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Anon

There hasn’t been a child born yet, good enough so his parents weren’t glad when he fell asleep.

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What if people we consider collectors today were actually just dragons in disguise, building their hoards?

  “I am a dragon. And this is my hoard.” “You… don’t look like a dragon.” “Well, hardly anyone does, these days. Times have changed, we have too. The scales and tails thing worked with the dinosaurs, but we learned quite quickly that… that wasn’t going to fly with you people.” “You were around all the way back to the dinosaurs ?” “Well, not like… me personally . How old do you think I am?” “… There’s no safe answer to that.” “No.” “So… when you say this is your hoard…?” “All dragons have them. Some stick to the old gold and jewels thing, but that’s so cliche these days. Most of us like our hoards to be a little bit more sophisticated than ‘shiny.’“ “Like what?” “I have known dragons to collect snowflakes from the first fall of the year over dozens of centuries. I know dragons that collect petals of flowers left on the graves of loved ones. Dragons that keep and care for soft toys and comfort items, left behind as children grow up. Dragons that guard happy memories and shards o...
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5 Reasons Discworld Is the Wildest Place Ever

For a good time, call Discworld. The world isn’t round Magic is real, and realistic Narrative causality Gods are real, except when nobody’s looking It will drive you insane
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u/Poem_for_your_sprog

The sun goes down upon the Ankh, And slowly, softly fades- Across the Drum; the Royal Bank; The River-Gate; the Shades. A stony circle's closed to elves; And here, where lines are blurred, Between the stacks of books on shelves, A quiet 'Ook' is heard. A copper steps the city-street On paths he's often passed; The final march; the final beat; The time to rest at last. He gives his badge a final shine, And sadly shakes his head- While Granny lies beneath a sign That says: 'I aten't dead.' The Luggage shifts in sleep and dreams; It's now. The time's at hand. For where it's always night, it seems, A timer clears of sand. And so it is that Death arrives, When all the time has gone... But dreams endure, and hope survives, And Discworld carries on.
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