”
“I will.”
“Oh! The children will be so happy when they return from Nagrand,” he grinned. “Do you have hatchlings of your own yet? I know you wanted them.”
“Not yet, but we’re working on it.”
“You must let me meet them when they’re hatched,” Anduin insisted. “Please stay with us.”
Wrathion laughed again, gently. “I will stay, Anduin Wrynn.”
They paused - Anduin holding Wrathion’s shoulder, and Wrathion’s hand laying atop Anduin’s on his cane. Then Wrathion raised an eyebrow. “I wonder if your father was correct, too…”
“...correct about what?” Anduin looked at Wrathion sidelong.
“That I should show you this before you notice of your own accord.”
He pulled his left trouser leg up - revealing what was blatantly not a flesh-and-blood leg, now it was exposed. It looked like it was made of dark-stained wood, with certain sections in the joints cut out and replaced at a different angle, then smoothed down again.
“It has rocks inside the joints,” Wrathion explained. “I can manipulate them to help it move more like a flesh leg would. It’s… exhausting, but comparatively practical--”
His sentence was cut off when he found himself gathered up in a Wrynn-brand bear hug. He gave a small laugh, then… wrapped his own arms around Anduin in return.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“You ridiculous dragon.”
“And I promise not to disappear again.”
“Idiot.” He hugged tighter.
They stayed like that until Wrathion got tired of standing. “King Wrynn, I have a proposition.”
“And what would that be?” Anduin pulled back, smiling faintly.
“Would you like to visit our old spot atop the cliffs? I checked on the way in, you know. It’s still there.” He had to admit he’d hoped his visit would end up this way.
Anduin’s eyes widened, and Wrathion swore they sparkled. It looked a little strange on a fifty-year-old man, but it filled Wrathion’s heart with long-forgotten affection nonetheless. “You would take me there?”
“Only if you want me to.”
“Of course I do, you daft dragon!” He laughed again. “Together?”
“Together,” Wrathion said, smiling.
Stormwind’s great guardian took his dragon form once again - and, lowering himself to the ground that its King of Hope could climb atop him, took off into the afternoon sky.
