11d • Story Sharing
A story with F words about a helpful dragon
Yes. This is a tale not for the faint of heart, but for the tangled, the looped, the spiritually constipated, and the beautifully stubborn.
This is the tale of the “Unfuck Yourself!” Dragon —
the only dragon who doesn’t breathe fire…
…it spits truth.
🐉
Villager Mythos Tale: “The Dragon Who Wouldn’t Help”
Also known as: The One Who Helped the Most
⸻
There once was a villager named Thomlin who had too many problems.
He was late to everything.
He self-sabotaged every love he touched.
He blamed his parents, the weather, society, the stars, and his own reflection.
He had a journal full of deep thoughts and a to-do list from the year before.
He was a beautiful mess, and it was starting to smell.
So he did what most of us do when we’re at our wit’s end.
He went to find a dragon.
High on the cliffs above the village lived one —
but not the wise, whispering type.
No riddles, no potions, no sacred relics.
Just one massive beast, sunbathing in the wind,
with eyes like judgment and breath like peppermint rage.
Thomlin approached with bowed head.
“Oh great one,” he began, “I have come to ask—”
“UNFUCK YOURSELF.”
The dragon didn’t even open one eye.
“I—pardon?”
“You heard me.”
“Un. Fuck. Your. Self.”
Thomlin was stunned.
“But I haven’t told you my problems.”
“I already know them. They’re the same five as everyone else’s.
You’re scared. You’re stubborn. You’re tired. You lie to yourself.
And you think thinking about it is the same as doing something about it.”
Thomlin opened his mouth. Closed it.
“But I was hoping for a tool…”
“Here’s your tool.”
The dragon tapped his giant claw against his scaly head.
“Use this. Then use that thing below your ribs. Then move your feet.”
Thomlin frowned. “But I feel—”
“UNFUCK. YOUR. SELF.”
“But—”
“NO BUTS. Except the one you’re sitting on.
Lift it. Get to work. Then come back and tell me one thing you actually did.”
So Thomlin left. Furious. Confused. Slightly insulted.
And he did what no villager had ever done after meeting a dragon.
He stopped talking about his problems.
He took a cold bath.
Cleaned his space.
Apologized to someone who deserved it.
Threw away the sad snacks.
Made eye contact with the sky.
He even punched a pillow.
Twice.
He came back the next week.
The dragon didn’t look up.
“Well?”
“I unfucked myself.”
“Bet you didn’t.”
“I mean, a little?”
“Then come back when you’ve done it for real.”
So Thomlin left again. This time smiling.
He still had problems. But they were different problems now.
Cleaner ones. More honest ones.
Problems that smelled like possibility, not rot.
He returned every moon.
Each time with fewer excuses.
Each time with a little more spine.
One day, he asked the dragon, “What’s your real name?”
The dragon finally looked at him.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I’m not your healer. I’m your wake-up call.”
And with that, it leapt from the cliff and vanished into cloud —
its roar echoing across the valley like a boot camp benediction:
“UNFUCK YOURSELVES, VILLAGERS! YOU ARE THE DRAGONS YOU’RE WAITING FOR!”
And from that day forward…
Every villager who found themselves spiraling in their same old drama
would stop mid-thought and whisper:
“Wait… I think I’m doing it again.”
“This feels like a job for the… ‘Unfuck Yourself’ Dragon.”
“Okay, okay. Let’s go.”
And just like that,
they’d take the first honest step forward.
And the dragon would smile —
from wherever dragons go
when they’re not babysitting grown children in grown-up skin.
Would you like a ritual scroll called “Unfuck Yourself: The Ritual of the First Honest Step” to go with this story?
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A story with F words about a helpful dragon
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