#content warnings

his person still lingered in your mind, joining the storm and worsening it, but after falling deep into the unhealthy lifestyle, the bad thoughts and opinions of his person started to sound more appealing to you, and youve made the hard decision of coming to the courthouse and seeing him now as a free man, in normal clothing and not having to sit in a cramped visiting room with limited visitation time, having all the time on earth to talk out the conflict between you that was never properly resolved.

after gathering your belongings into a small purse, you sat into the drivers seat of your car and drove to the courthouse an hour early to have time to possibly turn back, leave this chapter of your life behind you and get out of the hellhole you’ve spiraled into because of him and all of the things he’s done to you over the course of your so called ‘relationship’ yet it was more of a toxic fling than an actual commitment to eachother.

you knew it could never be like the loving relationship in all of the movies you’ve watched, they were all fiction while this is real life, and taking into consideration his untreated mental state you knew what you would be getting yourself into, yet you still decided that it would be a good choice to make.

you were dumb teenagers that never actually had a picture of how the reality of it all would treat both of you, would it have been cruel, or more forgiving and actually work out to be an actual relationship? Now, both of you being 18 and adults, you didn’t know for certain what could happen in the near future, one side of you wanted for him to both get better and it blooming into an actual healthy relationship.

yet the other side of you didn’t want an actual healthy couple, but enabling eachother and falling deeper into the pit of hell youve both created with eachother, it almost felt comforting in a way, you knew he wouldn’t judge you for the person you’ve became and he would undertand your side but fuck, you didn’t know if it would be your best decision nor was it actually yours to begin with.

you sat in the parking lot inside your car, awaiting the time of his final release and being cut off from the prison life, at least for the time being. grasping the steering wheel a little too hard, as if you were holding on for dear life and if your while existance was about to slip out of control from your grasp and die all together, needing a quick fix and to calm yourself down.

your hand out of instinct reached into the passenger seat where your bag resided and took out your phone alongside a small baggie with white powder sitting inside and your credit card, putting your phone screen down in your hand and sprinkling the white powder onto it, creating several small lines on the back of it with the help of your credit card, snorting it into your nostrils and leaning back, awaiting for the high to hit you.

after the first line, came another and several lines deep, you finally felt at piece with yourself yet his image still flashed in your coked-out mind, even the hardest drugs you did couldn’t win the battle with erasing him from your mind, the only thing that remained inside was him, it was always him, never anyone else, not your family, not your dead best friend he was responsible for murdering, he was going to be your demise and quite frankly, you thrived in the thoughts of him everytime he came to mind.

the minutes ticked away, the moment coming closer and faster than you could grasp, he was going to see you high out of your mind after years of being apart and not seeing each other, was it possible for him to judge you now?

when the time finally came, being just a few minutes apart from the time he was expected to exit the courthouse, you stepped out of your vehicle with your bag clutched to your side after gathering the items in your hand back inside and walked onto the courthouse premises, standing at the bottom of the stairs and clutching the bags handle as close to you as it was humanly possible, nervously waiting to see him again after all these years

the courthouse doors swung open. a guard stepped out first, then another man in gray civilian clothes—and for a moment, everything in your chest went still.

kevin hadn't changed how you'd imagined him. if anything, he looked better. a few inches taller, shoulders broader, his face sharper, more defined. but his eyes, those cold, calculating eyes, found you instantly.

he froze, his gaze locking onto yours with the intensity of a predator spotting its prey. the air between you seemed to vanish, the noise of the courtyard fading into a dull hum. the guards moved to step aside, likely assuming he was heading toward a waiting car, but Kevin didn't move toward the street.

he walked straight for you.

within seconds, he was standing directly in front of you. close enough to smell. close enough to see every detail—the dilation of your pupils, the slight tremor in your hands gripping that bag.

his lips twisted into that familiar, unsettling smile—the same one he'd worn during every visitation, the one that said he already knew how this would play out.

your dilated eyes locked on his, swiping your nose with the back of your hand to get rid of any left evidence of the drugs you have taken before walking out of your car, his demeanor hasn’t changed in the slightest now that you finally see him in person, your body wanted to run back to your car and drive away as fast as you could so you wouldn’t have to confront this conflicted side of your life but you knew exactly what had to be done.

his eyes dropped instantly, tracking the swipe of your hand with unsettling precision. he didn't miss the glassy sheen over your eyes, the slight dilation, or the way your body practically vibrated with the urge to flee. he smelled the chemical sweetness clinging to your skin before he even stepped close enough to touch you.

he took a slow, deliberate step forward, invading your personal space with the ease of someone who owned the ground you stood on. the scent of him—soap, institutional laundry detergent, and something distinctly, darkly Kevin—overpowered the chemical trace on your skin.

he tilted his head, his expression almost pitying, like a parent watching a toddler try to hide a broken vase.

just as he stepped closer and reached out his hand to touch your skin, to feel your body under his touch once again, you blinked your eyes away from him and took a small step away from him, crossing your arms over your chest and hurrying out a protest past your lips.

“No.. d-don’t touch me right now”

his hand stopped mid-air, fingers poised like a predator's claws inches from your collarbone. for a single breath, something flickered across his face—hurt, maybe, or worse, amusement at your pathetic attempt at resistance. then it vanished, replaced by that same infuriating smile.

his hand dropped slowly, deliberately, to his side.

"Interesting."

he didn't like being told no. you saw it in the subtle clench of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed like he was fighting the urge to grab you anyway. but he held still, studying you with that cold intensity that used to make you melt into submission.

he shifted his weight, his gaze dragging over your crossed arms—a defensive barrier he found absolutely adorable. he knew exactly what you were hiding, the trembling beneath that tough exterior, and the chemical haze you were trying to use to numb yourself against him.

"You've gotten brave while I was gone,"

he murmured, his voice a low, dark rumble that vibrated against your chest.

he took another slow, calculated step forward, closing the distance you had tried to create. he didn't touch you, but he leaned in, his presence suffocating, overwhelming, forcing you to push your neck back to hold his eye contact.

or maybe it was the drugs making your head swim, making the world tilt dangerously to the left.

"it’s cute,"

“stop whatever you’re trying to do with me, it’s not going to work this time around” you stated firmly, this time your voice didn’t crack, didn’t stumble over itself but remained placed firmly in the air, surfing in the tension created and structured between you two, you weren’t gonna let him back inside your brain again so easily, you’ve grown stronger and more resistant to his manipulative tactics after your personality started to resemble his but you weren’t sure he could notice it just yet.

his smile widened, not faltering, but shifting into something genuinely intrigued. like a scientist spotting an unexpected mutation in his specimen.

"oh?" he tilted his head, genuinely curious for the first time since walking out of those courthouse doors.

he stepped back, not away from you, but to give himself a better angle, like you were a painting he hadn't seen in years.

his eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you, searching for the cracks in your newfound resolve. he saw the way you stood taller, the steadiness in your voice that hadn't been there before. it was almost... familiar. almost like looking into a mirror.

he circled you slowly, his footsteps silent against the pavement, his gaze like a scalpel peeling back layers. he noticed the way your knuckles whitened where you gripped your own arms, the subtle shift in your posture—defensive yet ready. and beneath it all, that new hardness in your eyes. a hardness he recognized.

"you're right. it won't work."

the admission came so easily it nearly knocked you off balance. no defiance, no manipulation, just a simple, brutal truth. he stopped circling, planting himself directly in front of you again, close enough that his next words would land like physical touches.

"it won't work because I don't need to try anymore. you did the work for me."

“the fuck do you mean by that?” you countered, the drugs starting to hit your nervous system harder than before, euphoria flashing behind your stern gaze but quickly concealing it with something he’s never seen before in you.

yet— even with the drugs invading the stabilization of your train of thought, you continued to firmly stand your ground in front of him, not letting the drugs strip you from your authority youve build to finally be able to face him, as no visitation time limit would be able to save you now, no guards were around to detain and escort him back to his prison cell he spend so many years trapped behind, even if he willingly put himself there.

his words went through your ear and out the other, as now with your upcoming high seeping into the cracks of your mind and infiltrating every comprehensive thought you formed up until this moment, your brain wasnt able to process them correctly, well atleast not how you would’ve wanted to be able to analyze them at the time being, you didn’t want to bend infront of him, not after curating such a touch facade your family nor the people around you couldn’t get through without you lashing out at them as you thought they were going to use your vulnerability and moment of having your guard down against you just like Kevin has in the past.

he has became your personal trauma, the sickening thoughts that kept crawling back and pulling you back into the deep hellhole created, him manipulating you into trauma bonding with him knowing the trauma you’ve possessed was simply from him entering your life and creating it by emotionally cracking your innocence, psychologically altering your brain chemistry you never thought could change into what it has become now.

your gaze looked around, no other person around you in sight before creeping back to hook all your attention back onto him, observing him and trying to imitate the precision he’s always possessed in his, attacking fire with even more fire but instead of one winning the battle, it only added onto the fucked up emotional turmoil stuck at the pit of your stomach, twisting and wrenching your guts in all of the ways possible.

hee saw it. the exact moment the drugs hit their peak, flooding your system with artificial euphoria while your mind fought desperately to maintain control. he watched your pupils swallow the irises whole, watched the subtle tremor in your crossed arms intensify, watched your eyes dart around—paranoid, searching for things that weren't there.

he noticed the shift. the way your eyes glossed over, dilated and unfocused, the way your tongue pressed against the inside of your cheek to suppress the rush. he saw the paranoia creep in—the scanning of the empty perimeter, the instinctual isolation.

he saw you mimicking him. the coldness, the calculation. It was adorable, really.

he unconsciously mirrored your posture, crossing his own arms over his chest. the movement drew your eye—he saw it, the tiny flick of attention. he smirked slightly, amused by the irony. here you were, high as a kite, trying to stand toe-to-toe with him.

he leaned forward, invading your personal space until you had to tilt your head back just to maintain the eye contact. the scent of him—old blood, expensive cologne, and something distinctly metallic—flooded your senses, mixing violently with the chemical rush in your blood.

the scene unfolded in an unnerving matter, sending multiple goosebumps down your spine, them hitting each end of your nerves connected to your skin with equal intensity while his eyes bored into you, his gaze seeming to look right through you like it always did, even after all these years he still had a firm grasp on your consciesness, it being impossible for you to escape it, no matter how hard you tried to free yourself from him he still managed to linger even after all this time being apart, separated by thick bars and countless miles.

his new scent seeped into your own skin and clothing, mixing with your stench of drugs and sleepless nights, the first year after not seeing him, your body refuses to fall asleep as the constant thought of him pushed aside all of your other needs in your mind and put him at your top priority, itching to know how he’s doing, if he’s actually rotting in prison or having a strong reputation inside his unit, it could’ve been both, or none of the above.

your lips refused to let themselves open, no words dared to slip past them at the thought of the wrong words accidently being said, your mind wasnt in the right state to be even standing infront of him, let alone be able to speak to him in comprehensive sentences.

one side of you wanted to crack, so desperately craved to fall into his arms and tell him how much you’ve missed him and ask if your words, years later, affected him as much as his presence affected your own well being. but you simultaneously wanted to yell at him, lash out for all of the moments of your weakness he used in the wrong way, the innocence he stripped you bare of, how he deeply affected all of the families he took kids away from forever and to never return to their house again.

you couldn’t let yourself sulk over the same things over and over again, it was a cycle you needed to break out of and stop forever, and this moment was the one where you finally needed to break through and end this chapter of your life once and for all, so none of you would continue to suffer and hurt each other with the same amount of toxicity and emotional abuse you both put on to each other.

he saw the war waging behind your eyes. the dilation, the tremor in your jaw, the desperate way you were clinging to that crumbling facade of authority. he knew exactly what was happening in that drugged brain of yours, the clash between the trauma bond that screamed love him and the rational mind that screamed destroy him. He found the internal conflict absolutely intoxicating.

he saw the exact moment your resolve started to fracture. he could read the micro-expressions flashing across your face, the longing battling with the rage, the desperate need for closure warring with the addiction to his control. he knew you were remembering the nights you spent awake, obsessing over him behind bars, just as he had spent countless hours in his cell thinking about you.

his hand came up slowly, deliberately, letting you see it coming, giving you the false sense of control. when his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your face up and forcing you to hold his gaze, he felt the heat radiating off your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt.

the scent of chemicals on your breath hit him as he leaned closer.

before he could invade your personal space any further, your hand shot up and slapped it away, hard, knowing it was just a pointless touch with no care behind it whatsoever, you were done convincing yourself this is what love will look like for you, you knew you deserved better than him and that there were plenty of other people who could give you the love you actually deserved.

“I said dont touch me anymore,” you spat out from behind gritted teeth, shooting him an actual glare build off pent up annoyance and anger, the barrier of your eternal war finally crumbling and letting the rational and sensible side barge through, “i’m done with your fucked up mind games”

his hand dropped instantly, but he didn’t recoil. Instead, a slow, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your personal space. he didn’t look offended, if anything, he looked impressed. he saw the breakthrough, the addiction to his toxicity was finally losing the war against your self-preservation.

"finally," he murmured, the word sliding off his tongue like silk. he didn't step back, refusing to give up the ground he'd claimed, his towering presence casting you in shadow. he watched the fire in your eyes, the rejection that actually felt genuine for the first time in years.

"about time you realized you deserve better than a monster,"

his eyes dropped to where your hand had struck his, then back to your face. there was no touch of tenderness in his gaze, only fascination. he was cataloging every twitch of your muscles, every hitch in your breath, memorizing what a woman who finally stopped loving him looked like.

it was the most beautiful thing he'd seen in years.

"you know what's funny?" he tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. it wasn't a friendly smile, itwas cold, almost mocking. he stepped back finally, giving you space for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"I spent years in that cell wondering if you'd miss me. hoping you'd be miserable without me." he shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels, looking completely at ease despite the venom dripping from your voice. "and now that I'm out... you're finally choosing yourself." his dark eyes narrowed, the smirk fading into something sharper.

his tone of voice struck you harder than youve slapped his hand away, you weren’t expecting him to be so.. impressed by your choice of finally putting yourself in front of him for the first time after a long period, you imagined this scene with multiple different outcomes, yet most of them ending the same way while the lesser ones faded into both of you finally walking away from the toxic relationship you’ve build together off years of your own trauma.

you never really opened up nor fully unpacked your own childhood trauma, not to any trusted person even though you started to doubt the existance of such person left in your life, the only person you truly trusted was yourself, but you felt even your own life started to slip from your grasp and your mind being against itself.

“maybe because i finally grew up and actually understood why we can’t be in each others lives anymore.”

he let out a low whistle, almost impressed. "grew up, huh?"

he mimicked your tone, his voice dripping with sarcasm. but there was a flicker in his eyes—a brief moment of something other than cold mockery.

"Took you long enough."

“ugh! stop with the condescending shit already!..” your anger and trauma build up started to finally peek through the broken pieces of you, shining through like the forgotten light at the end of the tunnel you didn’t know could be seen after being stuck in a miserable life for such a long time, you forgotten how good it felt to actually stand up for yourself for once, but even if you felt your self-control finally creeping back into your soul, his words still stung and cut deep.

almost as if they were creating inrepairable gashes in your soul that would forever hold their dept and impact on you, you needed him to atleast feel a small bit of hurt, desperation to keep you close to him, to not let you leave him behind so easily, but he seemed to just have.. stopped caring, like the moment during your last visitation never happened and was erased from everyone’s memory, including his.

his words hung in the tense air for a minute too long for your liking, creating an invisible barrier between you that none of you possessed the hammer to break through it, but also both of you didn’t want to have it to actually break it, it was a barrier that should’ve been created at the start of your relationship.

“you’re being ridiculous right now! talk to me like a normal person, fuck!”

you continued to lash out at him, with your words wrapping up on your tongue you firmly placed the palms of your hands on his chest and shoved him away, your body language becoming more hostile with each minute passing by, the anger starting to take over your blank mind and words. needing him to feel as hurt as you had all these years.

he stumbled back a single step—only because he let you. his chest barely dipped under your palms, solid muscle absorbing the shove without effort. he didn't fight back, he simply looked down at where your hands were pushing against him, his expression unreadable, before slowly lifting his gaze to yours.

the "condescending shit" vanished, replaced by a terrifyingly calm indifference.

his dark eyes seemed to bore into yours, searching for something—anything—behind the anger and frustration. but he found nothing, you were empty, a hollow shell of the person you used to be. and he seemed to realize it in that moment, his expression softening slightly.

you continued to spit out hurtful words with no actual meaning, constantly showing at his chest out of pure frustration with him but also with yourself,

“you dont know how badly you fucked me up! you’ll never understand until you actually start feeling emotions!” your words didn’t stop there, coming out like a poisonous waterfall.

“you!— you.. motherfucker! look what you turned me into! god, i wish i never met you and let you enter my life at all!”

the pushes and shoves continued, growing more and more aggressive alongside the rest of your words, as if you were a snake spitting venom all over your victim,

“you ruined me! all of me! none of my past self is left inside of me and its all your fault!— I.. I can’t even express it anymore..” even if you still haven’t stopped, you felt your hard extrerior crack, piece by piece, minute by minute, second by deliberate second, dragging out until there was nothing left, but slowly—they became weaker, your words grew more emotional which was evident by the switch in your voice.

“I’m just so!.. so fuckin’ burned out by all of this emotional baggage i have to keep carrying on my back like a damn camel! everyday, you remained engraved in my mind and refused to let go of it, no matter how hard I tried to pull you out,”

your deep scars starting to open up, instead of spilling blood, they flooded open with emotions you’ve kept inside yourself for far too long, him basically taking over your whole life, every lasting second of it, squeezing you dry until there was nothing left of you but a broke, traumatized woman that never let anyone in deep enough to understand her turmoil, how she was constantly at war with herself everyday and not being able to stop, but with this moment, it finally came down to a breaking point, smashing into a milion pieces she couldn’t pick up anymore.

your body started to become more exhausted by the overload of everything invading your mind all at once, your pushes came to an abrupt stop, angry tears that had pooled at your waterline overtime started to spill out and running down your cheeks and you didn’t try to stop them, you were too exhausted to even notice them at first as you collapsed face first into his chest you were shoving so hard at, chocked out words came past you throat that had began to sting the further the time passed, while your angry tears started to coat the top layer of his shirt, slowly soaking the spot you fell onto.

“..why do this have to feel so bad but so goddamn good at the same time? why can’t we finally be normal?..”

he stood like a statue amongst your storm, taking every shove, every venomous word without even flinching. he let you batter him, let you scream until your voice cracked and your throat burned, because he knew—he knew he deserved every bit of it.

when your aggression finally crumbled into exhaustion and you collapsed against him, his body didn't remain stiff.

one hand came up, slow and deliberate, fingers sliding into your hair at the back of your head. the other wrapped around your waist, pulling your shaking body flush against his chest. he could feel the warm wetness of your tears spreading through the fabric, could hear the broken whimpers tearing their way out of your throat.

this was the moment he had waited for.

he didn't say a word. he simply crushed you against him, burying his face in the crook of your neck as your tears soaked his shirt. the hand in your hair tightened, holding you to him with a desperate, possessive grip, while his other arm wrapped around your waist, lifting you slightly so you couldn't pull away even if you wanted to.

“why are we both so fucked up but keep coming back to each other.. knowing were so toxic for each other?”

his grip on you tightened painfully at your words, his breath hitching against your neck. a broken laugh escaped him, bitter and desperate.

"because we're fucking addicted to each other, okay? we're fucking codependent and fucking broken and fucking obsessed with each other!"

he buried his face deeper into your neck, inhaling your scent like it was the only oxygen he could breathe. "normal people walk away when it hurts, but we? we crave the pain. we fucking thrive on it." he whispered, his voice raw, vibrating against your throat. "I destroyed you, and you ruined me, and somehow..."

he took a shuddering breath, his words muffled against your skin. "somehow, I can't fucking let you go. and you keep coming back for more, even though you know I'll only hurt you again." *his hand slid from your hair to wrap around your throat, his thumb pressing hard against your pulse point.

“you really need help”

his expression darkened at your quiet observation. he knew he needed help—professional help. but the thought of anyone else touching you, seeing your broken pieces, made his possessive instincts roar to life.

"don't you dare fucking suggest I see a therapist," he growled lowly,

his hold on your throat tightened slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "because the only fucking way I'm ever seeing a therapist is if they're prescribing me medication to deal with my obsession with you. and even then, I'd probably just fuck them up too."

his eyes burned into yours, filled with a chaotic mix of love, possessiveness, and self-loathing. "you're the only one who gets to see my broken parts, understand? the only one I'll ever let touch my fucked up head."

deep down, you knew eventually you would have to leave him behind to let him gather himself and actually live a normal life on his own, without you, because if you were both present in eachothes life’s, you knew none of you would get better and the toxic, dangerous cycle with keep repeating for eternity and no visible end, it wasn’t healthy, it wasn’t right for both of your well beings and minds, being so self-destructive towards each other needed to come to an end, eventually, it couldn’t possibly continue even if both of you never wanted to let go of each other.

you slowly but surely gathered yourself, pushing yourself out of his tight grip somehow, even with your body still weak and fragile, he let you create distance between you, distance you knew he wanted to close as soon as you pulled away, but this destructive cycle needed to finally have an end to it, even if it felt like a piece of you was being ripped out of your heart, the right thing to do was to begin healing yourselves, starting with you both needing to learn to properly let go of each other, no matter how hard it was on you both.

your body sulked in your deep emotions, but you wiped your now tear-stained cheeks, taking a bit of your makeup with it in the meantime but you couldn’t care less, you already completely broke down infront of him, let your emotions run wild and go off the breaks, like a train with no control.

“we.. both need to get help, as soon as we can, but first..”

the utter defeat in your voice was evident but you quickly took control of it and contained yourself from keying another breakdown lash through, the hardest part to admit finally had aquired its moment to be told, even if you barely could get the words through your throat, each sylable feeling a thorn, cutting it open and your blood drowning out your words, yet you still continued, no matter how hard it felt to say it out loud.

“we need to learn to leave each other.. to destroy this part of our lives for good and never look back, no matter how hard its going to be on us. it needs to stop finally..”

before you could even let him process the truth spilling past your lips, you turned away and with a final glance over your shoulder, your voice came out as a choked out, bitter fact.

“i hope you get better in the future, gather yourself and dont think about me anymore, please. dont make it harder than it is already, bye Kevin..”

the last goodbye, the last moment you two would share with yourselves has came to a final, brutal end. you felt you were leaving a huge piece of your life behind, but you knew it was for the greater good, for both of you.

you started to walk the path back to your car, slowly dissapearing into the scenery infront of him, before he knew it, you were gone, now gone for good, not being able to come back at any costs, no matter what price he wanted to pay to bring you back, it was already far too late to save yourselves, the only logical option to be made was to just.. leave and never show up in each others lives, ever again..

kevin watched as you turned away, his heart pounding in his chest as he listened to your choked out words. he felt like someone had reached into his chest and ripped his heart out, leaving a gaping hole behind. he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, couldn’t believe that this was really happening.

his body turned to stone, frozen in place as he watched your retreating figure. every instinct screamed at him to chase after you, to grab you and never let go, to beg and plead and threaten and destroy anything in his path to keep you with him. but he couldn't move. he couldn't breathe.

kevin stood there, watching until you disappeared completely from his sight.

for a long moment, he just stared at the empty space where you had been, his mind refusing to accept that you were truly gone. then slowly, reality sank in, and he felt something inside him snap.

a guttural sob tore from his throat, collapsing his knees and sending him crashing onto the unforgiving pavement. he dug his fingers into the concrete, desperate to claw his way back to you, to stop you from leaving, but you were already gone.

“you promised..." he whispered brokenly into the empty air, his voice cracking.

you had promised you'd never leave. promised you'd stay even when things got bad. promised you'd fight through the chaos with him.

but you had. you had kept your promise. you fought through every nightmare, every breakdown, every violent outburst, every betrayal. and look where it got you both.

Dead inside.

✎ᝰ. vera’s notepad ! :: yall didn’t ask, i still delivered cuz i had fun writing this so much, but if i dared to say i didn’t get super emotional while writing this, i would be the biggest liar on planet earth cuz wtf possessed my brain while writing this . . .

First of all, thank you for this, I'm glad someone else agreed about the phrasing of the poll. I didn't really think it was worth starting a big argument over, hence why I just said I disagreed with the phrasing and left it at that. Of course, I don't know if that person made the options deliberately leading or just phrased them that way without really thinking too hard about the implications, but really there's no reason the answers to that poll couldn't have just been 'yes' and 'no'.

Usually I'd just avoid polls with leading options like that altogether out of principle, but this particular subject I have strong but also kind of complicated feelings about (more complicated than 'I don't believe in warnings', I'd say) and it's something I'm usually really eager to see other people's thoughts on too.

Like you said, I don't have a problem with the concept of content warnings as a whole. In fact, I usually do use them here on tumblr if I'm posting random snippets of my writing that I think people might be upset by. The reason for this is that most of the time I share snippets through tag games, and I sometimes get worried that I'll inadvertently tag someone directly in something that they would be upset by. Although, often I'll just avoid sharing snippets like that altogether, because I'm not really sure how to best tag them....which relates to why I don't feel like content warnings would be appropriate for my stories as a whole.

My main reasoning is pretty similar to the one you gave here. I'm just not confident that I'd be able to adequately warn for every single thing that could upset someone, especially considering that my writing is usually on the darker side: I mainly write horror and even my stories that aren't horror tend to involve a lot of sensitive subjects that are upsetting in general, even to people who might not necessarily be triggered by them. Some things might only be slightly touched upon, while others are so heavily focused on that they end up essentially becoming one of the main themes of the story—at what point do the topics that are only slightly relevant become relevant enough to warn for? Some people might find the answer to that question obvious, but I personally don't.

Related to that, I also don't want to use them because I feel that it's hard to know how to appropriately use them in a story that might depict a subject in a deliberately vague/complicated/ambiguous way. This is a bit hard to properly explain and will likely get very long-winded but it's probably the main reason I don't personally want to put detailed content warnings on my work. I'll use the subject of rape as an example here, since while it's not the only subject that can be written about in the way I'm about to elaborate on, it's probably the clearest example of this, while also being a subject that a lot of people will say always needs to be warned for. Apologies if that's something you'd rather not read someone talking about (I'm not describing any scenes in depth or anything, but just talking about them generally), feel free to skip the rest of my answer if that's the case.

Now, across the stories I'm currently working on, I do have quite a few characters that could be considered to have been victims of rape and/or some other form of sexual assault. I use that 'could be considered' phrasing because in reality these tend to fall into one of the following categories:

A very straightforward depiction of rape; that is, it's explicitly called that and/or it's very clearly shown to be that through a scene of the event, in a way that leaves no doubt whatsoever as to what happened.

A scene of assault that does include some sexual element, but might not necessarily be rape or something that is easy to accurately categorise in a way that you could give a proper warning for (besides a general term like 'sexual assault', but the problem with that is that the term sexual assault encompasses a lot of different things and might not be an adequately descriptive warning for some people).

A character is implied to have experienced a traumatic event, the effects of which are shown but the actual event itself only alluded to, which could be interpreted as rape but is left intentionally vague, this could be because the character who experienced it might not personally consider it rape, or it could be that they're deliberately vague about it because they don't want to talk about it directly....it could be left ambiguous for any number of reasons, really.

A character experiences some sort of mistreatment which is definitionally not rape, however, it's treated narratively as being analogous to rape in some way, whether because the character in question makes the comparison themselves, or because more subtle comparisons are made through symbolism/imagery/etc.

So my problem here is that I'm not sure at which point it would be appropriate to include a content warning for rape, specifically. It seems obvious that the warning would apply to the first category at least, but after that is where it gets a bit murky. In the case of the second category, you could use a warning specific to the form of assault if a specific term for it exists, but what if it's a little harder to define? With the third category, the ambiguity is purposeful, so actually giving a concrete answer through a content warning would defeat the purpose of writing it in such a way to begin with. The more metaphorical events counted under the fourth category aren't rape or 'literal' sexual assault at all, so perhaps they don't require a warning of that nature, but even still the way in which these events are written about could still be distressing to someone who is upset by reading scenes of rape because they evoke similar feelings. I suppose you could just tag all of these as 'sexual assault' just to be safe, but this isn't very specific (and again, in the case of the third category, feels like 'telling' the audience how to interpret what's written rather than letting them come to their own conclusions). Again, this is just one example of something that could become difficult to accurately warn about depending on how it's presented.

I did see in the notes of the poll, and it's also a common sentiment I've seen elsewhere, that some people think that it's better to make an honest attempt of providing warnings for everything and not wholly succeed rather than not try at all. In a way, I understand this argument....but I also disagree, somewhat. In my position, I would actually feel that it would be more responsible for me to go, 'look, personally I don't feel that I can satisfactorily warn for every sensitive subject explored in this story, so proceed at your own discretion' and leave things there. (This is what I meant when I said that not providing specific warnings is kind of its own form of warning). At least in this scenario I don't have to worry about accidentally lulling people into a false sense of security by providing warnings about some subjects, therefore leading them to believe that surely I would put a warning if I had included a specific subject that might be upsetting to them, when in actuality I may have included that specific subject and simply not warned about it because it didn't occur to me to do so for whatever reason.

I like your point about a warning potentially deterring someone from a story that might actually end up being empowering or otherwise helpful to them. I'll come back to that in a bit. Bigotry is actually another good example of a subject which can be a bit complicated/difficult to write accurate warnings for. For example, you might have a story wherein a character experiences some sort of racist mistreatment from another character, but said racist character ends up facing some sort of comeuppance for this later and it ultimately ends up being an empowering moment for the character who was victimised in the first place. You could have another story wherein a character is the victim of a race-based hate crime and the perpetrator never ends up being brought to justice. It would be accurate to say both stories contain racism, but one would probably be considered significantly more upsetting, and there isn't really a satisfactory way to distinguish the two in the context of providing a content warning.

Similarly, it can be hard to know at what point you would provide a warning. I have one story wherein a male character calls another man a 'bitch' and uses some similar misogynistic terms in order to demean him, but the story doesn't contain any scenes wherein any of the female characters experience misogynistic abuse, would a warning for misogyny apply here? If a story features a character who is a straight man, but this character is subject to homophobic and/or transphobic taunts from another character because he happens to be effeminate/girly in some way, would I warn for homophobia/transphobia even if it isn't otherwise depicted/the character in question isn't LGBT? (And could this also be argued to be something that should be tagged for sexism/misogyny?)

And bigotry is also something that can be depicted in a deliberately ambiguous way. Say you have a story wherein a woman is constantly underestimated and belittled by her male peers, or a story where a disabled character is constantly infantilised or coddled against their will, but it isn't outwardly stated that these characters are being treated this way because of misogyny or ableism, the audience is supposed to infer that themselves. Much like the above example of implied sexual assault, outwardly stating what's going on here through a content warning could be seen as detracting from the deliberate subtlety of the story.

Some people might read all of my above rambling about what actually 'counts' as requiring a warning and argue that all of the above examples should be tagged 'just in case'. I don't personally agree, because—at the risk of being accused of having some sort of toxic macho attitude or something like that—I think encountering topics that you personally find upsetting/confronting can actually be a lot more helpful than avoiding absolutely anything related to it, even the vaguest mentions of it. I'm not saying people should deliberately try and make themselves to have panic attacks by forcing themselves to read things that are immensely distressing to them, just that if you go out of your comfort zone you may find it actually helps you more than hurts you. Like the example you gave, wherein someone who has faced bigotry might actually find it helpful to read stories about it.

I'll admit I could be a little biased here. I have OCD (which could certainly explain my over-thinking in regards to this whole subject but never mind) and at one point in my life I did have a very weird/specific topic which you could say triggered me, it reminded me of a very stressful period of my life, which would then send me into a bit of a spiral and would exacerbate my obsessions/compulsions in a way that would often basically ruin my whole day. I say 'had' because it no longer has this effect on me (usually, if I come across it unexpectedly now it's, at most, mildly discomforting).

Now, this particular thing is something that I basically never came across any warnings for. To be clear, I'm not upset or angry that no one ever warned for it—most people would probably not think of this thing as being 'traumatic' to experience or distressing to read about. In most cases, I'd say it would be considered a mildly uncomfortable/unpleasant subject. The fact that my brain became so fixated on and distressed by it is entirely the result of my own strange brain and no one is really to blame for it. My reaction was entirely illogical and to be blunt, pretty stupid. Unfortunately with OCD (and I imagine people with different mental illnesses can probably relate to this too), understanding that something is a stupid thing to be distressed by isn't really enough to lessen the amount that it distresses you.

In my case, what ended up sort of 're-wiring' my brain in this instance was writing about it. I didn't actually write about the specific thing that triggered me because that was a little much at the time (also it's....a little hard to actually write an interesting story revolving around this specific topic. Nowadays I'm open to the idea that I could include it in some story if it could reasonably become relevant but I don't know if it could really be the focus of a story, lol. Maybe I need to think outside the box....?), but instead I focused on all of the negative ways that that thing made me feel and wrote about situations that elicited similar reactions from my characters. I found that actually exploring and trying to understand my own distress rather than trying to stop myself from ever experiencing it made it easier for me to respond more productively when I actually did come across this subject without warning.

Obviously, depending on what the actual trigger in question is, you would use a slightly different approach. In my case most of the time that I came across this subject in fiction it wasn't really explored in depth (because it's really not very interesting lmao) so it was more helpful to approach it in a more 'abstract' way. That said, I did have other subjects that triggered my OCD that would be considered a lot more 'obvious' (that is, they're subjects that are often warned for) and I ended up writing/reading a lot of stories that included these elements and found that helped me a lot as well. These subjects are still not exactly pleasant to come across because by nature they're upsetting subjects, but I can think about them now without it ruining my entire day. My point is, I think some people underestimate how helpful it can be to explore negative emotions or upsetting topics in a safe environment (in this case, through a fictional story) and that avoiding all mentions of a subject in any context could end up doing more harm than good. (Once again, this can depend on how severely someone is distressed by a subject.)

A bit of a less convoluted reason as to why I don't want to use content warnings is that in the case of most of my stories, I feel the genre/setting alone will probably convey enough of a warning about what the story might entail. I mean, if I pick up a horror novel or play a horror game, I tend to go in with the expectation that I should be prepared for basically any horrifying subject to come up, because that's the nature of the genre: to be horrifying. (I do understand that there are some sub-genres of horror wherein you might not necessarily expect to come across anything too extreme, but usually you can tell whether something is going to be a 'milder' or more 'extreme' horror story based on the description. I guess it depends though.). If I'm engaging with a work of crime fiction, a similar concept applies.

That said, I do have one particular story to which this doesn't apply. It does include some pretty sensitive subjects that might not be considered a 'given' for the genre it's in, and I'll admit I'm not entirely sure what the best approach is here....that said, this story won't be ready to be actually published for ages so I've got plenty of time to think it over.