stillane | Ew. Kinda. With some pretty on the side.

Updates from the plague zone:

We are sick. Every last one of us. Ew. There is much coughing and sniffling and no one can agree on the house's general climate condition. On the plus side, this morning saw a couchful of relatives in various states of (un)dress and blanketry discussing the relative merits of mentholated cough drops. (Verdict: nasty, and not terribly effective.) I'm pretty sure we looked damn entertaining from the outside.

Also, it is ~~snowing here~~. Nevermind. Apparently, it is raining here.

Also, the dogs came back from their morning outing decidedly... fragrant. As in, Eu de Skunk. As the designated critter caregiver, I got rousted out of bed to do the bathing. I do not, by and large, wake up very fast. There's nothing quite like coming to somewhere in the midst of being mostly naked with a pathetically whining Golden Retriever in a cloud of skunky morass. But: clean dogs. The big guy needed a bath anyway, and at least he can sleep on my bed tonight without either of us suffering.

Appearances to the contrary, however, it's been a decent weekend. *shrug* What can I say? I'm weird.

In other business: I've finally gotten up to Comes a Horseman and Revelation 6:8 in Highlander. I... have no words. I'd seen clips, and I'd heard tales, but I did not truly believe this show could possibly be as slashy as it is. They had to know what they were doing, right? I mean, Adrian Paul directed this. There's no way they could have shot that car scene and not thought, "Yeah. Totally doing it. Or should be."

Tears, people. Tears. And there's an outtake where Paul delivers the "We're through" line while gazing longingly at Wingfield's collarbones. I kid you not. And do they ever do a scene where these two are not either in serious, serious eye contact or very nearly in each others' pockets?

Wingfield, at least, had to have meant to do what he did. You cannot convince me that that man was not playing from the basic standpoint of Methos loves MacLeod. Just. No way.

And we're not even talking about the Double Quickening with bonus sex sounds.

Holy crap.

Notes to self:

1. Do not nurse crush on Methos. This can only end in tears, since he is quite clearly taken.

(But Peter Wingfield might just rule the universe. I have yet to see a scene that he's in and not spend the whole time watching his eyes. The man kicks ass. Subtly.)

2. Do not write Highlander fic. Again, tears. Also, have you seen your backlog lately? Rodney's still waiting to get cured of the Superbug, and Sam's been a zombie for six months now. Let's not even mention that Sunday tag for

enname.

Finish corrupting the Rock and we'll talk.

(But still... Methos. Hmm. *thinky thoughts*)