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This creature has four legs and no wings.

When the legends, beliefs, and celebrations involving this creature call it a “dragon”….. it’s a freaking dragon.



This creature has two legs and four wings.

When the source material this creature is from decides that it is a “dragon”….. it’s a freaking dragon.



These creatures have four legs and two wings.

When the source materials they are from designate them as “dragons”…… they are freaking dragons.



These creatures have two wings and two legs.

When the creators and adaptors of these creatures designate them as “dragons”……

They are freaking dragons.


(that last one, Smaug, is also often referred to as a “drake” and a “wyrm” by the source material, as well!) 


The creators and adaptors of these source materials all had something we know as “creative freedom.” Sometimes, stifling peoples’ creative freedom can be annoying to them. Condescending to people with claims that all things must fit into a fictional set of labels of your choosing often has unfortunate results.

For instance, you can refer to that last set of creatures as “wyverns” all you want. Whether you see that category as a “type of” dragon, or a different creature altogether– that’s your choice. No one can stop you!

However

If I refer to one of them as a “dragon”, and you say, to my face:

“…..Actually, that’s not a dragon, it’s a wyvern”…


I will promptly shove you, and your entire family, into a locker.

This has been a PSA

anonymous asked:

Oooh Lendy's gonna kill a bitch. *grabs popcorn*

H̶̤͕̬̳͓̥͑͂̃ͧ͆ͨ͐ͮ̊E̢̫͇͙̦͎̰̝̮͒̽ͪ̈́͐͋̅̎ͣ'̴̨͚̣̠̲͍̦͎̉͆̀ͥS̛̙̥͈ͨ͗̇̎́͢ͅ ̧̧̛̞̭ͫ͛ͧ̽͋ͫ̆A̷̟͕̞͈͖̣ͪͬͨ̌̾ͩ̿͛ͩ̀ ̨͎̤̣͚͕̗̬̂ͯ́ͤ̓͋̇̈́͝ͅͅḊ̬̫ͫ͋ͧ̑ͩ̂ͭ̒E̵̯͈͔͒ͮ̌̈́̑̑͑͝A̵̫̙͌̇̉̑̍̃̓͞Ḑ̙̼̎͂ͭ̍̆ ̈̈̐ͤ̕ͅM͋͒ͯ҉̘͓A̩̯͈̮̯̹͆͗ͩ́͝Ǹ̢͇͈͚͍̘ͩ̓.͇̟̝͚̮̥̭̭͈͆ͩ̋͒̄̽̒̍͢

@blackvxiledimp

10) things you said that made me feel like shit

“It could’ve been better.”

Yuuri feels his coach’s words cut into him, piercing and expanding. His breaths are still coming in pants and his hands fall to his knees, clutching them to try and keep himself upright. “What?”

Victor doesn’t even meet his eyes. Instead, he’s fixed on the ice that Yuuri had been skating on just moments ago, fingers on his chin. “The routine. It could have been performed better. You missed the salchow.” With that, he turns to him. “You landed that every time in practice. What happened?”

“I…” Yuuri starts helplessly, because Victor knows exactly what happened, knows that the roars of the crowds are a dull throbbing that scrambles his positioning, that has his mind scattered. “I’m sorry.”

“I just don’t understand,” Victor complains, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “That could’ve won, Yuuri. If you’d simply act like you were practicing it, it could’ve won. It’s not that you can’t do it. Obviously you can do it.”

Another skater is preparing himself.

Yuuri feels numb.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats quietly. He bows his head, tries to avoid the cameras and the interviewers in the distance. They start to walk silently towards the kiss and cry, and he sees Victor give a tight smile and wave to the cameras. When they sit down beside one another, there’s a hand on his back. He shifts away from it, just slightly, not enough to draw attention.

Victor frowns, leans towards him.

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri bites his lip, keeps his eyes trained straight ahead.

“Yuuri, what’s wrong?”

The scores come in. He reads them quickly, then pushes the too-low numbers into the back of his mind. “Nothing.”

The cameras flash. Victor’s hand returns to his back. “Why are you lying?”

Yuuri doesn’t answer, and a second later there are fingers laced with his own and tugging him towards the exit, past the cameras and the crowds. He’s led reluctantly into the nearest bathroom, where Victor keeps his hand held tight, eyebrows drawn together.  Unsure of what to do, Yuuri simply rolls his shoulders—he’d bent an arm awkwardly during the failed salchow.

“What’s wrong?” Victor repeats, more firmly this time. “The scores?”

A pause.

“Oh,” he realizes out loud, and he blinks a few times. “Oh, Yuuri, I didn’t mean to… I wasn’t… I’m sorry.”

He nods, continues to stare at the floor. “Don’t apologize. It’s fine.”

He’s scooped into Victor’s arms and swayed back and forth. “It’s not fine. You’re upset. What I said was insensitive. I was insensitive. Next time, constructive criticism.” He pulls away, stares him firmly in the eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Yuuri smiles softly and hugs him again, ducking his nose into Victor’s shoulder. “That’s okay. I’m sorry I messed up the salchow.”

“As your coach, I want you to do well, but as your fiancé, it doesn’t matter to me. We just need to keep those two things separated. I need to keep those two things separated.” He runs his thumb across the ring on Yuuri’s finger, kisses his cheek. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was just frustrated.”

Yuuri nods. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Win or lose.”