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Elmo C. R.
02 July 2010 @ 11:56 am

So remember the thing I posted before? This is the new evolution. I did a mockup of Matt Smith, and the doll is the closest Amy thing I could find.
Elmo C. R.
 Nafydlrehk The Eleventh Hour yht The Beast Below fedr so cecdan. Famm, E's nafydlrehk, cra'c uh vun dra vencd desa. Ed'c aqledehk.

E naymmo muja Matt Smith, mega ytuna res, muja res, tacena res eh syho fyoc. Ajah frah ra'c lujanat eh celg, E fyhd du rik res. Yht Amy, kut Amy, E muja ran yht E muja ran vyla.
Elmo C. R.
 Ugyo, ajah ev oui kioc tuh'd tu ed, E cdemm drehg ed'c bnaddo vihho. E sekrd ajah bucd so ysahtat tnisc!fyhg eh 'luta'. Caneuicmo, E muja oui kioc yht oui'na ymm cdyng. nyjehk. syt.

E vaam mega drec bucd cruimt pa muhkan, cu dryd ed'c suna tecuneahdehk. E's drehgehk dryd bnuban huihc mega the Master cruimt pa mavd ihdnyhcmydat. Druikr E tu mega dra fyo 'Sycdan' muugc. Rsss... banrybc uhmo cusadesac. Un frydajan, drec ec netelimuic.

Drec ec muugehk mega dra muhkacd huh-vel bucd E'ja tuha eh y frema. Ec dryd cyt un yfacusa?
Elmo C. R.
22 June 2010 @ 02:41 am

So, that's one of the new evolving items on GaiaOnline.

Who does that look like to you?
Elmo C. R.
20 June 2010 @ 10:33 pm
 So... I doubt this is relevant to anyone's interests, but I need to vent and that's what the internet is for. I've been having a terrible week, capped off by today, Father's Day, finding out that my father not only is, but has always been, a crack head.

Like literally, a smoker of crack cocaine.

What the fuck.

I don't even know what to feel He's not part of my life anymore, by my choice, but still--- I'm so mad right now.
Elmo C. R.
 So, because it's come up a few times this week, and because I do love him an ungodly amount, here are a bunch of icons of Eric Roberts camping it up as the Master, from the Doctor Who TV movie. There are also a couple of him as himself, because I find him quite attractive.


Use them,love them, do what you will. I'm not picky, and I'm not jealous of my little silly creations. Be free, just spread the love.
Elmo C. R.
11 June 2010 @ 01:16 pm
How often do you think about, and plan for, the future? Do you think it ever interferes with your ability to live in the moment?

I spend most of my time as a series of TimeLords. What do you think?
Elmo C. R.
07 June 2010 @ 12:41 pm
Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket
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Elmo C. R.
04 June 2010 @ 10:41 pm
Author: nonlinear_lover 
Fandom: Torchwood, Sherlock Holmes
Genre: cross-over, slash
Characters: Jack Harkness, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes
Rating: PG this chapter
Disclaimer: I'm not ACD by a long shot, I'm also not the BBC. I'm just ECR, and I'm doing this for fun, not profit.
Summary: I suck at summaries!! Watson gets a visit from a stranger who leaves an impression on him and a letter for Holmes!! What is going on here??
Author's Note: Ha. Look. It's for Ayu. Did I friend you, Ayu? Did I? Here is the first chapter of your cross-over.

"Come alone, and make no attempt to save yourself from what you know had to happen."

-Swansong, Brightwood

"There are times when one meets a stranger, and certain things become almost instantly apparent. Whether or not you will get on with them in the short term relies heavily on your initial perception of their character, and, sadly, upon the attractiveness of their external appearance. It is my belief that at certain times, the brain experiences a rampant flush of heady humours, not unlike the changes one undergoes when performing a dangerous task, or imbibing a drug. There may be, in this humble doctor's opinion, a scientific reasoning behind the phenomenon oft referred to as 'love at first sight'."
-Doctor J. Watson, MD, private discourse


It was a warm spring day in London. Birds trilled from the eaves and rooftops, flowers bloomed in parks and window-boxes, and the populace suffered through stuffiness of one kind or another.
Those who were afflicted with a stoppage of the nostrils were the easiest to bear, as they usually chose no to venture out-of-doors, and could terefore be easily avoided.
Those whose stuffiness was due to a flaw of personality, social convention, or upbringing were of a much more difficult ilk.
The man who was currently sitting in the parlor area, labored under the limitations of neither of those ailments.
He was alert and unaffected by the yellow film that coated all of London, and a less inhibited [yet miraculously sober] man, John Watson had never seen.
"Are you certain I can't tempt you to some breakfast, Mr. Harkness?" Watson enquired. He had made the same offer twice in the half hour since the strange gentleman had arrived.
"No, thank you, Dr. Watson," Mr. Harkness replied, with a smile and a familar tone that set Watson far from his ease. Not the least of his worries [though the one he chose to dwell on, for propriety's sake] was his inability  to place his visitor's accent. He sounded like a Scotsman who had been too long abroad [a theory supported by his attire; his long blue trench coat sported insignia and rank markings of HRM Navy], but with a dash of something rakish that put Watson in mind of piracy. "Though, again, I thank you for the offer."
"You are welcome to it. Just let me know, should you change your mind, or require anything else of me," Watson said. The grin that Mr. Harkness favored him with was nearly indecent. "Our dear Mr. Holmes can oft times be a bit long about his business, I'm afraid."
"Not at all. It's my own fault, coming without an appointment," Mr. Harkness replied, and though Watson agreed with him, he also appreciated that Mr. Harkness understood.
"Well, he should be along shortly," Watson said. He only hoped that 'shortly' proved to be rather shorter than longer. He felt the need of an intellectual buffer between himself and this stranger. There was something about him that drew the eyes and the mind, begging somehow for rapt attention. He realized he was staring, and that Mr. Harkness was well aware of the nature of his regard. Watson cleared his throat.
"If you wouldn't find it too terribly rude, I do have some work to be doing..."
"Of course. Pretend I'm not even here."
If only such a thing were possible.


Somewhere in the area of an hour later, a great ruckus issued forth from downstairs. The visito set aside the book he had been flipping through [with the air of glancing at something which has long since been dedicated to memory] and looked toward the door, with interest but not alarm.
"A perfectly usual commotion," Watson assured him. "Mr. Holmes and our land lady have a long standing debate over--- well, nearly everything. Most recently, one of his experiments found it's way into the kitchen."
Watson could not have said why he felt the need to explain... but Mr. Harkness's smile proved to be worth it. Very odd.
"Dr. Watson," Mr. Harkness began, as he stood. "I really must apologize for disrupting your household for the day," he said and walked to Watson's side. "it was imperative for me to make an impression on you."
"I don't think I understand---"
"All will become clear," Mr. Harkness interjected with another smile. "I promise you that." He touched Watson's shoulder and held out an envelope with his other hand. It was addressed to Mr. Sherlock Holmes. "I really do look forward to meeting him."
With that, he crossed to the window, looked out it, and then vaulted over the ledge.
Watson leaped to his feet, the letter falling from his nerveless fingers as he launched himself toward the casement. Harkness had vanished, with no trace of having met a grisly end on the paving stones. Watson leaned as far out the window as he dared.
"What an extraordinary man..."

[end chapter one.]