Deny's Portfolio

Hi, welcome to my portfolio page!
From tense psychological drama and romantic comedy to world-building and branch-based narratives, I can adapt and design stories for any project's needs.
If you are looking for a flexible writer or narrative designer for your project, feel free to reach out!

• Discord

zdvnxy

A small excerpt from a fandom-based character drama project

Something that nobody ever warned Valerie about living in a castle is how easy it is to get lost wandering around on a sleepless night, which makes it all the more incredible to her that she has managed to run into someone else still.
«…Hi.»
The hesitant regard confirms that it is not the ghost of Diana standing in front of her, but the young woman herself.
«It is quite the hour,» she speaks back, courtesy demanding a reply; although she is not sure who would even be there to check on her manners inside that barely lit library in the dead of night.
«You are awake as well,» a statement that sits uncomfortably on that blurred line between restrained acknowledgment and lighthearted counter; the same blurred line their conversations have been threading for nearly two years now, at least when they aren’t being drowned out by that awfully noisy silence that has started to characterise them.
«Why are you here?» Valerie asks, forcing neutrality into her tone, «I don’t think I’ve ever seen you willingly step foot into the library.»
Diana forces her lips to remain pressed into a straight line, using them only to deftly circle the question as she does the table, her hand swiftly slamming close the book sitting on it in the process.
«Is it not unbefitting for the queen to be wandering around the castle by herself at this time of day?»
There is no obvious display of malice in Diana's question beyond the usual bite, but it still lands as a blow that Valerie is more than quick to reciprocate.
«You are one to talk about unbefitting.»The exchange does not progress any further, for it already has in the past — countless times, — and neither of them is eager to live through a memory yet another time, not at such an hour of the night; clinging to shadows feels much easier.
Valerie raises her hand enough for the torch in it to light up the surrounding bookshelves — and to accidentally catch a glimpse of the reading Diana had so carefully hidden from her; a stolen glance at the cover is enough for her to immediately recognise “The History of the Five Realms”. Her eyes skim over it quickly enough not to cause a visible reaction out of either of them.
She redirects her focus to the numerous titles stacked next to one another instead, worn out pages left to yellow along with the centuries worth of knowledge imprinted on them.«What are you searching for?»Diana's voice breaks the silence with that spark of intrusiveness that would always light up her tone, yet now tainted by a note of disappointment for having spoken up in the first place.
Valerie's hand hovers over the books — a book — just as her mouth hangs slightly open, until she deems it wiser to just say «Nothing» and rest her empty hand at her side.
«Right,» the other pouts knowingly, swaying slightly in an attempt at containing annoyance, boredom, or the ever-tempting urge to finally call out the masks they have been interacting through for years, the darkness of the night now making them indiscernible enough to ignore — if one is willing to.«So, is it often that you come here in the middle of the night out of a whim?» Diana presses on, causing a rather harshly-spoken response to immediately follow.
«I could not fall asleep.»
She nods, realising this is about as satisfying an answer as she will ever be granted, while Valerie shortly sighs, wondering what is making Diana feel so entitled to an interrogation when she herself should be anywhere but there.Neither of the girls utters a word for a while, both too busy pretending to have come here for absolutely no reason other than fortitude leading their steps. But the silence soon becomes too heavy to bear when filled with years of unsaid.
«You have not answered my question yet,» Valerie insists, with a demand in her tone that does not quite complement the hesitation she had to overcome to even speak up in the first place. «What are you doing here?»
«I wanted to read.»
The blonde casually leans back against the table, while the other almost takes a frantic step forward. Almost.
«Do not lie to me, Diana,» she reprimands, in a way she had not let herself afford in a long time. «Do you really think this is the suitable time for one of your reckless stunts?»
«Oh,» the other lets out, gravely, «I had not figured nighttime reading could pose such a threat to the stability of the Realm.»
The sarcasm is enough to make Valerie finally close some of the distance between them, her hands — that she had been fidgeting with up until now — jerking at her sides.
«Is all of this a mere joke to you?» The disdain painted on her face is not spared in her tone, either. «Do you think–»
«I do not think anything, Valerie,» she cuts her off with a newly-gained seriousness in her voice. «I did tell you, I have come to read.»
No sharp reply comes for once, if only because Valerie realises she can only doubt Diana so much before painting herself as a genuine paranoiac.
Nonetheless, suspicion is clear in the eyes, even as she forces it down the throat; and that is the one part Diana cannot stop mentally noting, no matter how long it has been since the first time she noticed it: that even if the mask were to fall, that mistrust would still be there every time they locked eyes.
And while these considerations are quietly being made, Valerie wonders if it’s the quivering light of the torch that made Diana's features soften for a second.«Alright then.»
Diana seems to be snapped back to reality by the sudden exclamation; but in truth, Valerie herself has to clear her voice before speaking further: «What exactly were you reading?»
It takes a while for the right words to be found: to start running in circles again.
«I figured I should prepare for when my time comes.»
And then, quieter, «As heir.»The word is enough to make Valerie pause.
The subtle shift in her posture does not go unnoticed, a regaining of composure that reads more as barely contained discomfort.
«I thought you had already been taught beyond necessity a long way back.»
Her hands are now joined together again, but Diana's eyes do not so much as glance at them before answering «Indeed» with a slight nod of the head. «However, a severe underestimation might have taken place of just how much anticipation can tamper with one’s memory.»
And with that she makes her lips melt into a more natural, carefully relaxed line. When she catches the mirror of her own expression onto Valerie's face, all she can do is lower her head for a moment, as if trying to physically flick it away from her features.
Whether ‘it’ be the smile or that underlying, everpresent tension, she is not sure either.
It lasts though, surely far longer than Diana wishes for; whereas Valerie quickly stops putting effort into hiding a frown.«Why now?»The question makes their eyes meet again. It is now Diana's turn to notice how different the other looks under barely lit lights, where most is left for imagination to fill: deep-set eyebags disguising themselves among the shadows on her face, the green of her night robe deceitfully fading into black.
For a moment, it is like looking at a stranger; a stranger that somehow feels closer to how she remembers her friend looking than the familiar face she has been seeing every day for the past two years.
Must be the light.

A small excerpt from a fandom-based dramatic action project

Each snowball thrown is a chuckle escaping his mouth. He cannot remember the last time he laughed so much, either. And Vance is there, too, unlike the other times.
He is there, playing with him; although his expression doesn’t betray half the joy; but to be fair, Vance has always been more on the annoyingly competitive side.
He cannot seem to stop shouting at him throughout their battle. Ian would usually find it rather annoying; but today it is too beautiful of a day to be bothered.The infinite loop of crouching, shaping, throwing goes on and on and on, the air filled with nothing but the soft thud of the snow hitting their clothes. That, and Vance's screams.Ian crouches down yet another time, but his hand retreats at the contact with snow.
«My hands are getting cold...» He murmurs, frowning a bit. But he cannot just stop now, can he? Vance is getting back on his feet again. He should be of as much worth.
And so he fights it: the freezing of his hands, the soreness of his limbs, the ragged breath, and the gut feeling that something is extremely wrong. The snow is turning too cold, too quickly.
A series of snowballs hits him, giving him no time to counter. He barely feels any of them though; except for the first one, which lets a pained grunt out of him. He is too shaken by that single expression of discomfort to even feel the pain of the following blows.
His hands shoot up to cover his face. Behind the protection of his own body, he forces himself calm again.
«Ahah, great shots!» He shouts; but the laugh is a bit strained, and he does not know why. And so he just crouches; he crouches down, again, reaches for the snow again. It’s chilling.
He does not drop it.
«Okay, take this–» He begins, but it’s cold, too cold.
His hand freezes in place.«How come you’re crying…?»Vance's tear-strained face stares right back at him.Ian's ungloved hand suddenly drops open, letting the snowball escape his grip; letting Vance deal his final blow.
He drops his own body onto the whitened ground, and for some reason — something much different than pride — he prays Vance will notice. That he did not beat him. That he surrendered himself.
It is getting too cold, and Ian is once again not sure why he even went out in the first place. He is not sure of much, to be honest, especially as he meets Vance's eyes. Because, he realises, — he has never seen him cry before. Perhaps he should just let him win this one.
He realises that, and something else.
Snow was never supposed to be warm in the first place, was it?

A small excerpt from a fandom-based romance project

The celebrations had been going on for days now, filling the streets of Dawn City with the almost-forgotten sounds of music, chatter, and laughter: a stark contrast against the cracked roads and ruined buildings, tangible reminders of the war that had just ended.
Life had started again, and not only metaphorically: lives had been taken during the battle. All of them. Yet, the dedication of a few brave, chosen souls had managed them back.
Death is the only thing that gives life a meaning, some say: and it is therefore easy to understand the festive atmosphere, people smiling for the fact alone that they can.
However, a concrete reason did lie behind the celebrations.«Did you call for me, sir?»
«Lieutenant, yes, come in.»
The door softly shut behind Reya as she made her way across the room. Now standing in front of the desk, she laid her eyes on the pile of paperwork sitting on it.
«Do you want me to take care of those?» She promptly asked, without the urge to sigh at the idea of such a boring task even grazing her.
«Oh, no, I’ll look at those later,» he answered, and this time a reaction — one attentive eyes could barely catch, yet Corin gladly sensed with no hesitation, — was indeed displayed at the statement: an unreliable promise then, an absurd resolution now, causing Reya's expression to gently melt into a composed smile.It would’ve been an amazing sight to see, really.
It’s not like intimacy (in the least intimate sense of the term) was new to them; but something had undeniably changed. Perhaps in the way they stood taller next to each other, now that they’d been lifted from the weight of their past; perhaps in the way they spoke, their words unable to possibly give away anything that hadn’t already been made obvious by their actions (although, it must be said, that didn’t in any way help with the persisting obliviousness, equally endearing and frustrating trait of their usually highly-intuitive personalities).
The shy smirk on Reya's face was the clearest possible indicator of that, and it would’ve been an atrocious lie to say Corin hadn’t lived off those hidden moments of complicity for the past weeks. The life of a to-be-ruler had turned out to be just as boring as he’d pictured it; that small, almost nonexistent smile was about all the exciting news in his life, and even then, it still wasn’t enough. It had only taken Corin a war, an end-of-the-world scale disaster and unenthusiastically becoming head of state to finally realise that.«Plans for tonight?»
The question, one renowned for making even the most confident souls crumble upon hearing it from the person, barely made Reya blink.
«Nothing, sir,» was the routine answer — she thought, — which would then be met by an introduction to the plans she now did have: paperwork. It was common enough for the two to stick around in the office, taking care of matters that couldn’t find their time in the day or, at times, were better being taken care of in the confidentiality of a dark, empty office.
«Good,» he smiled — somewhat unconsciously, having lost perception of the visibility of his own expressions. «Will you accompany me to the party?»At that, she did for sure blink. And freeze. Narrow her eyes in confusion, do a double take, and then blink again.
She was starting to feel the effects of the (soon former) colonel’s wish for change.
«I beg your pardon?»
It was a wonder she had managed to keep her voice steady, really; and it was only her moral integrity that kept her from feeling relieved that her red-painted face was going to stay a secret.
«The party,» he reiterated, as if she hadn’t heard him well the first time — when in fact she had heard him too well, perhaps. «Turns out it’s this huge, official event. I have to attend.»
And now she was even more confused hearing the tired sigh come out of Corin's mouth.
«I’m… not sure what you’re talking about, sir,» she insisted, hating with every inch of her being how fast her heart had started beating.
Corin, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by the entire situation, which only made everything much more confusing, upsetting even. She kept her eyes on him the entire time, every breath lasting an eternity as she waited for an answer.
«The party for my… well, “coronation”,» Corin finally explained, his voice laced with a hint of awkward irony.
Her heart quietened, not devoid of disappointment.
«…Right,» was all she could get out at first, until she realised that to be slightly unprofessional — if not cold, even, and perhaps most importantly. «I apologise, I hadn’t realised you were intent on attending.»
«Well, then?»
She still hadn’t given him an answer and, although it was expected of her to say yes, — not out of professional obligation, as one might believe, her entire profession having been based on her very personal wish to assist the man in front of her, — he still was not going to just assume, let alone demand her agreement.
However, seconds passed and no answer came. This, was news, and not one contemplated in Corin's wish for the latter.«Lieutenant?» he eventually called out, almost worried at her complete unresponsiveness.
«Yes. Sorry.»
She snapped out of her trance-like state again, the lingering red on her cheeks now standing for embarrassment. So was her head, resting slightly lower than usual as she stared at everything but right back at him.
Uneasy with Reya's uneasiness, Corin promptly resumed his speech.
«I wouldn’t normally bother you with something of the sort, but I fear walking into walls until I find the right way to go wouldn’t be quite the first impression to make,» he joked, the usual smirk lighting up his face even as he stared into nothing. Reya smiled in return, the mental image easing some of the tension that had been building up inside of her. She wasn’t sure whether that man had an unbelievably fortunate timing or what was incredible was his ability to sense her nervousness. «Moreover,» he continued, clearing his throat, «I think you should be there.»Her eyes finally met his; and although he had no way of seeing it, he felt it, and he couldn’t but mentally be pleased with himself for it. The ironic look had been replaced by one of pure solemnity.
«What we’re trying to build… you’re a part of it. You and those two pests, I will admit, but thank God they’re out of town to attend.»
She couldn’t help but smile at the mention of the Eldon brothers, although most of the warmth she felt inside came from the words that had just been directed at her.
«So, can I count you in?»
She let out a soft sigh before answering, unable to fully hide the emotions in her voice, trying to at least disguise them as playful surrender.
«As always.»

A small excerpt from an original romance project

The audition lounge is like nothing I have ever seen before.
Absolutely horrendous.
I love it.
I quickly scan the room hunting for an empty seat, carefully avoiding the ones next to people I’ve mentally assessed to actually know what the hell they’re doing; I wouldn’t want to kill my self-esteem before even giving the casting director a chance to laugh in my face.
Eventually, I settle for the chair that’s closest to the bathroom, figuring it will come in handy before it's my turn.
I am barely five minutes into my anxiety-induced doom-scrolling session when I feel a presence towering over me.«Excuse me, that is my seat.»I force down the annoyed sigh as I look up from my phone, and I try just as hard to hide the surprise in my expression when I lock eyes with my very first personal botherer: it’s… an extraordinarily average woman. About my age. About my height. Not so similarly dressed. I refrain from asking how she’s not sweating with that cozy coat of hers and focus on the issue at hand instead.
«I’m sorry?» I ask, and I sound only slightly less irritated than I truly am. We are all nervous and tired and begging to sit down for five minutes: but to come up so confidently, claiming the seat like it belongs to you?
As I firmly hold her gaze I can’t help but wonder what kind of ridiculous excuse she’s going to come up with to try and steal my otherworldly uncomfortable throne; and a part of me is still shocked such pettiness would be displayed by such a seemingly composed individual.«It’s my seat,» she repeats, a bit louder this time, as if my hearing were the issue here. «You’re taking up my spot.»
This time I put a lot less effort into disguising my impatience under a polite smile.
«I don’t think so,» I disagree just as politely. My straightforwardness would sound almost arrogant, if only I weren’t completely right.
«I’m pretty sure you are,» she shoots right back, unyielding. God, pretentious much… and yet still fully composed. The look on her face is almost amiable, really; or maybe it’s the sweetness of her tone that fools my brain into forgetting she’s a vulture circling around me, ready to come down and strike the second I let my guard down. Or my backside up.
«I think there’s still room in the other waiting lounge,» I try to offer some help, realizing her soft manner of speech might easily be used as a weapon against me if I don’t reciprocate the double-edged favor, «you can check there,» and I offer a warm smile to go with my words before turning my attention back to the telephone screen. She can’t possibly argue further now.«Miss, I must insist this is my seat.»Or she can.I let out the scoff now, and let it out loud.
«Miss,» I repeat with carefully veiled mockery, bothered by the overly formal addressing, «the seat was empty and I took it. I don’t know if you had left something to act as a placeholder but if you did, I’m sorry to inform you someone must have stolen it.»I cannot quite decipher the look on her face as she processes my words, but I’m sure she has no trouble deciphering the one on mine hearing her response.
«Miss,» she says again, clearly having caught the sarcasm in my previous words and firing back with just as much scorn, yet somehow still sounding eerily gentle, «these are pre-assigned seats.»
She then points at the numbered tag on her chest, structurally similar to the one I was handed walking in; and then her fingers extend towards the armrest of my… or, well, the chair, and the attached label reading the number “096”. The exact same digits as her identification code.Oh.I gather my belongings – a fancy way of saying I grab my bag – and leave the seat to its rightful owner. In the process, I vainly try to better my position.
«I misread the number.»
She doesn’t buy it in the slightest, but being the closest thing to a walking PR training ad I have ever had the pain of encountering, she simply nods along with that perfectly believable smile of hers still plastered across the face.
I start fearing I might walk into the audition room later and find I’ve lost all abilities to act, having wasted all of them trying not to show the visceral embarrassment heating up my body. I mentally apologise for the trouble.My eyes are shamefully fixed on the floor as I make my way towards the hallway, set on spending the rest of the wait on my feet. I don’t have it in me to scout for my actual seat now.
By the time one of the managers comes out and calls for my number, my feet are hurting and my cheeks are still red. I don’t know whatever else other than the identification codes I didn’t get a memo on. I haven’t gotten to go to the toilet.This will be fun.