Damianya one shots ❤️

The hoodie that blinded Verona (quite literally) ⭐️

INT. DRAMA ROOM – TUESDAY MORNING.

There's a weird tension in the air. Like the room itself knows something is coming.

Daisy's scrolling through memes of disgruntled Shakespeare. Anya is re-folding her annotated script into an origami dagger. Damian is staring into a cold cup of tea like it personally betrayed him.

"Master Henderson said they'd arrive today," says Daisy, trying to keep the peace. "We should be nice."

"Nice? I mean at least Emile and Ewen brought snacks. What do they bring?" Anya said, disappointed.

As if summoned by dramatic irony—

💥 THE DOORS BURST OPEN.

Enter LOUIS.

He does not walk. He arrives. With the force of a diva exiled from Broadway, reborn in rhinestones and overconfidence.

- Hoodie: bedazzled, and proudly spelling "NO. 1 DIRECTOR."

- Sunglasses: indoors. Naturally.

- Entrance music: coming from a Bluetooth speaker in his pocket.

- Face: dead serious.

- Vibe: if Baz Luhrmann and a glitter cannon had a child.

He raises his clipboard high above his head.

"Behold," Louis says, "the revolution hath arrived!"

Behind him, Henry glides in wearing a floor-length scarf, a trench coat, and an unreadable expression. Possibly brooding. Possibly confused. Possibly both.

James follows, drinking from a massive blue bottle and wearing a T-shirt that says "I've had better lines" He offers a single, solemn wave to no one in particular.

The original cast stares.

"That's... Louis?" Daisy whispers.

"No. That's a cult leader who wandered into a production of Grease," Anya says.

Louis surveys the group like a general about to declare war on mediocrity.

"You may address me as Louis," he says, "or simply... Director."

"Can we go back to addressing you as 'not here'?" Alice mutters.

"I have notes," Louis announces, flipping open his glittered clipboard. "On all of you. Even though we haven't met. I watched rehearsal footage. Twice. With commentary."

"What commentary?" Damian asks flatly.

"My own," Louis replies.

Henry begins lighting incense from his coat pocket. Where it came from? Mystery.
Why? Vibes.

James turns to the group and stage-whispers:

"I'm just here for Drama credit. And snacks. Please don't judge me."

Louis claps once. It echoes, even though it shouldn't.

"Let's begin," he proclaims. "Today, we rehearse as if the ghost of Shakespeare himself were in the back row, texting God, saying 'you gotta see this.'"

Anya narrows her eyes. "Is this guy for real?"

"I am theatre." Louis replies.

And with a final swish of his bedazzled hoodie, he turns toward the front of the room, arms outstretched like he's about to conduct an orchestra made entirely of chaos and eyeliner.

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Vision, Vibes, and Vaguely Threatening Motivational Quotes