#taboobbc

[lyralu91]

Revisiting the gorgeous moodboard you made for me, Flor 🥹❤️ @justrainandcoffee

If you're looking for James x Lorna content, check out my fanfiction on AO3: "The river that connects us"

Nikita Gill, from a poem titled "The Worship", featured in Your Heart is the Sea: Poems

[letthefairyinyoufly]

Jessie Buckley as Lorna Bow

[lyralu91]

I have a use for you.

Just a bit of James before bedtime 😌🤤

[aremindertoremember]

James... you came back...

...you told me you loved me...

My sister...

James... you shall see me again...

.... that great big river that connects us....

... if she was in the river, she would sing to me, and I would hear her....

[thatfooltheycallweaver]

In My Dreams it's Still the Same

Day 8 of @fluff-cember

Prompt: Sparkling Snow

Pairing: Meredith O'Connor [OC] x James Delaney

Fandom: Taboo

Word Count: 719

London had always been too chaotic, too loud, and too disconnected for Meredith to find peace within it. But that was nothing a strong cup of mugwort tea couldn’t fix. The fire in her room was beginning to die out, leaving behind the smell of wood-smoke that she enjoyed. Removing the corset and changing out of her chemise and into her sleepwear, she practically fell into bed and got comfortable under the blankets, allowing the warmth to envelop her, lulling her into a comfortable sleep. The next time she opened her eyes, she was nearly blinded by the sunlight. She sat up, feeling something other than the soft grass of her typical scrapped-together-from-memory meadow. It was powdery snow, cool to the touch, but not cold. She stood looking around. The snow shimmered in the light, and evenly blanketed the area as far as the eye could see. It had been quite some time since she had seen snow that hadn’t been tainted by the muck in the streets or by the smoke of the London sky, so it might have been brighter than it should have been. The snow was undisturbed, save for the stream that separated the banks, the large tree where the branches were covered in a thin layer of ice, and a set of footprints just at the edge of her vision. Outside of that, she knew by the shift in the air that she was not alone. But that didn’t frighten her, it had been an open invitation to begin with. It always had been, for him.

“I hope you’re not here for the reason I suspect…James.” She called gently. “You needn’t hide. I know your energy. I still recall, even after all this time.” She turned to see him standing parallel to her, shirtless, pants tied loosely at his hips. The tattoos were new to her. Decidedly tribal, they suited him.

“You and I have not spoken for quite some time.” He responded, tilting his head slightly. “I didn’t think it fair to approach you in such a way until we’d had a chance to…speak.”

“You and I have not seen each other for quite some time, either. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” She bowed, more as a joke rather than to mock him.

“I did not have time at the funeral, so I am making time now.” His eyes glanced over her as she decided how to react. She didn’t know if she was annoyed, upset, relieved, or what--but the happiness at seeing him again won out. She approached and hugged him.

“I was terrified you had died.” She admitted as she felt him hesitate. Meredith went to move away from him, but he pulled her in at the last moment, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Not a day went by that I didn’t think of you, and wish for your safety. I burned so many candles for your protection…”

“I know. I felt it.” His expression was unreadable, but his voice wavered just the slightest. His hold on her tightened.

“Why here, why now? Why after all this time?” She asked, looking up at him.

“I cannot tell you tonight. There is much work to be done.” He caressed her cheek. “The feelings I have for you have not diminished, Meredith.”

“Nor have the ones I hold for you. But ten years…doesn’t go away so easily.” He tilted her face up by the chin.

“It clearly can, if I have owned your heart for so long. You do not pull away from me, you do not banish me from your realm…” His lips brushed against hers. “You left the door open for me. Ten years can be mended, if you only let me.” It wasn’t much of a debate for her. She nodded.

“We can begin again, mo ghrá.” He smiled.

“My love.” He repeated. Her eyes fixed into his, her pulse quickening.

“You…you remembered.”

“It is not something I would easily forget.” She responded only by pressing her lips to his in a soft, almost tentative kiss. A welcome return, a reunion ten years in the making; marked by a growing fervor, a desire to not break the connection, to hold one another closer.

And to make up for lost time, in any way possible.

[wulfhalls]

So I don’t know about you but my final assessment of taboo was it could have been GREAT if they’d kept Zilpha and James in character through the end… let’s be real she was ready to murder her husband to be with him and after ten years of untreated schizophrenia he was still decidedly in love with her… him suddenly rejecting her and her suicide was so ??????

But sadly even in fiction that portrays incest they have to “punish” the characters by not really letting it work out in the end so we all know it’s Morally Wrong

My only regret is there aren’t enough fix it fics (and I only seek out fics relating to ships I really give a shit about… but there are too few for this one sadly 😕)

so so true like ur fuck ass show is even called taboo??? u couldn't have given me this one little incest win???? I'm going to kill myself. perfect show otherwise. tom hardy is there being intense and silent and INTENSE AGAIN prowling thru every scene ripping people's throats out with his teeth. trying to fuck his sister sooooooo bad until isn't. this show ended with ep 6. to me

[tickettride]

Oh I’m sure he will !!

TOM WHAT IS THIS ‼️‼️

TABOO????? 🙏🙏

[elliamarts]

Another tv show has swallowed my soul

[the-academic-actress]

Met the delightful @speakingskies today irl - she said it was lovely to meet someone else who's 'Hogg-headed' - I suggest we adopt that as our fandom name. Let's make it a hashtag. ;)

[lyralu91]

(Text taken from the exhibition "The Romantic eye", Stockholm Nationalmuseum September 26h 2024 - January 5th 2025)

— unknown

[lyralu91]

Writing smut = I NEED this man.

[aremindertoremember]

This is very simple James... there are no practical difficulties.

Apart from that great big river that connects us.

I'm planning to journey to heaven James.... Death is just the turning of a key in a lock.

If she were dead I would know it. I would hear her. And I would feel it. No... no.

If she was in the river, she would sing to me. And I would hear her.

[lyralu91]

Oh you fucking scream! Scream for James and until Tom hears you!

TOM WHAT IS THIS ‼️‼️

TABOO????? 🙏🙏

[elliamarts]

They’re here!! @lyralu91 Speedpaint underneath

[lyralu91]

Oneshot: James Delaney

hoodeddreams13 asked:

"Hi! I'm not sure if you're requests are still open for James, but I was wondering if I could request something based off the following:

"Did you care?" + "I wanted everything."

From the prompts list: dialogue prompts: three words by @/promptsbytaurie

No pressure and thank you 🖤 (it does not need to be a James × reader fic if you do write it)"

A caring confession

James admits he has feelings for a childhood friend. ❤️ (James Delaney x Fem OC) Warnings: none (just a bit of intimacy and light sexual tension). Dialogue prompts are highlighted in red. Word count: 1951.

“He’s been lying to me this whole time! I cannot believe it!”

She stormed past James, leaving him to hold the front door open with a stiff expression. He stood there, pipe in hand, blinking like he wasn’t particularly pleased to have a visitor.

Saying that, he wasn’t at all surprised to see her.

He closed the door with a grunt and moved his head, far too slow, to follow her march into the front room. 

“I just met Clara for a walk and she told me the most awful things about him! Things I refuse to believe! But then there’s this, she brought me this,” she said, half shrugging her coat off, half waving the morning paper at James as he came to stand in the doorway. “Written proof of his bloody lies! Right there for everyone to see.”

About time, James thought but waved it over with an uninterested noise, brows drawn together, puffing on his pipe. He had already guessed what she wished to show him: the announcement of a certain engagement. 

Angelica claimed the old armchair by the fire, sighing hard as she sat, then leaned down to undo her boots, only to stop midway to pull off her “bloody hat!”. Her chestnut curls were heavy and wild around her face, her cheeks all rosy from the bitter spring cold.

“I hate hats, I hate gloves, and I hate men,” she said, tugging her gloves off and slapping them on the dusty footstool like she’d given all men in London a collective slap across the face. The poor piece of furniture was then shoved aside, making room for Angelica to kick off her boots, only she pushed it dangerously close to the fire. 

“Careful…” James muttered with a cautioning glance from where he was pouring them both a brandy.

Angelica carried on like she couldn’t care less if she set the whole house on fire.

“Clara even said she had ‘had her suspicions’. Can you believe that? All winter she kept it from me. And now he’s off to marry some Louise or Louisa I haven’t even heard of! She should’ve just told me!”

She stood up and nearly knocked the glass from James’ hand as he stood there, calm as ever, offering her a drink.

“And would you have cared?” he asked, composed amusement coming through his deep voice.

“Of course I bloody would - it’s all I’ve cared about for months! - all I’ve been able to think about!”

James watched her drink, nodding like he knew that to be true, while his grunt seemed to say “but that wasn’t what I asked”, then moved to sit on the sofa. He lowered himself with a groan, slurped around the rim of his glass and kept his eyes on her. Leaning back lazily into the seat, he sought her gaze with his head tilted to the side, blinking deliberately as if ready to prove a point.

“And did you care for all the things I told you about this man? Hmm?”

Angelica scoffed from where she stood by the fire, back towards him, cradling her drink in both hands.

“I was there, if you care to remember,” James said, voice lowered in a story teller’s lilt, eyes lit by something wicked and patronising. “On that very night…”

Angelica rolled her eyes at the way he clearly intended to mock her first meeting with Mr Homburg, the handsome Swiss merchant she had fallen in love with.

“Watching you dance… Acting as if you were already - ”

“Yes, James, I remember very well how you stared and sulked and followed me around, behaving like a right -”

“ - yees, like someone who cared for you,” he rasped, like it had been the right thing to do and like he’d happily do it again. “Yes,” he nodded. “I cared. And I tried to tell you. I did.”

This was concluded with another nod and a hefty swig of brandy. It burned its way through his chest and he sucked air through his teeth, lulling his head towards the fire.

He sighed. He seemed tired, but there was something restless in the way he studied the flames, eyes twitching imperceptibly, as if touched by hidden frustration. 

For a while he stayed quiet, then said:

“But did you ever care to consider why I was there in the first place?”

Angelica frowned, confused and caught off guard by the question. She knew he hated those parties, of course she did. So what - did he want an apology? Was he trying to make her feel guilty for going? 

As if his question wasn’t actually meant to be answered, at least not yet, James continued.

“The things I told you that night, and the things I did, I did because I could not stand the thought of you getting hurt.”

This only deepened her frown and she glanced in his direction, increasingly uncomfortable, as his voice had gone darker and his gaze suddenly felt like a physical hold on her. Like hands on her waist.

Angelica took a steadying sip of brandy. Swallowed hard. 

His words almost sounded like a confession.

“Why care for anything that was said or done that night…” she said, quietly into the fire, as if the flames had brought her back to something forbidden or pleasant, or something questionable in between. Something confusing. “None of it matters now anyway.”

“But it does,” James said, sweeping his glass of brandy through the air for emphasis. “Because you’re here, yes? In my house. Caring for a man who does not love you.”

Angelica snorted, knocking back the last of her drink, screwing her eyes shut. It angered her to feel a tear tumble down her cheek. She brushed it off like nothing had happened, turned around to face James and spoke with fragile conviction. 

“And what do you know of love?”

She eyed him stiffly up and down, chin raised like a shield of spite, then stomped past him to pour herself another brandy.

James caught her wrist and snatched her down on his lap. He ignored her half-hearted thrashing and the snappy “let go of me!”, holding her in place as he calmly set his glass down next to him, on the sofa.

Sprawled beside him, almost mockingly, was the morning paper. He crumpled it slowly into a composed fist and raised it in front of Angelica’s face, narrowing his eyes like she better listen carefully. 

“I know that this… this isn’t love.”

He lowered the paper a little, searched her face for a reaction, then grunted a nod and let it fall to her lap. Angelica didn’t flinch and kept her eyes forward, too stubborn and too startled by the way he held her. 

“I also know,” James continued, speaking close to her shoulder, very aware of the rise and fall of her chest, “- that whatever that man did to you… or however he made you feel -” now he loosened the grip on her wrist, thumbing the soft skin over her vulnerable veins, “- was not out of love.”

She could have sworn he glanced at her lips then, and the part of her that felt trapped seconds ago, no longer wished to move away from him.

“Power - and lies…” James whispered theatrically, so raw and soft at the same time, like he was relieved but sorry to tell her the truth about dear Mr Homburg. “That’s all it was, Allie.”

He watched her swallow, chin still raised as she refused to look him in the eyes, but the skin around her collarbones flushed at the use of her childhood nickname.

James kindly lowered her wrist onto her lap and withdrew his hand to lean back into the sofa. With a grunt he clasped his hands high on his chest, as if making a point of keeping them away from her. His eyes however, were locked on her. Unblinking, unwavering. Knowing.

Angelica didn’t move from his lap. Maybe out of spite or stubbornness. Maybe for other reasons. 

The sputtering of the fire seemed louder, closer, as if the room had turned into a giant hearth, enveloping them in teasing, flickering heat. James found himself contemplating - no… admiring - her beautiful curls. They suddenly looked softer, heavier, there for him to touch, as they moved up and down with her chest. 

His eyes shot to her hands as she scratched the spot on her wrist where he had touched her. James inhaled slowly through his nose and Angelica opened her mouth to say something, and when she spoke, her words were as breathless as she looked. 

“Why were you there, James?”

“Hm?” he grunted, deeply absorbed by her fingers, stroking her wrist now rather than scratching.

“Why were you there in the first place? At the party?”

He scowled and made a noise that suggested he wasn’t in the mood to answer. It made her feel like he wanted, and waited, for her to figure it out on her own.

She glanced at him sideways, his gaze flicked up to meet hers, and her neck flared up again.

This time James couldn’t help himself.

Head tilted slightly to the side, he reached out to brush a thick lock over her shoulder, humming a noise of approval when she visibly shuddered at his touch. 

“I think you know…” he said, letting his hand ghost along the length of her hair, so very tempted to swirl a lock around his finger. 

“James, you -” that’s when his other hand came to rest on her thigh, his palm all warm and heavy.

She closed her eyes and another unexpected tear rolled down her cheek, brimming with anger and relief at the same time. His touch had made her clutch her knees, as if she didn’t know what to do with her hands or needed support to sit up straight. 

“You should’ve told me,” she breathed, cursing the way her dress felt restricting with each rise and fall of her chest.

“But I did,” he said candidly, his right hand coming to rest on her upper back, thumbing her shoulder blade as if reminding her of all the years he’d cared for her.

It was a calming gesture that did nothing to calm her, as their eyes met briefly and James began to sit up. Eyeing her chest and neck, he claimed her space, weaving his head like a patient, curious snake in no rush to proceed. 

“No,” she said, gripping her knees and looking ahead of her, refusing to acknowledge how close he was and how she wanted him even closer. “It’s not fair, I’ve… I never knew what you wanted. How you felt or -”

“Oh I wanted everything…” he murmured in a dark lilt and slid a soft palm up the back of her neck. “Mhm?” He looked up at her under raised eyebrows, forehead creased as if asking for permission to continue, or to tell her there was no going back after this confession. “With you.”

James thumbed the back of her neck, nodded and added: “I still do.”

Without startling her, he brushed the newspaper off her lap. There was nothing intimidating to the action, only conclusive, like it was no longer of any use and had been sitting there for far too long.

“Why don’t you, put that on the fire, then come back here, and sit with me.”

When Angelica didn’t answer, he pressed his palm against her lower back, urging her to stand up. To make a decision.

As if James had been waiting all this time to say it, he dipped his head towards her ear, so close she could feel his breath, and whispered:

“Go on now. Burn it.”

[lyralu91]

🫣😌