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ravena-wrote · 1 year

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what a shame

Pairing: Regulus Black x James Potter Rating: Mature Length: 2.4K words This is a songfic inspired by the song what a shame by Lizzy McAlpine :) Read on AO3

All Regulus can focus on is James’s bowed head, dark bar falling into his eyes, chest pressed against the bar in front of him. The soft slope of his nose and the gentle curve of his jaw. He licks his lips and Regulus tastes honey in the back of his throat.

His breath is frozen in his chest. He can’t remember how many times he’s hoped for this. Longed for James to come back to him, even as a shadow, even as a dream.

James pulls his beer closer to him. Regulus watches as his lips part gently over the top of the bottle and he tips his head back closing his eyes tight.

It’s a sucker punch to the stomach. James. Here. Because Regulus knows that James could have loved him if he let himself. If he could just get past his mistakes, if he could just get past —

“Excuse me,” Someone grunts behind him and Regulus spins on them in an instant, hand reaching frantically for his wand.

“Sorry lad, you’re in the doorway,” The man says gently brushing past him into the bar.

Regulus feels a lump bloom in his throat. This is what the war has made him into. He is a weapon and he is so so tired. He wants someone to tell him what to do. To tell him how to stop the fighting and the deaths and the never ending blood pooling in his palms.

James leans forward in his seat. Regulus watches the muscles in his shoulders clench and release under the thin fabric of his dark blue shirt.

He can’t decide if he should stay or if he should go. His hands start to sweat. It’s hard to breathe against the iron pressure of his ribs.

He should go.

But then James turns his head and Regulus’s heart jolts in his chest like he’s just been electrocuted.

“Regulus,” James says quietly. His voice comes out cracked and an octave too deep. He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing gently under the fragile skin of his neck. His eyes dart around frantically, looking anywhere but Regulus’s face.

“James,” Regulus breathes back. He doesn’t believe in god but the name feels like a prayer on his lips.

James doesn’t respond. He sits now with his back pressed to the bar, his eyes burn gold as they catch in the light.

“James,” Regulus repeats, a little louder this time, “What —“ He pauses, taking a step forward, “Are you okay?”

James still doesn’t respond. He bows his shoulders, sinking into himself like he wishes he could disappear. He raises the beer for another sip and it shakes in his hand. Still his eyes don’t leave Regulus’s body.

So Regulus moves forward again. This time he doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of James.

James stares at him for a moment, frozen in position like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, bracing for an inevitable crash, before shakily leaning back against the wooden bar and glancing up to meet Regulus’s eyes with his own.

Regulus can’t look away from him. James is watching him searchingly, wonder in his warm eyes, beautiful, even red rimmed and desperate.

Regulus wants to take him home. He wants to grab Jame’s face and press their lips together so gently that James will forget his own name, will forget the war, will forget every time he’s pulled his hand away from Regulus’s empty palm.

He wants to take him to bed. He wants James so bad he bites down on his tongue until he tastes metal. He wants to crawl inside his body and pry his way under his ribcage, fingers cradling his heart. He wants to hear it beat against him forever. Safe.

Regulus wants to touch him so bad his hands shake.

Instead he shifts slightly to the left and slides onto the barstool beside James and shoves his hands deep into his pockets to stop himself from doing something he might regret.

He orders his drink on autopilot. Every atom in his body is focused on the man beside him. He hadn’t noticed before but James still smells the same, like cedar and smoke and too many memories.

“Regulus,” This time James says his name sweeter, warmer, like something Regulus wants to take a bite out of, “It’s really you.”

“It is,” Regulus says softly, taking a large sip from his glass. Whisky burns warm down his throat.

“Are you okay?” He repeats his question.

James shakes his head and swallows hard looking down at his palms. He squeezes his eyes shut and when he opens again there are tears clinging to his lashes.

“Fuck,” He exhales roughly. Regulus tracks the movement of his hand as it reaches up to wipe them away.

“Is there anything I can do?” Regulus asks not quite gently but something close. Gentle-adjacent which Regulus hopes James will understand to mean that he can see him struggling but can tell it might hurt even more to talk about it.

When James stays quiet Regulus reaches out rubbing a hand in soft circles over his back.

“I’m here,” He says carefully. Two words, a million mirrors of their past. All the times he found James crouched in dark corridors, tears wet on his face, “At least for now.”

And then suddenly in the next breath, James is sobbing. Great, heaving sobs that wrack his entire body. The scary part is they're nearly silent. All Regulus can hear is his ragged breath, against the distant murmur of the pub around them.

“It’s okay,” Regulus says softly, “This is okay.”

And James leans into him, turns his face to the exposed skin of Regulus’s neck and gives in to his tears.

Regulus can’t take his mind off of him. He focuses on the contour of his body, the press of his elbow and his hip. The softness of his shoulders. The dip of his waist. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. James here, touching him, one last time.

“I can’t do it,” James murmurs against his skin. The brush of his lips feels electric.

“What can’t you do?” Regulus whispers into his soft curls.

“Any of it,” James’s voice cracks, “It’s too hard and everyone is dying and when I look around I can’t see anything but blood.”

His words cut straight to Regulus’s core. He holds James close, rocking him slowly.

“I can’t stop it,” James says breath hitching when he tries to get words out, “I can’t – I’m not good –”

“Being good isn’t easy, you know,” Regulus says delicately, “That’s not what good is.”

He thinks about the locket, about the cave waiting for him. An ache builds in the back of his throat

“It just doesn’t feel right,” James pulls away a bit looking up at him. His lip trembles and Regulus watches as he blinks new, hot tears, “This isn’t how it was supposed to be.”

“Yeah,” Regulus admits, voice heavy.

They sit in silence. Regulus feels James' body heat against him down to his bone marrow. He lets out a hot sigh against his neck and it gives Regulus goosebumps. He stares at the floor and tries desperately to reel back the roiling ache that has begun to crest in his chest.

“I–” He starts, coughing to cover the crack in his voice, “I shouldn’t tell you this.”

“What?” James asks, voice all sorrow and depth, so much so that it sends a spark right through Regulus’s core.

“I’m going to do something,” Regulus pauses, trying to focus over the rabid beat of his heart, “To fix this. To change the war.”

James looks up at him, his eyes wide and frantic. Regulus’s throat feels like it might close up. He takes a deep breath trying to focus on the way his ribcage expands against James’s body.

“I can’t say any more,” Regulus tells him, “I just wanted –”

But James doesn’t let him finish. Instead he wraps a warm palm around the back of Regulus’s neck and pulls him down.

It happens because it has to. At least, that's the way it feels – like when Regulus walked into the pub tonight he’d started something inevitable, something so powerful there’s no point in fighting it. When James kisses him Regulus’s lips are already parted.

They kiss soft and gentle. As if they have all the time in the world. All open mouths and tongues sliding together, the bitter taste of whiskey and Regulus sliding his eyes shut as James’s fingers stretch up tugging at his curls.

James pulls away first.

Regulus tracks his gaze over his face, pupils blown sky-wide, lips parted. There’s something in James’s brown eyes that sticks somewhere deep inside of him.

Without speaking James reaches out and grasps Regulus’s hand in his. Before Regulus can sort through his racing thoughts James is pulling him up, tugging him out the back door of the pub, into the alleyway.

James just kissed him, he thinks numbly, stumbling on the cobblestones. James just kissed him.

Suddenly James stops walking and Regulus bumps into him. James turns to face him and then they’re standing only a few inches apart. Regulus watches as James’s chest heaves, as he sucks the cold air through his full lips.

They don’t talk. Instead, their bodies move in again, like they’re pulled by magnets. Regulus keeps his eyes open this time, watches the reflection of the lamplight in James' dark irises.

He has tears in his eyes, Regulus thinks. He has lighting in his palms.

This time when James kisses him it feels like they’re on the edge of a cliff, with a strong wind blowing, each gust pushing them closer to the edge.

Regulus lets James push his hands up and under his coat, against his back. His fingers are cold and he gasps as they dip once, twice below the band of his pants, sending sparks through his body. James shifts, pulling Regulus forward until he’s leaning back against the brick wall with Regulus flush against him, until Regulus has one thigh between James’ legs.

James moans softly as he presses closer so Regulus kisses down his throat sucking hard below his jaw. James’ fingers tighten in his hair and his other hand comes to Regulus's neck. His thumb brushing over Regulus’s collarbones, over his windpipe. Regulus groans, pressing in harder, his mind a scrambled pool of half formed thoughts. He wants everything james will give him, he wants, he want, he wants –

Before he knows it he’s on his knees. The cobblestone presses sharp into his kneecaps hard enough to leave bruises

“Look at me,” James’ voice is low, a strain on his words. He tangles his hands through Regulus’s curls and tugs his head back sharply.

Regulus lets out a gasp as James towers over him. The sight of him is fathomless, all consuming. He tracks his eyes over James’ flushed cheeks and dark eyes and he can’t wait to make him fall apart.

Regulus moves his hands forward cupping James hips. A breath punches out of James’ chest in a ragged gasp and he presses forward letting Regulus’ lips ghost over the rough fabric of his pants. Swiftly Reaches up, fumbling for a second with the clasp of James’ muggle jeans.

Regulus can’t think, he’s lost in James’ smell, in the taste of his lips, in the sharp edges of his fingertips as they dig into his scalp. Finally Regulus gets the clasp open and pulls the fabric away to press a kiss to James’s delicate tan skin.

He’s licking a strip across James’s abdomen when he pushes him away.

He’s breathing like he’s run a mile. His hair curling over his forehead and Regulus feels his body twitch with the urge to get up and brush it back out of his face. James stares at him and Regulus feels shaky, sick to his stomach, uncertain in a way he hasn’t felt since he first walked in and saw James sitting at the bar.

“Fuck,” James says roughly, hitting the wall behind him with his fist.

Regulus wants to say something. He wants to tell him – what? To come back? That he won’t tell anyone? It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters because he’s on his knees in an alleyway and James Potter is pushing him away.

James looks at the ground, his hands loose at his sides, his jaw tight.

Right, Regulus has the sudden urge to laugh hysterically. How could he have thought this would end any other way? This is how it goes. This is how it has always been. He pushes himself to his feet and they stand across from each other in silence.

“I��m sorry,” James’ voice shakes, “Fuck, Reggie. I’m so so sorry.”

Regulus takes one deep breath, then another. He swallows the lump in his throat.

“I –,” James breaks off, a tear spills from his eyes and tracks down his cheek, “I want this, I want you. But I can’t –” his voice breaks, “I can’t do this. It’s too late. It’s too late and I wish it wasn’t.”

“It’s okay,” Regulus says, and he hates himself. Hates himself for letting this happen. Hates himself for telling James Potter that it’s okay that he’s breaking his heart.

“It’s not,” James says, “It’s not, and you don’t deserve this. I’m no good Reggie. I can’t do anything right –” He sags back against the brick wall as he dissolves into tears.

“I get it,” Regulus steps back. His whole body feels numb.

“You don’t,” James’s voice is wrecked, husky with sorrow at every syllable, “Regulus, Lily’s pregnant,” He pauses, wiping tears from his cheek, “It’s mine.”

Regulus flinches back, his eyes blown wide, he doesn’t bother to conceal the shock on his face.

“What the fuck James. That would have been a good thing to know half an hour ago,” He spits, his stomach a writhing pit of anger and sorrow. “Are you with her?”

“I don’t know,” James murmurs, not making eye contact, “It’s complicated.” His voice is faint, small in a way that Regulus has never heard before.

“James. Fuck. You never should have touched me.” Regulus is seconds away from breaking down; he can feel the tears build behind his eyes.

“I know,” James’ tone is pleading now, “I’m sorry Reggie. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

Regulus doesn’t know what to say. He watches in silence as James pushes himself up off the wall.

“I’m sorry,” James repeats brokenly, “I’ll go.”

Regulus almost stops him. Almost.

Instead, he watches James walk slowly down the alley, his shoulders hunched, his silhouette fragile against the bright street lamps.

All the almost’s they’ve ever had shimmer in the air between them.

Regulus wants to remember, wants to forget all at the same time.

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profbruce · 2 years

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Path to creating affordable housing is out there but only possible if cities and towns make it so

Are you familiar with the BBC series From Lark Rise to Candleford? It’s about life in two neighboring places in the late 19th century—one a poor rural village called Lark Rise where life is a struggle, and tother being a more prosperous town called Candleford.

They are 8-miles apart with a muddy track the only “road” to get to Lark Rise. The reason I ask, other than the fact that my wife and I enjoy the series (we detest modern Hollywood storytelling with guns, drugs, car chases, murders, superheroes, bombs and so forth), is I took this picture on the weekend from our home theater screen of Lark Rise—

I realized with a start that such an affordable village could never be built today with all the modern zoning, official plan and site plan rules that are in place. #WhatAShame

So, this got me to thinking—maybe the city I live in (or for that matter any town) should, instead of trying to reform their rules, which seems impossible to do without fomenting a (non-violent) revolution and overthrowing the current powers-that-be/turfing out the entire civil service and the consulting industry that has grown around it to support such a perverted process and land use system, take on the responsibility to do all the required studies and the humongous costs associated with them so we can get back to creating a) livable places and b) affordable homes.

Given the enormous cost of (for example) complying with site plan requirements (estimated by me and my planner at $121,000+) so my family can build a $135,000, 542 sq ft bunkie next to our barndominium workshop for one of our daughters to live in, there is NO POSSIBILITY of doing such a project unless you are a dumb rich dude with money to burn. But if you have to spend $121,000 on a site plan application and studies, you might as well build a 8,000 sq ft McMansion instead, right? So much for affordable housing.

What I am thinking of is this: A city or town creates facilitator positions and office... facilitators are tasked with guiding important projects through city and state or province requirements, whether it is a mega project like a 1 million sq ft fulfillment center or a tiny bunkie like we want to construct. In the former case, speed matters most. In the latter circumstance, cost matters more so facilitators would have a budget for studies/consultants etc.

There would be a process to apply to a facilitator office for acceptance to their program.

In addition, there would be a “parallel” process—every time an Official Plan or Master Plan review is conducted by a city or town, landowners could also apply to have their properties reviewed and rezoned at city or town cost.

This actually happened a few weeks ago—a client of mine is buying a 20+ acre site in a small town zoned CH, highway commercial. It allows mini warehousing (mini storage) but incongruously does not permit larger warehousing. My client has a lead on a use—for a large scale warehouse use—which is currently not permitted.

However, the local planner (at her initiative!) offered to include a request from my client to amend their Official Plan during their ongoing review at no cost to my client! So, it does happen (occasionally).

If we don’t find a way to make cities and towns more adaptable, especially in a pandemic or post-pandemic society and now a world at war too where everything is changing around us at lightspeed and, for example, where lots of young people (and not so young) want a simpler life—smaller places, more affordable homes, a live-work condition, we will end up with a horrible result—more homelessness, more people working themselves to death trying to put a roof over their heads and bread on their tables. What do you think?

Prof Bruce

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Bruce M Firestone, B Eng (civil), M Eng-Sci, PhD

Real Estate Investment and Business coach

Ottawa Senators founder

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[email protected]

brucemfirestone.com

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#affordable housing #architecture #urban planning

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