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@avylone.bsky.socialOct 8, 2026, 11:33 AM

🍂Wrathion and Anduin for lovely @claretash.bsky.social 🍂

#worldofwarcraft | #warcraftart | #anduin | #wrathion

Wrathion and Anduin are taking a stroll in Crystalsong forest. Anduin has his hand reached out, locking hands with Wrathion and assisting him over a small river.
@cybercatart.bsky.socialOct 7, 2026, 12:36 AM

Wanted to do some more fanart! What do you think? Are you a fan of the black prince? #wrathion #dragon #blackdragon #wow #warcraft

@glhiro.bsky.socialOct 1, 2026, 2:13 PM

Shrims

#Anduin #Wrathion

Mop Anduin drawn as a happy shrimMop Whelp Wrathion drawn as an angry shrim
@ruuari.bsky.socialSep 25, 2026, 8:26 PM

more ravenholdt manor flashback stuff for our own path
#wrathion #wranduin

“Fahrad, look!” There was a bounce in Wrathion’s step as he entered the grandmaster rogue’s study, waltzing past the papers and maps scattered about the weathered oak table in the center of the room. “How do I look? What do you think? And how do I sound?” Tearing his eyes away from his report, Fahrad looked the boy up and down, taking in his face, which was now sharper and squarer than before, to the shape of the young dragon’s shoulders. They had filled out a fair amount since the last time he’d seen him, giving them a broader and sturdier appearance. “My prince,” he said with raised brows. “I barely recognized your voice.” “Isn’t it great?” Wrathion asked proudly. He brought his hand to his chin and stroked his thumb over his goatee. “It’s taken me a while, but my body is almost exactly how I want it to be. My magic is getting better.” “You look very handsome,” Fahrad grinned. “Your beard suits you.” Wrathion beamed back at him. “Thank you, Fahrad.” As quickly as it came, his smile vanished, an irritated sneer taking its place as his expression darkened. “I refuse to be taken for a girl again.” “You won’t be,” Fahrad reassured him. “You look like every other boy your age.” Almost, Wrathion mentally corrected. There was still the matter of his chest, which he had yet to get flat, but no matter how much he concentrated his powers, every time he shifted into his mortal form, it always looked the same.He was hopeful, though, after his recent successes. His skills were improving, and it was only a matter of time until he got it right. So, the next time Wrathion transformed, he tried again, focusing all of his magic on his chest. And then he tried again. And again. And again. And his hope perished, along with his confidence. There was one day in particular where things were especially bad. Wrathion couldn’t stand the sight of himself. He whirled on his heel and knocked everything off the desk beside him to the floor, caring little for the glass inkwell and ceramic mug that smashed to the ground, permanently staining the parchment, maps, and books that fell with them. Kicking a nearby stool with a frustrated cry, he curled up into a ball on the floor, resting his face against his knees as he listened to it hit the wall with a loud bang and a clatter. He sobbed. Immediately, he hated himself for it. If his agents saw him like this, they’d think him nothing more than a vulnerable little girl. Unsure how else to cope with his despair, he pressed his sharp nails into his arms and dragged them harshly against his skin, leaving angry, red scratches that threatened to bleed. A warm hand touched his shoulder. Wrathion flinched, even though he knew it was Fahrad.“Your Highness,” the man said softly. “Come. Let me help.” Wrathion let him. It seemed he’d been prepared for this. Wrathion’s face flushed with heat when Fahrad unravelled a roll of wide, linen bandages meant for mending wounds. As per his instruction, Wrathion turned around and took off his shirt. “Lift your arms,” he heard Fahrad say. Wrathion did so. Maneuvering the strand of cloth over the prince’s head and pulling it taut against his chest, the rogue began to wrap it around his torso. “Too tight?” Wrathion shook his head. “No.” Fahrad hummed his acknowledgment. Wrathion remained silent. The older black dragon—which Wrathion had figured out some time ago—didn’t stop until the prince’s breasts were completely covered and compressed. Once they were, the man secured a pin in the material at the middle of Wrathion’s back to keep everything snug and in place. He beckoned the younger dragon over to the mirror where it leaned against the wall. Wrathion pulled his shirt back over his head and approached. His heart swelled when he saw himself. He stared, wide eyed, unable to look away from how flat the shape of his chest looked beneath his clothes. Turning to the side, he took in his profile and ran a hand over the bindings wrapped around his body, feeling them through the fabric. In the reflection of the mirror, he caught Fahrad’s mouth quirk into a smile.
@ruuari.bsky.socialSep 20, 2026, 5:15 PM

transgender
#wrathion #wranduin

Everyone wants me dead, Wrathion reminded himself. Or captured and forced against my will to be someone I’m not. He wasn’t sure which was worse.
@ruuari.bsky.socialSep 20, 2026, 3:06 PM

ravenholdt manor
#wrathion #wranduin

Wrathion lifted his hand to rub at his head and sat up. Dazed, he spotted a man, dressed in leathers so dark he nearly blended entirely into the darkness, looking back at him in shock. Before the dragon could say anything, the man disappeared. Wrathion heard a door creak open, and the staircase before him was suddenly illuminated by what he presumed was candlelight from the room above, its warmth cutting through the chill air of the cellar. “Sir,” he heard the man say. “The egg has hatched.” “And?” Another man’s voice echoed down the stairs. Wrathion watched their elongated shadows move in the light across the steps. “Where is the dragon?” “There is no dragon, sir, but a girl. She looks to be about fourteen or so.” Wrathion froze, and then he stopped breathing. Trembling, he bit down on his bottom lip so hard that it drew blood. “I... see. I will go down and look, then, alone. Wait here. We cannot risk scaring her.” Wrathion scowled. He could only see the man’s silhouette as he descended the stairs, his figure cast in shadow. He wore his red hair tied back, and like the man before, he too was dressed entirely in leathers. He slowed when he reached the bottom of the steps, and when he turned the corner, he rested his hand on the post situated at the base of the banister. A scent, both foreign yet familiar, penetrated Wrathion’s senses. It was masked so well that the dragon had almost thought he’d imagined it, but no... it was definitely there. Wrathion bristled instinctively, though he wasn’t sure why. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t pinpoint what. The man approached slowly. “My name is Fahrad,” he said cautiously. “I am the head rogue of Ravenholdt Manor, which is where we are now. We’re in the basement,” he explained. “You are the black dragon that hatched from this egg, are you not?”“I’m not a girl,” Wrathion told the man without answering his question, in a voice so high he almost recoiled at the sound. “What?” Fahrad asked in confusion. “I’m not a girl.” Wrathion repeated. The rogue went quiet for a moment, appearing lost. His eyes moved from Wrathion’s face to the swell of his soft chest, its shape visible beneath the dragon’s tunic. Meeting Wrathion’s gaze once more, he carefully answered, “A boy, then?” Wrathion nodded, his crimson eyes blazing. It was then that he stood, seizing the rage within himself and holding it close to his heart. His anger fueled him with the confidence he needed to push through the fear that had taken hold of his body. “The Son of Deathwing, actually, and the only uncorrupted black dragon alive,” he announced. “I am free of my father’s madness, and possess no love for my flight. I wish to destroy every last one of them, as do you, I’m sure. They are a menace to this world, and a threat to me. Help me do this, and I will reward you and your rogues.” Fahrad seemed stunned. He stared at him, taken aback. “Even at birth, I possess power you cannot imagine,” Wrathion continued, remembering the talks of riches and wealth whispered amongst the rogues who had stolen his egg, their voices muffled beyond the thick barrier of his shell. “You’ve heard the stories, haven’t you? The fire from a dragon’s breath can enchant weapons and armour with incredible magic that even the mightiest of kings dream of wielding.” He added, “Plus, if you don’t, I will burn this entire manor to the ground along with everyone inside it.” He shrugged. “It’s nothing personal, you see. I must protect myself at all costs, and no one must know where I am at any time. I can’t risk you giving my location away to the Red Dragonflight, or to the other mortals, now can I?” Everyone wants me dead, Wrathion reminded himself. Or captured. He wasn’t sure which was worse.
@liarian.bsky.socialSep 9, 2026, 9:44 PM

#fanfic #WIPWednesday #Warcraft #Khadgar #Wrathion

It's still WIP Wednesday here so have a little snippet from Borrowed Time, secuel to Shattered Memories.

Khadgar and Wrathion meet for the first time!