c: emily merchant

30 Days Of Primeval - Day Two

Day 2 - Favorite female character?

Okay, so first off, you guys are gonna have to remind me to do this because I almost forgot.

Right… It’s a tie between Emily and Jess.
No, wait!
I prefer Emily.

Originally posted by bridgestars

I LOVE this scene.
I absolutely adore it.
(On that note, look out for my new fanfic based on this scene. i should have it finished by today. I hope!)

I also love Emily because more often than not, she can get herself out of trouble.
However it doesn’t hurt to have a particular Irishman around just in case.

The bit about this scene that kind of upsets me is how surprised she sounds that Matt came to save her.
You can also see the confusion and pity in Matt’s eyes, as he realises that none of the men in her life had ever put her first, you know?
Her surprise is all the evidence he needs to prove that men like Henry/Ethan and whoever else were all ultimate douches.
Add that to the whole Bedlam thing, and Matt’s never going to let her out of his sight again.

Also, Ruth Bradley is so attractive.

Originally posted by fuckyeahprimeval

Ruth Bradley is the reason I’m not a heterosexual member of society.
I just……Ughhhhh.

Primeval Fanfic “May She Rest In Peace”

Emily wasn’t afraid.
She was a good fighter, an excellent fighter.
She’d fought Ethan before, and she’d beat Ethan before.
So why now, was she so scared?
Perhaps its because for once, winning this fight didn’t mean getting to be the first one to fall asleep at night, or the last one to wake up.
Winning this fight didn’t mean getting to be the first one to drink from the water bottle, or the one who got to use the dinosaur hide as new boots.
Winning this fight, meant keeping her life.
She’d never fought for her life, never against Ethan anyway.
Never against this thick-skulled, cold-hearted Russian anarchist, with his smooth, mesmerising accent and his unbrushed mess of black hair.
She was quick, was young Emily Merchant.
She was quicker than him, smarter, lighter, more agile.
But he was stronger, was brave Ethan Dobrowski, and in the end, strength trumped all.
He was cunning too though, and sneaky, always with a trick up his sleeve.
She watched him curve to the right around a gravestone, and knew he was trying to throw her off guard.
She saw his left fist coming at her, and ducked under it.
What she didn’t see coming however, was the large chunk of granite angel wing he hefted in his right hand.
Until it ploughed into the base of her skull of course.

Matthew Anderson, was worried.
He didn’t worry often, but now, as he listened to Lester guiding him towards the only source of information he had on Emily’s whereabouts, he was worried.
Scratch that last statement; he was downright terrified.
Sure, he’d only known the Victorian woman a few days or so, but she already meant a lot to him.
He was sure she was perfectly capable against holding her own in a fight, particularly with that stiletto of hers.
There was no reason for him to be worried.
No reason at all.
So why, was his chest so uncomfortably tight?
Why was his heart pounding like a drumbeat in his chest?
Why did he want nothing more than to grab Ethan Dobrowski and snap his flimsy little neck with a deft flick of his wrist?
He wasn’t sure, but there was no way in hell it was because he was experiencing any form of romantic attraction towards Emily.
Nope, that notion was simply ridiculous.

When Emily Merchant awoke, the first thing she registered was the sheer amount of pain flooding through her body.
That rock to the skull hadn’t done her a whole lot of good, nor had the tumble she’d taken as a result.
She went to sit up, and found she couldn’t.
Her hands were bound tight behind her back, with some sort of fraying rope.
She went to swing her legs to the side and stand up, but found she couldn’t do that either.
Not because her legs too were bound, because they weren’t, but because there was simply nowhere for them to go.
Stone on all four sides, and a heavy marble roof above her head, arms bound, and her mouth stoppered with a greasy wad of fabric, she realised one of her biggest fears had come to life.
Ethan Dobrowski had buried Emily Merchant alive.
There was nothing more for her to do.
She screamed.

Matt was taken by surprise as Ethan appeared from around the corner, wielding a shovel in his heavy hands, already midway through swinging it at him.
Matt could only watch in shock as the blade of the shovel bit into the skin of his torso and knocked him to the wet grass, breathless.
Ethan stood over him and lifted the blade high above his head.
He used all of his weight to drive it down directly over Matt’s chest, but the young Irishman rolled out of the way at the last second, and the blade hit the wet mud with a clang, and became stuck.
Ethan raised it again, bringing it down on Matt for a second time, but once more the older man threw his weight to the left, bringing his arms up to protect his head as the edge of the spade nicked his hairline.
Matt used the shaft of the spade to push Ethan backwards, and the Russian stumbled.
Matt leaped to his feet, and swung a punch at Ethan, a punch that came into contact with the younger mans jaw and sent them both sprawling.
They both clambered to their feet and Matt bent over to catch his breath, holding his arm out as though he was trying to ward Ethan off.
“Look… Look, just tell me where she is,”
His voice was weak, defeated, but he tried not to let it show.
Ethan was circling him, and he was circling Ethan, like wrestlers in a ring, and when Ethan caught Matt’s eye, Matt realised something was horribly, horribly wrong.
Ethan looked proud.
His top lip curled over in something like a smirk, his dark soulless eyes bright and gleaming with a mix of malice and sadistic enjoyment.
He looked like he knew something Matt didn’t, and the Irishman didn’t like it one bit.
When he spoke, the words, which should have been harsh, sounded smooth and mocking in his mangled Russian accent.
“You’re too late. May she rest in peace.”
Matt felt his stomach drop nauseatingly, and he fell to his knees, feeling as though the very fabric of the world was crashing down around him.

Emily had long since stopped screaming.
She’d long since stopped doing anything in fact.
Her blood pounded in her head, she felt sick.
It was probably the fear.
She’d lost her black box.
Goodness knows where, Ethan had probably taken it from her after he’d knocked her out, thrown it in a ditch somewhere.
Now they had no way of knowing where she was.
No-one was going to come looking for her.
Screaming didn’t help, it just wasted the little oxygen she had.
This coffin was airtight, she’d bet her life on it.
As a matter of fact, she was probably going to have to.
She’d do anything to see Matt right now, to hug him, to laugh at his bad jokes, to kiss him.
He was as out of place in this world as she was, but he was different.
He wasn’t from the past, he was from the future.
She knew it.
Matt would find her, she reasoned.
He’d come looking for her eventually.
She just hoped he wouldn’t be too late.

Matt tugged on the iron doorway of the crypt, his fingers struggling for purchase on the wet metal. 
His breath caught in his throat as he battled to open it, heaving with all of his might.
Eventually, it slid open, and he burst inside.
He reached the first tomb, and the gate opened easily.
Stumbling forwards, he planted both hands on the lid of the coffin and shoved with all his weight.
The lid shifted and he hauled at it again.
To his dismay, the inside of the coffin was bare, aside from a gold cross that glinted up at him, reflecting and warping his features, mocking him, calling out his failure.
No, she wouldn’t be dead.
He wouldn’t let her be dead.
He hung his head, trying to catch his breath, feeling sick with fear.
It was pure chance, actually, that the room became silent the second Emily screamed once more.

She could hear him.
She’d heard the grating of the doors, and at first she’d feared it was Ethan coming back for her.
But then he’d called her name.
There was no mistaking that thick Irish drawl, as tight and drawn with fear and nerves as it was.
There was no mistaking the face that she knew came with it, the amber eyes and the dark brown widows peak that framed his round and slender face.
It was Matt.
Emily took a deep breath, feeling the warm air filter in through the greasy cloth tied tight around her jaw.
She knew she probably only had one chance at this, he had to hear her.
She waited until all was quiet around her, and then once more, Emily Merchant screamed.

Matt pushed off from the coffin as though it was a spring-board, throwing himself into the damp corridor with an alarming amount of speed and power.
He overshot his mark in fact, and threw out his arm to push off the corner, before he crashed headfirst into the wall.
He lunged for the second tomb, his previously leaden limbs filled now with hope and power.
The response he got that time, was little more than a choked whimper, as Emily fought against her bonds, and gag, fighting to make herself known.
Matt slammed his body weight into the stone coffin, and felt the heavy stone lid shift and grate against the top of the coffin.
He rammed it with his shoulder again, panting for breath and with a sheen of sweat standing out on his forehead.
It moved slightly, and he jammed his fingers into the gap he’d made, forcing his whole arm inside and then he gave the coffin lid a last shove and it came off completely.

Emily could have cried with relief the second she saw that first shaft of light.
It was near-blinding at first, and then as it grew and grew, she got used to it, until finally it was bearable to open her eyes.
Matt’s hand linked with hers, and she could feel him shaking as much as she was shaking, if not more.
His face appeared in the gap, and his amber eyes were wide and filled with tears as he tightened his grip on her hand.
As the cold and damp stone that blocked her in became replaced by Matt’s warm embrace, Emily started to cry.
She never thought she’d see him again, never thought that she’d be free.
But now here she was, Matt holding her as if he could never bare to let her go again.

Gingerly, Matt lifted her clear of the stone coffin, her icy fingers clutching desperately at the back of his leather jacket, as she whimpered and sobbed.
He sat her down, leaning against the coffin quickly, and knelt in front of her, trying to calm his racing heart.
With shaking fingers, the Irishman eased the gag out of her mouth, whispering soft words of comfort to her, telling her that she was safe now, he was here, and that everything would be okay.
He distracted her with his jumbled words as he made quick work of the knots binding her wrists.
He let out an instinctive wince as the rope fell away and the deep welts the rope had carved into her pale flesh became apparent for the first time.
She looked up at him, eyes wide with wonderment and joy.
“Y-You came looking for me,” Emily’s voice was raw and strained from screaming, and it was also tinged with sheer disbelief.
It made Matt’s stomach turn, to hear the shock in her voice, the confusion lacing her tone.
It was clear that none of the men in her life, not even her own husband, had cared enough to put her before themselves.
That notion made him feel sick.
He’d not been raised as a gentleman, Matt hadn’t.
He’d been raised to kill, he’d been raised not to trust anybody.
He’d been raised to sacrifice whoever needed sacrificing to save yourself, even if it was a member of your own family.
He’d been taught to be selfish.
How else would he have survived?
But even he knew, that Emily deserved more than that.
If Matt, the most un-human man to walk the earth, had been kinder to her than any other boy she’d ever met, then there was something seriously wrong.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course I did.”
He pulled her close against him, her head buried in the side of his neck, their foreheads touching, breathing in tandem, his eyes closed and hers wide open, a smile gracing both of their faces.

Matt remembered Ethan’s confident Russian drawl, the proud way the younger boy had announced his victory, and couldn’t fight back the laugh that forced its way from his dry lips.
You’re too late. May she rest in peace.”

Not this time Dobrowski.

For the longest time I was convinced the most attractive male on Primeval was Connor and the most attractive female was Abby.
Now the Connor thing hasn’t changed a bit because I mean, look at him

Originally posted by luvconnor

That’s adorable.
And yeah sometimes he can be pretty sexy too (Season 3 Finale!!)

But Season 4 really changed my mind about Abby with the arrival of a Primeval female lead that I’ve gotta admit, is probably the most attractive woman I’ve seen to this day.

Originally posted by the-hanging-tree

That’s a bad gif, but like… She’s gorgeous.
I’m actually in love I think.
Dear God, she’s the reason I’m gay.

Originally posted by fuckyeahprimeval


My grandma got confused after Season 1 of Primeval ended, and I spent about 10 minutes trying to explain why Claudia was Jenny in the second timeline, to absolutely no avail.

How am I going to explain the whole Ethan/Patrick arc to her? 
Particularly after I just realised that makes Danny, Emily’s brother-in-law.
And Emily’s in love with Matt.
And Matt shot Danny.
Danny was shot by his Victorian Era sister-in-laws love interest from the Future.

Danny was shot by his Victorian Era sister-in-laws love interest from the Future.

This show just reached a whole other level of utter confusion.