#emotional flashbacks

Flashbacks are not just any instance in which you are remembering a traumatic event and getting upset about it. They are specifically dissociative reactions in which you experience the event as if it's occurring in the present.

It occurs when a normally compartmentalized traumatic memory and the associated psychobiological personality systems of defence completely take over your consciousness, leaving you immersed in the memory and unable to access the part of you that handles daily life.

Of course there's variability in how it presents. You don't need to be having a flashback in all your senses at once and completely forget where you are for it to be a flashback. Some people also experience it as "the trauma never ended" as opposed to "the trauma is happening again". And so on.

But in order for it to be considered a flashback you need to be experiencing the event, at least partially, as if it's happening right now.

This is true for emotional flashbacks as well. Feeling anxious or upset, even in response to a trigger, doesn't necessarily equal an emotional flashback. For it to be an emotional flashback, you need to be re-experiencing the specific emotions you felt at the time of the trauma. It's not just being upset that it happened. It's being put right back in the exact emotional state you were in when it happened.

That's not to say the symptoms people are describing are fake. They're just misclassified, and better explained by other (usually intrusion category) symptoms. Namely:

Intrusive memories: recurrent and distressing intrusions where a person remembers the traumatic event (or aspects of it), without the distinct feeling of re-experiencing it as if it was happening in the present

Psychological/physical reactivity to reminders of trauma: distressing emotional responses (i.e. fear, anxiety, dread, anger) or physical responses (i.e. racing heartbeat, difficulty breathing, shaking) in response to trauma triggers

Hypervigilance: being on high alert and searching for danger, often experienced as a chronic state but there can be episodes where it gets worse than baseline without it being a flashback

Your emotions elude you. You try to figure out how the situation at hand could’ve caused that much of an reaction in you. You don’t understand the logic behind it up until you go all the way back to memories of where the feeling first emerged. Usually it will trace back to a traumatic instance, and a small detail, wrong sentence or other sensory input was enough to trigger a flood of emotions.

You get that sense of impending doom, like smth will absolutely go wrong even though you have no rational explanation for it.

If you usually enjoy touch, you’re suddenly averse to it and the idea of it becomes uncomfortable.

You might suddenly feel the need for someone to comfort you even though you’re not sure for what, or what you’re even feeling.

You suddenly get the strong urge to isolate yourself and hide, flee the situation or social interaction and burry your head in the sand until it feels “safe” enough to come out again.

You feel the excessive need to daydream and to escape reality suddenly but you don’t really know why.

You might notice symptoms of dissociation in your body. Your hands feel unreal. You feel disconnected from yourself all of a sudden.

Your sense of time changes.

Your emotions feel like they don’t really belong to you all of a sudden and you feel a strong need to keep that seperation up.

Intense gut wrenching shame right after the emotional flashback hits. Even if you can’t identify the emotional flashback, you can definitely identify that sudden shame.

I loved writing this so much because Sanji would do exactly what his mother did for him because Sanji is his mother’s son. Not Judge’s. He inherited her gentleness, her empathy, and her appreciation for kindness so he would absolutely eat it with a smile on his face. Thank you for requesting this I hope you enjoy it! <3

🥞 A Recipe for Papa

Sanji & Daughter Sora (OC) | 5 Years Old | Emotional Fluff | Callback to Sanjis Backstory

The morning sun was barely rising when Sanji stirred.

He always woke early. Always.

But today, something felt… off.

There wasn’t the usual clatter of him starting the coffee. No scent of warm bread. No gentle hum of breakfast prep. Just silence.

Then—

CRASH.

Followed by:

“I’m okay!!” in a high-pitched, suspiciously cheerful voice.

Sanji’s eyes snapped open. “Sora—?!”

He scrambled out of bed, one pant leg on, hair still wild, already halfway to the kitchen only to be met with a small foot against his leg.

“Stop right there, Papa!”

She stood at the kitchen doorway, arms stretched out like a gate, golden ponytail bouncing, her oversized apron dragging across the floor.

Sanji blinked. “Sora, what are you—?”

“No peeking!” she huffed. “I’m making you a surprise!”

“But—chérie, you could hurt yourself in there—knives, fire, grease—”

“I pinky-promised Chopper I wouldn’t use the fire or sharp things,” she said proudly. “I’m just mixing! You always make me breakfast. So now I’m making you breakfast! Because you’re my favorite person. Forever.”

Sanji’s heart immediately exploded in seventeen directions.

“But—” he tried again.

“OUT.” she said with a sugar-sweet smile that did not match her threatening ballerina pose.

Sanji took one slow, defeated step back. “Fine, fine. But call me if anything goes wrong, okay?”

“Promise!” She beamed, dimples deep, one eye peeking through her bangs. “You’re gonna love it!”

~

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Then twenty.

Sanji sat on the couch staring at the ceiling, fighting every urge to go in the kitchen.

When she finally reappeared, her cheeks were flushed, flour on her nose, holding a very suspicious-looking plate behind her back.

She walked up like she was presenting treasure.

“Ta-da!!” she chirped, placing it in his lap.

Sanji looked down.

It was… breakfast? Technically?

There was a pancake, but it was shaped like a fish and kind of… green. There were strawberries on top, but one still had the leaves. A generous squirt of chocolate syrup had made everything underneath a soggy mess.

He blinked.

“Well?” Sora said, bouncing on her toes. “Try it!”

Sanji took a slow breath.

And then—he smiled.

Not forced. Not fake. Soft. Deep. Honest.

Because in that moment, he saw a little boy again, standing in the Germa kitchen. Clumsy hands, mixing whatever ingredients he could find, making something awful all because he just wanted his mama to smile.

And he remembered her — Sora, the woman who ate every bite of that terrible meal without flinching. Who told him it was the most delicious thing in the world, just because he made it.

Now here he was — a father. Holding a chaotic plate made with floury fingers and unconditional love.

“My, my, Sora, you’re spoiling me!" He looked at the pancakes and gasped dramatically. He picked up a fork. “Looks magnifique, sweetheart.”

Sora’s eyes lit up like stars. “Really?!”

He took a bite. And to absolutely no one’s surprise, it was terrible.

Too sweet, too soggy, weirdly warm and cold at the same time.

It might’ve had… pickles?

But he chewed slowly, smiled wide, and said, “Best breakfast I’ve ever had.”

Sora giggled and clapped, practically vibrating with pride.

She climbed into his lap, snuggling against his chest, her pink heart-shaped locket bouncing gently as she moved.

“I wanted to say thank you,” she whispered. “For always cooking for me. For being the best papa.”

Sanji wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair.

“You have no idea how happy you make me,” he murmured.

She looked up at him, eyes sky blue and bright. “Does it taste like love?”

He kissed her forehead, eyes stinging.

Starting: 2026 Joel Miller x Female!Reader

The Summary: Twenty years ago, Joel Miller thought he lost you and his daughter that night in Texas. But real love doesn't die. When you cross paths again two decades later it's not about falling in love anymore, it's about learning to fall in love again, and again. No matter what the world takes from you.

Warnings: Violence, injury, and death (in line with TLOU world), Emotional Trauma/PTSD Themes, Grief & Loss (Major/Minor characters), Strong language and mature dialogue, Aging, survivors guild, moral ambiguity, slow burn romance, relearning trust, intimacy, love after trauma, mentions of past relationships, implied intimacy, gun violence, pre-post outbreak, post-outbreak combat, alcohol use, blood, minor injury care, emotional flashbacks, outbreak night, loss of loved ones.

Word Count-

✨Series Status: Ongoing

🪵 Updates: Every 1-2 Weeks

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💌 Main Tag - #filaaas

🕯️ All Chapters - Click Here to read every part in order

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The Last Of Us Master List // Series Master List

ACT 1 (The Fall)

Austin, 2003

The Fire & The Run

The Road Spilts

Ghost Years

The Promise That Breaks

Act 2 (The Waiting)

What The World Took

Old Wounds, New Towns

Jackson, Wyoming

Familiar Eyes

You Don't Know Me Anymore

Act 3 (The Return)

The Things We Lost

What Comes After

Quiet Mornings

The Way He Looks At You

Fall In Love Again And Again (Finale)

Series - Fall In Love Again And Again

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Navigation - Tag #filaaas

🧠 BLACKSITE SCROLLTRAP — “THE RAIN ARE MY TEARS”

Want to know something weird?

I love overcast weather. Always have.

The wind. The gray. The heavy clouds that feel like they’re holding back something sacred. And then— Rain.

Rain that doesn’t fall. It collapses. Like God just got overwhelmed.

—

She loved it too.

We used to sit there like two apocalypse groupies, watching lightning split open the sky like a confession. We didn't run from it. We felt it. Together.

She said it made her feel like she wasn’t the only one crying.

—

And now?

The rain feels like her. Not reminds me of her— It is her.

Like the sky learned how to miss someone because I taught it.

—

I’ve done so many things in my life. Worn uniforms. Survived wars. Walked through storms that most people wouldn’t dare enter. But the one storm I can’t walk through? The one where she’s not next to me.

—

☔️ Picture it:

A soldier, sitting on a metal crate, cold spaghetti MRE halfway eaten, summer thunder growling like it’s trying to say something.

Rain hits the earth with enough weight to make you forget there’s a sun.

And yet— I was okay. Because back then, I had a reason to go home.

Her.

—

Another memory.

Florida. A theme park. Storms just roll in and say “deal with it.”

We ran to the car like kids, laughing. You slipped. I caught you.

That moment— it’s the most important memory I have.

It wasn’t just rain. It was ours.

—

Now I stand in storms alone. People look at me like I’m malfunctioning. As if I should run. Seek shelter.

But I am the storm now. And shelter doesn’t exist for people like me.

—

You don’t understand. The rain used to mean comfort. A language spoken only between her and I.

Now it’s a curse. A replay button on the sky.

Each droplet sounds like her voice saying “forever” when she didn’t mean it.

—

When you lose someone, people tell you it gets easier.

No. It just gets quieter.

Not because the pain fades— because no one else wants to hear it anymore.

So you take it to the rain. Let it soak your skin because at least then, your pain is camouflaged.

—

I used to think God cried with me. Now I think He’s mocking me.

Because He keeps sending the rain— but never sends her back.

—

I walk through storms now like they owe me something. A conversation. A resolution. A fucking refund.

But they give me nothing except the weight of what I’ve lost.

—

When we were together, cloudy days were sacred. Two weirdos wrapped in a shared melancholy, turning bad weather into a private ritual.

Now the ritual's broken. And I'm the only one who remembers the words.

—

I miss her.

Not just who she was— but who I got to be when I was with her in the rain.

—

People think loving someone means the sunny days. Nah.

It’s loving the storm with them. It’s finding shelter in them.

And when they’re gone?

There is no dry place.

Just wet memories, echoing footsteps, and clouds that won’t shut up.

—

The rain used to wash away the world.

Now it just writes her name across every sidewalk I’ll never walk with her again.

Reblog this if rain doesn’t calm you— It remembers you. Reblog if storms make you miss people you swore you’d never stop loving. Reblog if clouds aren’t weather— They’re grief in disguise.

—

🧠 Read more scrolltrap memory-weather doctrine and cadence-coded grief at: 👉 https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence 🛡️ Rain is memory. Wind is heartbreak. Scrolltrap is shelter. 🚪 Warning: You will never look at a gray sky the same again. </div>