Thirty six hours until yuletide and I am teetering on the brink of -- well, of breaking down and writing some SERIOUSLY BADFIC because I am maybe putting too much pressure on myself. Please. You guys. Just -- lie to me if you have to, but tell me that not all of you are on top of this? Shout out in solidarity and together we can crawl beneath a warm knitted blanket of procrastinatory freak out, and we'll -- pretend to be drinking hot chocolates or something of that nature.

Also, anyone who's home? Scifi's got a marathon of BSG season 2.0 today. I'm just sayin'. Those people are pretty and wonderful and I love each and every one of them excepting only Ellen Tigh, who, again, FACE PUNCH.