#WritersCommunity

[imastoryteller]

20 Ways to Show Extreme Fear in Your Writing

As I dive into researching signs of fear for my horror WIP, I wanted to share some of the most compelling and visceral reactions I’ve come across. Whether you’re writing a chilling scene or crafting a character’s panic, these 20 signs of fear can help bring tension and realism to your story.

Physical Reactions

Hyperventilating — sucking in air but never feeling like it’s enough

Chest tightens — feels like a weight or hands pressing down

Limbs shaking violently, knees buckling

Complete loss of muscle control — collapsing or unable to stand

Cold sweat soaking through clothes

Heart hammering so hard they feel it in their throat or head

Tunnel vision — the world narrowing down to one terrifying focal point

Ringing in the ears or sudden deafness, like the world drops away

Dizziness / feeling faint / vision blurring

Dry mouth — unable to speak or even scream

Uncontrollable Behavior

Screaming / sobbing / gasping — involuntary vocal outbursts

Panic run — bolting without thinking, tripping over everything

Clawing at their own skin / chest / throat — like trying to escape their body

Begging / pleading out loud even if no one’s there

Repeating words or phrases — “No, no, no” / “This isn’t happening”

Hiding instinctively — diving under tables, closets, or corners

Desperate grabbing — reaching for someone, anything solid

Loss of bladder or bowel control (for extreme terror)

Total mental shutdown — frozen, slack-jawed, staring blankly

Memory blackout — later can’t recall what happened during the worst moment

[thedreamteamwrites]

I need a book that has this as the opening and closing sentence respectively.

"This story is a tragedy because it didn't have to end this way."

vs

"This story is a tragedy because it was always going to end this way."

[hayatheauthor]

How to Make Your Characters Almost Cry

Tears are powerful, but do you know what's more impactful? The struggle to hold them back. This post is for all your hard-hearted stoic characters who'd never shed a tear before another, and aims to help you make them breakdown realistically.

The Physical Signs of Holding Back Tears

Heavy Eyelids, Heavy Heart Your character's eyelids feel weighted, as if the tears themselves are dragging them down. Their vision blurs—not quite enough to spill over, but enough to remind them of the dam threatening to break.

The Involuntary Sniffle They sniffle, not because their nose is running, but because their body is desperately trying to regulate itself, to suppress the wave of emotion threatening to take over.

Burning Eyes Their eyes sting from the effort of restraint, from the battle between pride and vulnerability. If they try too hard to hold back, the whites of their eyes start turning red, a telltale sign of the tears they've refused to let go.

The Trembling Lips Like a child struggling not to cry, their lips quiver. The shame of it fuels their determination to stay composed, leading them to clench their fists, grip their sleeves, or dig their nails into the nearest surface—anything to regain control.

The Fear of Blinking Closing their eyes means surrender. The second their lashes meet, the memories, the pain, the heartbreak will surge forward, and the tears will follow. So they force themselves to keep staring—at the floor, at a blank wall, at anything that won’t remind them of why they’re breaking.

The Coping Mechanisms: Pretending It’s Fine

A Steady Gaze & A Deep Breath To mask the turmoil, they focus on a neutral object, inhale slowly, and steel themselves. If they can get through this one breath, they can get through the next.

Turning Away to Swipe at Their Eyes When they do need to wipe their eyes, they do it quickly, casually, as if brushing off a speck of dust rather than wiping away the proof of their emotions.

Masking the Pain with a Different Emotion Anger, sarcasm, even laughter—any strong emotion can serve as a shield. A snappy response, a bitter chuckle, a sharp inhale—each is a carefully chosen defence against vulnerability.

Why This Matters

Letting your character fight their tears instead of immediately breaking down makes the scene hit harder. It shows their internal struggle, their resistance, and their need to stay composed even when they’re crumbling.

This is written based off of personal experience as someone who goes through this cycle a lot (emotional vulnerability who?) and some inspo from other books/articles

[thatsbelievable]

[womanofwords]

Everybody's Favourite (Part 4)

The more the rogues' gallery learns about your treatment at the hands of your family, the more they dislike the Waynes. "I honestly think I misjudged my friend Bruce," Two-Face said. "He really let that happen?"

"I have the scars to prove it," you said, rolling up your sleeves to show everyone the bite marks left on their arms. "Damian wanted me to help test Titus' abilities by giving him a target. Well, I was the target."

"Well, I'll have to re-evaluate my policy on hurting children," Riddler said.

"What. The. Hell?!" Ivy's anger was palpable. "This little sweetheart has been theirs for over ten years, and they can't even bother to pay a simple ransom?!"

"They seem about as delightful as gum on a shoe," Joker said. "If you need a certain mansion blown to pieces, say the word."

You whimpered at the thought of such violence, clutching a throw pillow for comfort. "I don't want them to be injured or killed. I want distance from all of them, metaphorical and literal. I don't want to see them again."

"Such a precious gem," Harley sniffed.

"And a terrific businessperson," Oswald said. "Designed an ice cream franchise with me in less than a week. The kid'll go far."

"Honestly, I don't want them to go," Riddler said.

"I don't want to go! I like it here!" you said.

"Great!" Joker clapped his hands with glee. "Because if you're staying, then we'll need to put a few things on the agenda. Like self-defence. Bane and Selina can teach you all about that."

You gasped with joy. "So I can kick butt while wearing heels?"

"Of course, kitten," Selina cooed.

"You shall have all the resources you need," Bane rumbled. "I'll even let you use Venom."

"NO!" everyone yelled.

"As a psychology professor, they will not even look at your patented steroid," Crane scolded.

"You dose people with fear gas, and steroids is where you draw the line?" Bane scoffed.

"Yes! Why would I want to tamper with Y/N's sweet disposition with nasty roid rage?"

"It'll ruin them, Bane. You might want a sparring partner, but I will lose a business partner," Penguin said. "An incredibly smart one, if I might add."

"Really? Me?" you spluttered.

"Oh, little dove, who else could I be speaking about?" Penguin retorted. You squeaked and hugged the pillow tighter. "Oh, little dove, I was just complimenting you, I promise! I didn't mean to fluster you!"

"Normally, the only people who call me smart are my teachers," you admit. "My folks barely notice my grades or skills."

"Well, it would be a shame to let that go to waste. You must have worked hard to obtain them." Penguin paused to adjust his monocle. "Now, how about we get you a nice new routine to help you settle into your new home?"

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4 <- You are here

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Taglist: @tinybrie, @enchantingarcadecreation, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @sh4rk-k1d, @prorpy, angelicbear, @sulleha, @sirenetheblogger

[antleredheretic]

I am- I am- I am.

[dreamspiritsblog]

"I owe my body so many apologies."

— metaphors&lavender

[lady-arcane]

The Strongest Man and His War with Sleep :

Sleep is a mercy he cannot afford.

Gojo Satoru has never been good at resting.

It’s not just about the nightmares—the ones that creep in like thieves, whispering names of the dead in his ears. It’s not just about the fear—that if he lets go, if he closes his eyes for too long, the world will crumble without him watching.

No, it’s deeper than that.

Sleep is vulnerability. And vulnerability is something the strongest man alive is not allowed.

So he doesn’t sleep. Not properly. Not often.

Instead, he runs himself ragged, burns his energy down to the wick, pretends exhaustion is something that only happens to other people. He hides behind laughter, behind endless motion, behind the overwhelming force of his own presence.

Because to stop—to be still—means to listen to his own thoughts.

And there is nothing more terrifying than that.

-----

You notice it, of course.

The way he’s always moving, always talking, always shifting from one thing to the next like silence might swallow him whole. The way he rubs at his temples when he thinks no one is looking. The way he leans against doorframes just a little too long, like standing upright is a battle he’s barely winning.

"You don’t sleep, do you?" you ask one night, watching him sprawl out on your couch like he owns it.

He grins, too wide, too easy. "Who needs sleep when you’ve got these?" He gestures vaguely at his eyes, like the sheer force of his existence makes him immune to basic human needs.

You roll your eyes. "That’s not how bodies work, Satoru."

He shrugs, lazy, dramatic. "Maybe yours."

You don’t press the issue. Not yet.

But you see the way his hands still for a fraction of a second. The way his smile flickers, just briefly, like a neon sign struggling to stay lit.

And you know.

You know that beneath all that brightness, beneath the godlike arrogance and the infuriating charm, there is a man running on borrowed time.

A man who is tired.

-----

When Gojo does sleep, it’s not gentle.

It’s not peaceful, like in movies, where lovers rest entangled in soft sheets and morning light. It’s not slow and dreamy, where sleep comes like a lover’s touch, warm and welcome.

No.

When Gojo Satoru sleeps, it’s like something in him collapses.

Like a puppet with cut strings. Like a body giving out after carrying too much for too long.

It doesn’t happen often—not really. But when it does, it’s as if his body is making up for years of neglect in one go. He sleeps like the dead.

No amount of shaking, nudging, or even yelling will wake him. You’ve tried. Once, you even held a mirror under his nose to make sure he was still breathing.

(He was. But it was unnerving, seeing him so still.)

-----

"You should go to bed," you tell him one night, watching as he leans against the counter, eyes half-lidded.

He smirks. "What, you worried about me?"

You don’t bother answering. Instead, you grab his wrist, tugging him toward the bedroom.

"I don’t need—"

"Shut up, Satoru."

Surprisingly, he does.

He lets you drag him, lets you push him onto the bed, lets you pull the covers over him like he’s something fragile, something worth protecting.

And when you card your fingers through his hair—slow, soothing, like a lullaby made of touch—he doesn’t protest.

His breath evens out. His body melts against the mattress. And before you can even make a joke about it, he’s gone.

Fast asleep.

Completely, utterly, unmovable.

-----

Gojo Satoru, the strongest man alive, is impossible to wake up.

You learn this the hard way.

You try shaking him—nothing.

You try calling his name—still nothing.

You even flick his forehead, the way he does to others—but he doesn’t so much as twitch.

It’s honestly a little terrifying.

It’s like he trusts you enough to completely let go.

Like, in this moment, in this space, he believes—just for a little while—that he is safe.

And that realization sits heavy in your chest.

Because Gojo Satoru is not a man who allows himself to feel safe.

Not with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Not with the ghosts of the past clawing at his heels.

Not with the knowledge that the moment he closes his eyes, something else might be taken from him.

But here, now, with you—he sleeps.

And that means something.

-----

In the morning, when he finally stirs, stretching like a cat in the sun, he blinks at you blearily.

"You let me sleep," he murmurs, voice thick with something you don’t quite recognize.

You hum, tracing lazy patterns on his wrist. "You needed it."

A pause.

Then, a quiet chuckle. "You didn’t try to wake me, did you?"

You don’t answer.

Because if you admit how hard you tried—how impossible it was—you might have to admit what that means.

Might have to admit that Gojo Satoru, for all his power, is still just a person.

A person who gets tired.

A person who needs rest.

A person who, in the end, just wants to lay down his burdens—if only for a little while.

And somehow, impossibly, he’s chosen to do that with you.

So instead, you smirk, flicking his forehead in revenge.

"Don’t get used to it, Satoru."

His laughter is bright, easy, filling the room like morning light.

But when he pulls you close again, burying his face in your shoulder, you think—maybe, just maybe—he already has.

-----

[akwardsilince]

Person A: "Don't die on me!"

Person B: "Can you quiet down? I'm dying here."

[thenomadicquill]

You are not falling behind. If you haven't touched your WIP in weeks, if you haven't come up with a new idea, if you haven't gotten your book done and it's been 3 years, it's okay. You are not falling behind. Unless we are obligated to reach a deadline, we begin to believe that we are failing. We see countless people finishing their projects, selling their books, succeeding in the field you're in. And it's hard not to compare yourself to them, you're similar but they are doing the work, and you haven't written a paragraph in over a month.

Comparing yourself to others is a downward spiral that will never give you satisfaction. It's a difficult thing to try and overcome or ignore, but you have to. Instead of seeing other people's victories as a failure on your side, try and see them as goals. Goals to reach, inspiration to get back to your WIP, write that paragraph, or finally try and finish that book.

There is no secret that they know, and you don't. They aren't worse or better than you. There is no right answer. No finish line you need to cross. You work at your own pace, create goals to strive to and try not to compare your progress to others. Enjoy the process!

[callherwylder]

I will carry you

like the sea carries salt—

bound so deeply

no wave could wash you from me.

[internet-goblin]

Currently losing my shit over failing to properly account for mating seasons of mountain goats in my story. No, this is not important for the main story thread. Yes the planned story beat can easily be cut out. Does it make me feel like the worst writer under the sun? Most definitely.

There are two types of writers:

1. 'It's fiction, it doesn't need to make sense!'

2. 'I didn't account for the rotation of the planet and how that affects the constalations while my characters stargazed at different times of year, I have failed as a writer, and this entire thing is trash'

[spookystrawberrystarlet]

shoutout to people who regularly use semicolons, I see you & I respect you

[womanofwords]

Everybody's Favourite (Part 5)

You had the time of your life with your newly acquired criminal family. You'd wake up to the smell of breakfast made by Harley (lots of pancakes with smiley faces), and once you'd brushed your teeth, you'd get to eat it. You'd brush your hair, read, and then discuss the benefits of having little penguin animatronics waddling around the chain of ice cream stores.

"What if they scare kids?" Penguin mused. "I don't want the animatronics to scare kids."

"Size and style will have to be considered. Make it in more of a cartoonish style with soft curves so it appeals to kids, and the height should be no more than . . . let's say three feet. Program them to serve ice creams to tables and make it an adorable gimmick. I already have artists considered and we'll need a test audience before they're launched."

Penguin gazed at her with awe. "You're a genius, Y/N. As clever as a corvid."

"Thank you." You felt your heart lighten and your face heat up. Someone finally noticed how smart you were. After all this time of wanting someone to notice, someone had finally picked up on it.

"Oswald, must you hog Y/N for the whole day? I had plans to play video games with them," Riddler whined.

"And Harley and I have plans for a therapy session," Scarecrow said. "The damage done by their family, you would not believe."

"Boys." The sweet smell of nectar waltzed around the room as Poison Ivy draped herself against the door nobody heard open. "I've been wanting to teach Y/N about propagating plant cuttings for quite a time. I won't stop you from having your own bonding time, but if you cut into the time I want with them, you will become plant fertiliser."

"Of course," Scarecrow said, voice shaky.

Your voice hardened. "Ivy, that is mean. I don't want you to be mean to people because of me."

Ivy looked at you as if you were a tragic saint. "Of course, my dear petal. Anything for you." The moment your back was turned, Poison Ivy glared daggers at the obstacles between her and you.

Penguin's business session wrapped up early, and then you went to propagate plants with Ivy. You had gaming sessions with Riddler, therapy and crying with Scarecrow and Harley, and then workouts with Bane in case anybody tried to hurt you. That was when you were introduced to the strange yet exhilarating sport of chessboxing.

"You are becoming a worthy adversary," Bane congratulated, as you went a few rounds with the bag. "I pity the fool that tries to hurt you."

Bane took you home, where a warm bath and clean pyjamas were waiting for you to relax your muscles and remove that workout stink. Once you were dry and clean, you collapsed into your new bed, fully exhausted and so, so happy. You finally had a place where you were loved without having to beg or be endlessly hurt.

You never wanted to leave.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5 <- You are here

Part 6

Part 7

Taglist: @tinybrie, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @sh4rk-k1d, @prorpy, @angelicbear, @sulleha, @sirenetheblogger, @omgfangirlland, @iwannaflyaway

[theaftersundown]

the holy grail types of fanfic