Past submission deadline - but you can still post works!
Aaaaand we are past the official posting deadline!
A big, heartfelt thank you from the mods to everyone who managed to submit their work(s) on time. The cup of our 2024 collection runneth over with K/S goodness. 80 works have been posted so far!
"So far"? You ask. What does the mod mean by "so far" if we are past the deadline anyway...?
So here's the thing: you can still post to the collection. If real life kept you from fannish endeavours, or you ran out of energy or time, or the muse was just uncooperative, please do not throw away your idea or your half-written work, but keep working on it.
We have deadlines in order to make the mods' life a bit easier, and to ensure that there are enough works in the collection before it goes live on the 22nd, and also to give y'all a push to get things done. With the collection now flowing over with riches, we can afford to be lenient and actively encourage you to complete what you started, or to add one more work if you happened to stumble upon another inspiring prompt just now. (See the prompt list here.)
The works will go live on Friday, 22 March 2024, 12:01 AM UTC, with their creators still being kept secret at that point. Creators will be revealed at the closing of the fest, on Tuesday, 26 March 2024, 12:01 AM UTC. This is also the cut-off moment when the collection will be closed to submissions.
But until then... feel free to post your fic, art, poetry, podfic etc. Just make sure to have it complete and in its final version when you post it. If you have any questions or need help with anything (e.g. how to embed images, how to post etc), please get in touch with us here.
Thank you all so much for taking part in our event! <3
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It would be sacrilegious to post this on Christmas, as that is a holy day to Christians, and Dr. Seuss fans, and Doctor Who fans.
and while I have VERY much experience in all three of those fandoms...
I am poking some... slightly bitter fun at them all, here.
So, instead, I am posting it on Amok Time Day.
Hope this resolves the problem.
...
'Twas the night before Christmas
And nobody knew.
It was pre-Christian times
In the Kingdom of Who.
The Whos down in Who-ville
Liked singing and feasts
But the plains still stampeded
With not-yet-Roast Beasts.
No mission had reached them
To try and convert
So, like Adam in Eden,
Just formed from the dirt,
They lived on their dust-speck
And kept to themselves
No thoughts about Santa
No thoughts about elves
The world out beyond
They had not tried to find...
They as yet had no reason
To name their own kind,
So they were not yet Whos
And the dust-speck they claimed
Was not yet called Who-ville;
It had not been named.
But, that night before Christmas
It fell, from on high
Like a giant blue present,
Wrapped up in the sky...
And from out of the wreckage
A man struggled free!
He was bleeding and raving
As all rushed to see,
And he cried "Merry Christmas!"
None knew what he meant.
And they asked him, instead,
Just from where he'd been sent?
And what sort of a fellow
Could fall from so high?
And what sort of a box
Could be able to fly?
So he told them his story
Of warping through space
When, through desperate measures
He'd come to this place,
For his Box had been seeking
A safe place to hide...
And like it, this dust-speck
Was Bigger Inside.
But size doesn't matter,
The Box could recall,
For a person's a person,
No matter how small!
But it crashed, and it wounded
The Person inside...
Who informed them it wouldn't
Be long til he died.
So he told them his stories
Of Stars that had shined,
And the War that had left him
The Last of his Kind,
And he told them of Christmas,
As hours rolled by.
He said, "Christmas is Special!"
Of course, they asked why.
So he told them of England,
Of puddings and feasts
And the Star in the West,
and the Kings from the East
And of old "Father Christmas"
Or "Santa," who came
To bring Presents of honor
And Coal-lumps of shame
And he told his adventures
From year after year:
The tales of each Christmas!
Of Danger, and Fear!
Of Daleks and Plastics,
Of Cybermen too,
Who would come to your world
To steal Christmas from you!
"Do they come from Above?"
Asked the people in fear.
"And what is Above,
And how could it get here?"
"For here on this Dust-speck
We sing and we feast,
But we never see stars,
In our West or our East."
"And sometimes, up North
There's some dusty white snow
But there's no danger there...
At least not that we know!"
"Well, I wouldn't look there,"
he assured them. "You see,
Your danger won't come
From the north, probably.
...But you never can tell,"
He abruptly put forth.
"Because... plenty of worlds
Have a South and a North."
But, with internal bleeding
His life couldn't last,
And his hearts, in edema
Grew three sizes, fast.
And as he was dying
His followers came,
And begged, "Oh great prophet!
Please tell us your name...
So our world from now on
Can be named after you!"
He replied, "I'm the Doctor."
They cried: "Doctor who?"
But, alas, with no answer
His life slipped away,
And everyone mourned him
That first Christmas Day.
But then, three days later,
They found, at the dawn
That his grave had been emptied!
The Box, too, was gone!
All marveled in wonder,
And wondered for years
Who the stranger had been
Who'd brought bright Christmas fears.
And what was his name?
Was it "Strange"? Was it "Seuss"?
The name was the Doctor's.
They still don't know Whose.
So their world was named Who-ville,
All countries the same,
Except for Up North...
Which was given no name.
For the North was Above,
From which Danger could fall
And this Danger was taught
To all Whos, big and small.
And, just north of Who-ville,
The people died out
For the rest of their world
Did not want them about.
And many years hence
There was One left behind.
The Grinch, North of Who-ville:
The Last of his Kind.
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