meridian_rose (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
meridian_rose) wrote2019-03-22 07:35 pm
meridian_rose) wrote2019-03-22 07:35 pm
Entry tags:
Will fic: The Only Sin is Ignorance
The Only Sin is Ignorance (1022 words) by meridian_rose
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Will (TV 2017)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: William Shakespeare, Christopher Marlowe
Additional Tags: First Meetings, Meet-Ugly, Community: allbingo, Playwriting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Series: Part 6 of Meet-Ugly allbingo fics
Summary: Modern AU. Playwright Will finds himself in an awkward position when he takes a misdelivered letter to his upstairs neighbour who's having a loud break-up with his boyfriend. Things soon take a turn for the better however.
For the![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
allbingo meet-ugly prompt "i'm breaking up with my girl/boyfriend when you come to drop off mail mistakenly delivered to you" although I switched it to Will's POV as the deliverer of the mail.
The title of the fic and Marlowe's play is taken from Marlowe's The Jew of Malta, "I count religion but a childish toy, and hold there is no sin but ignorance."
At AO3 and below the cut.
Will considered his actions once more as he climbed the stairs. He recognised the return address on the envelope that had mistakenly been pushed through his letterbox and felt a pang of jealousy that maybe his neighbour, Mr Christopher Marlowe, had succeeded where he had not. For a moment or two he'd thought about throwing the envelope away but that would be wrong and a cruel thing to do.
Besides, maybe this was a rejection letter for Marlowe too.
Until the misdelivered letter from the local theatre had arrived, Will had no idea another writer lived upstairs. He'd got his rejection letter from them yesterday, thanking him for submitting his play but informing him that his entry would not be shortlisted for this year's highly competitive programme of original work.
Will walked along the corridor, hearing shouting as he approached Marlowe's flat.
"I'm a degenerate? Well what does that make you?" a man yelled. "You willingly screwed me over and over, including last night!"
"It's not the sex," a second man protested. Will spotted him first, average height with dark hair, standing in the corridor. "It's this stuff you write! It's all so dark! Can't you write something less...less godless?"
Now Will saw the first speaker. Since he was inside the flat, poised at the doorway like a bouncer at a nightclub, and that he was being accused of writing godless material, Will guessed that was Marlowe. He was tall and lithe, pale with long unkempt hair and eyes that could see that into your soul. A shiver ran through Will and he paused, unsure if he dared interrupt.
"Godless?" Marlowe repeated as if he'd never the word and was trying it out. "Godless? Did you really just try and object to my work on religious grounds, Brad?"
Brad floundered before he squared his shoulders. "It's one thing to write about religion, but your work is blasphemy."
"Oh. My. Fucking. God! Get out, Brad. Run from my heathen ass," Marlowe said, spreading his arms dramatically as if he were an actor rather than a writer. "Throw yourself at the feet of whatever priest won't condemn you for sodomy, and beg them to pray for my wretched soul. When I explore religion it is from the very depths of my understanding, without false piety or fear of offence. Any religion that cannot bear examination nor tolerate criticism is pure tyranny!"
"Fuck you!" Brad yelled in response and stormed off, pushing past Will as if he wasn't there.
Marlowe peered after him, caught sight of Will. "Enjoying the show?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Um, no, I, er..." Will took a few steps forward, holding out the envelope like a white flag. "This got put through my letterbox."
Marlowe took the envelope, eyes lighting up. "Finally. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," Will said. "You don't know if it's a rejection or notification you're on the shortlist."
Marlowe tipped his head. "What do you know about it?"
"I entered a submission too but I got rejected." Will gave a wan smile. "Maybe you'll have better luck."
Marlowe tore open the envelope and slid out the paper. Will hovered impatiently, unwilling to leave without knowing what was inside.
"We are pleased to confirm that your entry, There Is No Sin But Ignorance, has been shortlisted," Marlowe murmured. He scanned the rest of the letter, raising an eyebrow then glanced over at Will with a grin. "What was your name?"
"Will."
"Come in Will, and celebrate with me," Marlowe said.
Will hesitated.
"Please, fellow playwright," Marlowe said, gesturing as he moved inside. "And do excuse the mess."
Will took a deep breath and entered the flat. It wasn't nearly as untidy as Marlowe's appearance and words had led him to expect.
"I don't have champagne," Marlowe muttered. "Is beer fine for now?"
Will did not mention the time of day. "Sure."
Soon they were both sat on the leather armchairs in Marlowe's living room, sipping bottled beer.
"Congratulations," Will said, clinking his bottle against Marlowe's.
"Thank you. And commiserations for your own play." Marlowe took a gulp of beer. "And I apologise for the scene you witnessed this morning."
"Oh, don't worry about it. I've seen worse break-ups." A hazard of hanging around creative types where passions ran deep and emotions were often given free rein.
"Hmm." Marlowe studied Will intently, making him shift uncomfortably in his chair. "I'd like to propose something."
Will felt the blood drain from his face, not least because it was headed lower in his anatomy. "Yes?"
"I'd like to show you my play. There's some constructive criticism in the letter with the offer that I can make amendments and resubmit before the final judging of the shortlist begins. You're a writer and I'd appreciate your input."
Will was both flattered and confused. "But I failed!"
Marlowe waved one hand dismissively. "I've been submitting to the group for years. I've gained insight into the kind of material they view more favourably. The rejection of your work is not necessarily because it isn't good, but because it doesn't fit their vision. There's a difference. In return for your help I'd like to look at your play and see if we can't improve on it and find another place to submit it."
"You'd help me?" Will swigged at his beer. "Why?"
"Writers should help each other," Marlowe said. "I write, as Brad put it, dark godless blasphemy, and there's a place for that. But there's room for all kinds of work. We don't have to be competitors but co-creators in a world that needs art to explore and understand itself and to grow and change."
Will considered this. "My work might be terrible."
Marlowe laughed. "You don't think that or you'd never have submitted it. I promise you this, Will. I shall be honest in my criticism. I only ask the same of you."
They'd be spending more time together and right now that seemed almost as important as improving his writing. Will put down his beer and leaned over, hand outstretched.
"Deal," he said and Marlowe smiled and shook his hand.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Will (TV 2017)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: William Shakespeare, Christopher Marlowe
Additional Tags: First Meetings, Meet-Ugly, Community: allbingo, Playwriting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Series: Part 6 of Meet-Ugly allbingo fics
Summary: Modern AU. Playwright Will finds himself in an awkward position when he takes a misdelivered letter to his upstairs neighbour who's having a loud break-up with his boyfriend. Things soon take a turn for the better however.
For the
allbingo meet-ugly prompt "i'm breaking up with my girl/boyfriend when you come to drop off mail mistakenly delivered to you" although I switched it to Will's POV as the deliverer of the mail.The title of the fic and Marlowe's play is taken from Marlowe's The Jew of Malta, "I count religion but a childish toy, and hold there is no sin but ignorance."
At AO3 and below the cut.
Will considered his actions once more as he climbed the stairs. He recognised the return address on the envelope that had mistakenly been pushed through his letterbox and felt a pang of jealousy that maybe his neighbour, Mr Christopher Marlowe, had succeeded where he had not. For a moment or two he'd thought about throwing the envelope away but that would be wrong and a cruel thing to do.
Besides, maybe this was a rejection letter for Marlowe too.
Until the misdelivered letter from the local theatre had arrived, Will had no idea another writer lived upstairs. He'd got his rejection letter from them yesterday, thanking him for submitting his play but informing him that his entry would not be shortlisted for this year's highly competitive programme of original work.
Will walked along the corridor, hearing shouting as he approached Marlowe's flat.
"I'm a degenerate? Well what does that make you?" a man yelled. "You willingly screwed me over and over, including last night!"
"It's not the sex," a second man protested. Will spotted him first, average height with dark hair, standing in the corridor. "It's this stuff you write! It's all so dark! Can't you write something less...less godless?"
Now Will saw the first speaker. Since he was inside the flat, poised at the doorway like a bouncer at a nightclub, and that he was being accused of writing godless material, Will guessed that was Marlowe. He was tall and lithe, pale with long unkempt hair and eyes that could see that into your soul. A shiver ran through Will and he paused, unsure if he dared interrupt.
"Godless?" Marlowe repeated as if he'd never the word and was trying it out. "Godless? Did you really just try and object to my work on religious grounds, Brad?"
Brad floundered before he squared his shoulders. "It's one thing to write about religion, but your work is blasphemy."
"Oh. My. Fucking. God! Get out, Brad. Run from my heathen ass," Marlowe said, spreading his arms dramatically as if he were an actor rather than a writer. "Throw yourself at the feet of whatever priest won't condemn you for sodomy, and beg them to pray for my wretched soul. When I explore religion it is from the very depths of my understanding, without false piety or fear of offence. Any religion that cannot bear examination nor tolerate criticism is pure tyranny!"
"Fuck you!" Brad yelled in response and stormed off, pushing past Will as if he wasn't there.
Marlowe peered after him, caught sight of Will. "Enjoying the show?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Um, no, I, er..." Will took a few steps forward, holding out the envelope like a white flag. "This got put through my letterbox."
Marlowe took the envelope, eyes lighting up. "Finally. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," Will said. "You don't know if it's a rejection or notification you're on the shortlist."
Marlowe tipped his head. "What do you know about it?"
"I entered a submission too but I got rejected." Will gave a wan smile. "Maybe you'll have better luck."
Marlowe tore open the envelope and slid out the paper. Will hovered impatiently, unwilling to leave without knowing what was inside.
"We are pleased to confirm that your entry, There Is No Sin But Ignorance, has been shortlisted," Marlowe murmured. He scanned the rest of the letter, raising an eyebrow then glanced over at Will with a grin. "What was your name?"
"Will."
"Come in Will, and celebrate with me," Marlowe said.
Will hesitated.
"Please, fellow playwright," Marlowe said, gesturing as he moved inside. "And do excuse the mess."
Will took a deep breath and entered the flat. It wasn't nearly as untidy as Marlowe's appearance and words had led him to expect.
"I don't have champagne," Marlowe muttered. "Is beer fine for now?"
Will did not mention the time of day. "Sure."
Soon they were both sat on the leather armchairs in Marlowe's living room, sipping bottled beer.
"Congratulations," Will said, clinking his bottle against Marlowe's.
"Thank you. And commiserations for your own play." Marlowe took a gulp of beer. "And I apologise for the scene you witnessed this morning."
"Oh, don't worry about it. I've seen worse break-ups." A hazard of hanging around creative types where passions ran deep and emotions were often given free rein.
"Hmm." Marlowe studied Will intently, making him shift uncomfortably in his chair. "I'd like to propose something."
Will felt the blood drain from his face, not least because it was headed lower in his anatomy. "Yes?"
"I'd like to show you my play. There's some constructive criticism in the letter with the offer that I can make amendments and resubmit before the final judging of the shortlist begins. You're a writer and I'd appreciate your input."
Will was both flattered and confused. "But I failed!"
Marlowe waved one hand dismissively. "I've been submitting to the group for years. I've gained insight into the kind of material they view more favourably. The rejection of your work is not necessarily because it isn't good, but because it doesn't fit their vision. There's a difference. In return for your help I'd like to look at your play and see if we can't improve on it and find another place to submit it."
"You'd help me?" Will swigged at his beer. "Why?"
"Writers should help each other," Marlowe said. "I write, as Brad put it, dark godless blasphemy, and there's a place for that. But there's room for all kinds of work. We don't have to be competitors but co-creators in a world that needs art to explore and understand itself and to grow and change."
Will considered this. "My work might be terrible."
Marlowe laughed. "You don't think that or you'd never have submitted it. I promise you this, Will. I shall be honest in my criticism. I only ask the same of you."
They'd be spending more time together and right now that seemed almost as important as improving his writing. Will put down his beer and leaned over, hand outstretched.
"Deal," he said and Marlowe smiled and shook his hand.