May I make a suggestion? I spent years in a high traffic area and car horns are rarely a constant din. The more you beep the higher your chances of pissing someone off to the point where they chase you with the shovel they keep in the back for emergencies. Surprisingly common

Not specific to traffic jams, but if you want to read some work that puts you in the head of someone who's stressed and overwhelmed, "Operation Wandering Soul" by the great Richard Powers is amazing. A beautiful book, but oppressive. Martin Amis' "The Information" also really puts you in a distressed person's head, but it's a bit more satirical than Powers' work.

I don't think this sort of thing can be answered by tips specific to a situation, it's more studying how good writing sucks us into an imagined psyche. Everyone's annoyed by car horns and traffic jams, but the specific reasons and ways your character is annoyed should teach us something about the character or build up things we're learning about his/her emotional state.

LoL Just Sunday morning babbling.

If this is from a book. I need to know name of it.

“Thank you, George,” Ólýsanleg Hryllingur af'Dýpt'gryfju said with a slight pained gasp in their throat. The smoke slowly starts to dissipate from their body, a sheen of strangely luminescent ash still coating their deep purple skin.

George took a step back, coughing slightly from the painfully burning heat and something deeper, “Gods abov--- err sorry, I mean what the hell happened to you, Hryll? I know it is bad down there but, wait, that isn’t radioactive, is it?” He took another step backwards, hoping to avoid another instance of radiation sickness if it could be helped.

“I sure hope not, George, but I’m fairly sure it is just Fönd’önd’gæs blood. The assault against the Count was going, well, poorly.” A look of defeat crosses Hryll’s face, knowing that if they hadn’t been able to hide in the still steaming corpse of one of the few creatures that they were able to defeat, they would have been just another head on a spike. “I really hate this Lucifer-blessed war.”

George nods sympathetically, and not for the first time he thinks about how strange it is that he was sitting next to an over two meter monster from nightmares. It’d be almost comical to imagine Hryll striding across the brimstone and hellfire plains of torment when they were curled up over the cup of tea that I had prepared for them.

No, Hryll was truly a demon. The spawn-tier of an arch demon of name, which they explained to him meant that they were certainly fairly powerful. But it also meant responsibility.

“You know, Hryll,” George starts, the words well worn and comfortable coming from his lips, “you are more than welcome to stay here. I can get a two bedroom flat, and maybe you can look into playing basketball---” The smile on George’s face drops as Hryll doesn’t grin back, but frowns slightly. “Wait, are you seriously considering it?”

Hryll gives the smallest of nod, “honestly George, it is a terribly tempting offer. Even if you already didn’t give your word that we would be equals, offer to make a blood contract to bind you to it, I’d still be tempted. But...” the frown burned into a grin, self-defeated, “they need me.”

Anger rises in George’s voice, coming at a near-yell, “they USED you! You’re a tool for them and you know it you big dumb lummox of a hellion!” This was also a well worn conversation, but not comfortable at all because it was painfully true.

Hryll’s towering form, even when trying their best to carefully place down the oversized tea cup still too small for their hands, was still so measured, so calm, so patient. “I know that, George. But that is how we work. It’s just how demons are---”

“Some would say the same thing about human beings,” George cuts them off, “because there are so many of us who are frankly horrible to each other. That is no. Fucking. Excuse.”

The rage in George’s face cools slightly after the outburst. He knows that Hryll wouldn’t be able to stay. Even if they signed a contract, he’d only live for another one hundred, maybe one hundred and fifty years if he was lucky. Sure, he could extend that even further by giving up more of his humanity, and frankly that wasn’t a bad idea. But that would be in the future. A future that he’d help Hryll form.

“Hryll, did you get a chance to use those neutron bombs that I made for you? I was hoping that they’d help you take the Count’s keep with less losses on your end, but I’m guessing neutron radiation bombardment might not be all that effective against the, uhh the giant geese things? Do you know if they’ve ever had something called ‘ebola’ down there before?”

George’s face splits into a grin matching Hryll, and the real meat of the summoning get underway as they start to talk about how to utilize the technology that he had access to as a technowarlock with all of the might of humanity’s brutal warlike past at his fingertips, at Hryll’s claw tips, and their command together to bring this war to an end.

New character idea unlocked. Mind if I steal it for DND

Also– if you really wanted to get creative with it, and you're writing in a book-style format, you could maybe try diverting the reader from the main text with footnotes, i.e–

"Could you please*get them** to shut up!‡ I feel like I'm losing my mind here!★"

*A cacophony of noise bellowed through the air

**The noise grew louder still

‡at this point the sound was almost deafening

★HOOOOOONNNNKKKK!!!

Although I'd also understand if you didn't want to do that. I personally think it partially recreates the feeling of being distracted by annoying things mid-sentence, but maybe that's just me?

I declare this as canon

What if because he didnt send her back in the end she could stay in that world and wouldnt have to fight in the war anymore

Repeat things you said and people will get so annoyed with you and stop listening to you eventhough their ears are there with you they are not going to hear you..

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You could try mentioning it constantly and breaking up the dialogue in a different manner perhaps? i.e:

"Could you please",shouted X as the cacophony of horns bellowed through the air, "get them"–the noise grew louder still,–"To shut up!" (at this point the sound was almost deafening), "I feel like I'm losing my mind, here".

(I'm currently lost for examples of onomatopoeic words that could describe car horns [other than "honk" and "beep"] which would obviously be a nice addition, but you could always make some up as well!)

It breaks up the dialogue in an infuriating manner (and becomes more infuriating the longer it goes on imo)

You can even get a little creative with it.

"What was the password?"

"It's-" "BEEEEEEEP"

" WHAT?"

" 1528-" "BEEEEEEEP"

" OH I'VE GOT IT THANKS"

either implicating the reader is just a lisetener that wasn't close enough to hear the whole thing or just didn't hear it where the character did, or just that the character already knew the password and was acting like they didn't, for traitor stuff.

The goat's blood sigil was slightly sticky but not fully dry; the perfect consistency for summoning Yh'ghar'len, Plague of the Seventh Circle.

I positioned myself in the center of the symbol, and extended my right arm to the sky and placed my left hand on the vessel. He was a beggar I had snatched from the street. Nobody would miss him. He stirred under my touch, but the sleeping draught held. Possession was a tricky art. If there is one thing that I've learned through my centuries of life, it's that unconscious vessels produce the best results.

I began the incantation, and syllables once thought unutterable streamed from my mouth. The small room began to shake, and I heard the vessel groan. His eyes snapped open and rolled up into his head. His nose, mouth, and ears began to pour blood. A storm wracked his body, shaking him violently as a scream left his mouth.

The possession was going better than expected - the previous vessel turned out to be a poor match and had simply liquefied on the cellar floor. That had been an annoying inconvenience.

I chanted the final words of the possession ritual and took my hand off of the vessel. His eyes snapped open, leaking the last residual blood. He blinked rapidly, and looked around in confusion.

"Where am I? Where are my siblings," he asked in a panic. His eyes flashed wildly before finally settling on me. A slow smile spread across his face.

"Vetrian! The most black-hearted warlock to still walk the surface world! To what do I owe the pleasure?" The demon's voice shifted as it spoke, alternating between the distinguished, sultry tones of a lover I once had and a buzzing, guttural drone that would drive a lesser man mad.

"Old friend. I have need of your services once again."

The demon cackled, but I heard something else in its voice. Was it relief? Fear? "By the Circles, a vacation! It's been aeons since I toppled an empire with you, Vetrian."

Aeons? I could remember the last time I had summoned Yh'ghar'len. Two hundred years ago, I had used its immense power to usher in the Blood Moon, and harvested the souls of all the dead in the kingdoms of men. Not exactly aeons.

A deep, wracking sob brought me back to reality. Tears poured from the vessel's eyes.

By the Circles, the vessel's rejecting it! I reached for a jar of goat blood and prepared to draw additional spells of binding before I heard the demon speak again.

"I've missed you old friend," the demon gasped between wretched cries. "I've lost so much. We've lost so much."

What?

"That twice-cursed bitch. That damned Warrior of Light. She's taken everything from us!" the demon screamed. I was speechless. This was one of the Plagues of the Circles, the most feared and terrible among demon kind, and it was bawling.

"Um." I stammered. My mouth opened, and snapped shut again. I was Vetrian the Dread, the most feared sorcerer in the world. I had never been one for words of comfort, and I had never listened to a demon vent before.

"Are you - are you okay?" I thought about putting a comforting hand on its shoulder before deciding against it. Demons of The Pit do not tend to perceive human gestures with the same intent, and this demon did not seem particularly stable.

"NO!" The demon's shout pierced both my mind and my eardrums, and I collapsed to the floor. I felt something burst inside my head and hoped it was just my eardrums. Magically healing your own brain aneurysm is a recipe for disaster. I lay stunned on the ground for a few minutes. After I had thoroughly appreciated the subtle melodies in my own tinnitus, I checked my body. As suspected, my eardrums had burst, but other than that I appeared to be unhurt. I muttered a small spell to drain the vitality of the nearby cockroaches infesting the building. I felt a peculiar popping sensation as my eardrums rebuilt themselves, and my hearing mostly came back. I realized Yh'ghar'len was still speaking.

"... and then the Blessed claimed the Third Circle! Vyth'dyn is sanctified! The only being I have ever loved was burned away by holy fire! The Fourth Circle is holding for now, but how much longer? Will the Pit be destroyed?" It snapped its head towards me. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Um." It was all I could manage. It was not enough for Yh'ghar'len. The vessel's face erupted in a cruel sneer.

"I would think that you could at least pretend to care about this, considering all of the fun we've had. I was there for the Blood Moon! I thought we were friends," it shrieked, its voice taking the tone of my long-undead father. I shivered.

The demon shook its head disdainfully. "Fine," it spat. "Point me at a peasant to disembowel. I need to relieve some stress." The chains binding the vessel snapped, and the demon stood. "Well, come on then," it sighed as it wiped a tear from its eyes.

Truthfully, I had forgotten why I had summoned Yh'ghar'len. A somber iron bell in the street brought the memory back. The Inquisition was here for me. While the Blood Moon incident had made me the world's most powerful sorcerer, it had also made me the world's most hated. The Inquisition of the Church of Light had been looking for me since, and they had developed highly effective tools for neutralizing sorcerers. Iron chains and cages to neutralize our power. However, no cage could hold a skilled sorcerer forever, and through pacts with the Pit the majority of us were functionally immortal. The Church's answer to this was throwing a sorcerer into a hole and filling it with molten iron. An eternal prison.

While I could undoubtedly handle them, I thought an overwhelming display of power and terror would be a more effective deterrent. The exact display a demon is typically well versed in.

I smiled, and glanced over at Yh'ghar'len. My smile dropped. The vessel had gone pale, and it was trembling.

"The Church of Light? You brought them here? " It punctuated its rage with a roar that knocked me over. I hit my head on the ground. The last thing I heard before I lost consciousness was the vessel groaning. Yh'ghar'len had abandoned me.

When I awoke, I was completely immobilized. I was in a Church dungeon, awaiting entombment. Iron manacles bound me. As a test, I tried casting a simple scanning spell, and received nothing. I slumped down. I was over. The only exit was a grate in the ceiling that I had no hope of reaching.

​

Vetrian. A voice inside my own head was calling my name. I assumed that I was simply having an adverse reaction to the stress of being captured, so I closed my eyes and tried a few breathing exercises. I would not spend eternity with a broken mind.

​

Don't ignore me, old friend.

My eyes snapped open. I recognized the voice.

"Yh'ghar'len?" I asked, my voice cracking in a way most unbecoming of the world's most feared sorcerer.

A chuckle echoed in my mind. It must have possessed my body when I passed out.

"Why are you here? I am no doubt set to be entombed at the first opportunity. I am finished. Forever." The weight of the words finally hit me, and I let out a shuddering gasp. I received no reply from the demon.

A shadow appeared above the grate. The shadow began to pray as it set up spout above the grate. I groaned as I heard a mechanism unlock and a slow bubbling creep closer to the grate.

The first gob of molten iron landed on my forehead. The pain was immense, maddening. I screamed. A second gob landed in my mouth, causing me to choke. More drops landed on me, encrusting me. Finally, it turned into a steady stream.

Hours went by before all the iron had cooled. My nerves had burned off fairly quickly, but the mounting pressure and weight was still too unpleasant to bear.

I tried to weep, but I could not. I had forgotten about the demon lurking in my subconscious.

Ah, a permanent vacation home safe from the Warrior of Light. This is what I truly need Vetrian, thank you my friend! To us, for eternity!

For me, traffic bothers me proportionally more depending on how much of a hurry I'm in. If I have no obligations to be somewhere on time, and I'm not in a particular hurry, it's easier to just put on some music or listen to an audiobook. Conversely, if I'm already late for work, and I need to finish an errand before I can even think about heading to work, and people are counting on me to be there on time, that's when the traffic really gets to me.

Not sure how much this will help you, but that's my experience of it. Unrelated, but I'm reminded of this particular scene that really captured the worst case scenario morning traffic in a humourous way https://youtu.be/C3jizSM6M0o

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"So ho-" BEEP "how's everything go-" BEEP "going?" BEEP

"School's-" BEEP "great, getting go-" BEEP "good grades." BEEP

​

Otherwise, I got nothing.

Yeah i thought about this aswell, but its maybe a bit too extreme. How would you put it, if you where to remind the reader about it as much as possible, but without doing it like this :)

Good job.

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