#jaylinda

They didn’t go to the hideout. Couldn’t stand the idea of silence, of sitting alone with everything still echoing in her head. So instead, they found themselves in a cold, broken-down greenhouse behind the old manor, where they knew someone would be.

Jay’s knuckles were raw by the time they made it. They hadn’t realized they’d been clenching their fists the whole ride, nails biting into skin. Acerbus had barely stopped before Jay was sliding off his back, stumbling into the greenhouse like they were being chased by something invisible.

Katja stood in the corner like a specter, arms crossed, cold even before she turned to see who had disturbed her. “Jay,” she said, flatly. “You look like hell.”

“Feel worse,” Jay muttered, pacing.

Katja arched a perfect brow. “Let me guess. The bond?”

Jay laughed once. Bitter. “If I hear the word bond again I’m gonna set something on fire.”

“Go right ahead.” Katja said.

Jay stopped pacing and looked at her, serious now. “I want it gone.”

Katja tilted her head. “You don’t get to wish that away. It’s not a curse you can break with a rhyme.”

“I’m serious,” Jay snapped, too loudly. “I want to go back to who I was before this. Before her. Before everything got... messy.”

Katja studied her for a long moment. “So, you want me to do what? Snap my fingers and rebuild your Dark Core loyalty from scratch?”

Jay’s jaw clenched. “Is Sabine here?”

“She’ll say the same thing I will,” Katja said, sharp now. “What you’re feeling is not weakness. It’s a test. You don’t like losing control? Good. Fight it.”

Jay ran a hand down her face. Her fingers trembled. “I don’t know if I can.”

And that—more than anything—was the part that gutted her.

Katja stepped closer, her voice low. “You’re spiraling.”

“I should be able to control this,” Jay said. “I used to be good at it. Cold. Detached. Focused.”

“You used to be numb,” Katja corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Jay turned away. “I don’t want to feel like this.”

“Because it hurts?”

Jay didn’t answer.

Katja didn’t offer sympathy. She never did. But her words were steady. “Then make a choice. Give in to it or rip it out of yourself piece by piece.”

Jay swallowed. “How?”

Katja stepped past her, heading to the back door. “Sabine might know a way. But it won’t be easy. Or clean.”

Jay turned to look over her shoulder. “I don’t care.”

Katja paused in the doorway. “You will.”

Then she disappeared into the shadows, leaving Jay alone with the sound of her heart beating too loud in her ears.

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Jay didn’t knock.

They just let themselves in.

Sabine’s apartment was dim and quiet, lit only by the orange slant of city lights through the window. The familiar scent of eucalyptus and leather hit them first. Her jacket hung on the back of the couch. Boots by the door. Somewhere in the background, music was playing—low and slow, something moody and French.

Sabine looked up from where she was stretched on the couch, a book in hand, bare feet up on the armrest. She didn’t look surprised. Just tired.

“You look like hell,” she said without inflection.

Jay didn’t answer. They stood in the doorway like a kicked dog, rain still dripping from their coat. Eyes dark, jaw locked.

Sabine sighed, shutting her book. “If this is about your little Soul Rider mess—”

“It’s not little.”

That stopped her.

Jay stepped further in, voice rough. “I need help.”

Sabine watched them carefully now. “With what? Your conscience? Sorry. I don't do spiritual crises.”

Jay’s voice cracked slightly. “I’m losing my grip.”

Sabine blinked. That wasn’t what she’d expected. Not from Jay. Not in this tone. She leaned forward, dropping her feet to the floor.

“Explain.”

Jay’s hands were fists. “I’m not who I was. I feel... wrong. Like something inside me keeps pulling toward her and it’s not me anymore. I want to break the bond. I want to remember who I was before all this. Before Linda.”

Sabine was quiet for a beat, then stood slowly. “And you think I can fix that.”

“You have to,” Jay said, almost a whisper. “I trust you. You’re the only one who knew me before.”

Sabine’s face flickered—something unreadable—but she masked it quickly.

“You don’t want to remember who you were, Jay,” she said softly. “You weren’t whole then. You were empty. Just rage and shadow.”

“I’d rather be empty than this.”

Sabine exhaled, rubbing a hand down her face. “You really mean that?”

Jay nodded, jaw clenched like it hurt. “Tell me how to burn it out. The bond. Her. Whatever this is. Just tell me what I have to do.”

Sabine didn’t answer right away. Then, finally, she moved to the cabinet, pulling out a bottle and pouring two fingers of dark liquor into a glass. She held it out, not looking at Jay.

“Drink that. Sit down. Then we talk.”

Jay stared at the glass for a second before taking it. Their hands shook.

Sabine still didn’t look at them when she said, “This won’t be easy. You might regret it.”

“I already regret her.”

And that hurt more than Jay wanted to admit.

Jay downed the liquor in one gulp. It burned, but not nearly as much as the knot twisting in their chest.

Sabine watched silently as they sank onto the couch, their elbows on their knees, hands trembling. She sat across from them, crossing her legs, and studied their face with that sharp, unblinking gaze.

“You really want this gone?” Sabine asked finally.

“Yes.” Jay’s voice was hoarse. “Rip it out. Burn it. I don’t care what it takes.”

Sabine tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Even if it means tearing pieces of yourself away with it?”

Jay didn’t hesitate. “Good. I want it gone.”

Sabine leaned back, thoughtful now. “This isn’t like cutting a thread, Jay. This… bond—” She said the word like it tasted bad. “—is old magic. Primal. It roots deep. It doesn’t just tie your souls together. It… changes them. You’re not wrong to feel like you’re losing yourself.”

Jay’s nails dug into their palms. “Then fix it.”

Sabine almost smiled, but it was humorless. “There’s no fixing. Only breaking. And breaking something like that?” Her voice dropped, almost a purr. “It can break you, too.”

Jay swallowed hard. “Tell me what I have to do.”

Sabine studied them for a long, loaded silence. Then she stood and walked toward the cabinet again, this time pulling out something different: a black box with silver etching along its edges. She placed it on the coffee table between them.

Jay stared. “What’s that?”

“Insurance,” Sabine said coolly, flipping the lid. Inside were shards of dark crystal, bundled herbs tied with crimson thread, and a blade so sharp it seemed to hum in the dim light. “If you want to sever a soul-bond, you need more than words and willpower. You need sacrifice.”

Jay’s stomach knotted. “What kind of sacrifice?”

Sabine’s eyes met theirs, unreadable. “Blood. Yours. Maybe hers.”

Jay flinched, but only for a second. “If that’s what it takes—”

“Stop.” Sabine’s voice cut like glass. “Don’t say that so fast. You don’t know what you’re asking. This ritual—it could destroy everything inside you that isn’t hers. You want to be who you were before? That person might not survive this.”

Jay clenched their fists. “Then who will I be?”

Sabine smiled faintly, but it wasn’t kind. “That’s the fun part. We don’t know.”

Jay felt a chill roll through them, but they nodded anyway. “When do we start?”

Sabine tapped the box with one long nail. “Tomorrow night. You bring something of hers. Something she’s touched. Something that means something to her.”

Jay froze, throat tight. Images of Linda’s face in the dream flashed, the sound of her voice whispering something Jay couldn’t forget. The shirt she’d left crumpled on the floor.

They nodded slowly.

Sabine noticed the flicker in their expression but didn’t comment. She just smirked, leaning back on the couch with that predator ease.

“Good,” she said softly. “Maybe we’ll get the old Jay back.”

But the thought didn’t feel as comforting as it should.

Jay lay on their bed staring at the ceiling, every muscle in their body tight. They’d killed the lights, left their phone across the room, tried to shut down the thoughts gnawing at them—but it was useless. The image of that black box on Sabine’s coffee table kept looping in their head: the blade, the crimson thread, the promise of something final. Tomorrow night, it would all be over.

That was what they told themselves. Over. Done. No more dreams that left them shaking, no more heat crawling up their neck every time Linda’s name crossed their mind. No more waking up with their sheets twisted and their chest aching with something they didn’t have a name for.

They turned on their side, gripping the edge of the pillow like it might ground them. Sabine’s warning echoed like poison: It can break you too.

Jay didn’t care. At least, that’s what they kept repeating, like a mantra: I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t—

And then their chest clenched so hard they gasped.

It wasn’t pain exactly. It was… pulling. Like someone had hooked something deep inside them and yanked. Jay sat up, heart pounding, breath sharp. For a split second, they thought maybe Sabine had started without them. But no—this was different. Familiar.

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Linda bolted upright in bed. Her room was dark, the moon cutting pale lines across the floor, and yet everything felt bright inside her head—blinding, urgent. The bond was alive. She could feel it writhing like a snake in her veins, demanding her attention. Her breath came fast, hands trembling against her blankets.

And then she saw it.

Not a dream, not exactly—a vision that felt like a shard of tomorrow piercing through the present. A circle carved in earth, candles bleeding wax into black soil. Sabine’s face shadowed, lips moving around words that tasted like smoke. And Jay—Jay standing in the center, bare-armed and bleeding, eyes wide and wild as something inside them was being ripped apart.

Linda’s stomach flipped, bile burning her throat. She reached out instinctively, like she could grab Jay and pull them away, but her hands met empty air. The image blurred, scattered like ash on wind, but the feeling didn’t leave. It clung to her ribs, suffocating.

No, Linda thought, her nails digging into her palms. They wouldn’t— But she knew Jay. Knew the spiral of self-destruction better than she wanted to admit. And she could feel the intent thrumming through the bond like a drumbeat. They were going to do this. Tomorrow.

The pull didn’t let up. It yanked harder, so hard Linda had to press a hand to her chest just to breathe. It wasn’t just showing her—it was dragging her toward them, like some part of her soul was clawing to reach Jay before it was too late. Her entire body was thrumming with it.

She swung her legs out of bed, feet hitting the cold floor. Her head was spinning, but her mind was razor sharp now. There was no question. No hesitation. Whatever this was—ritual, curse, bond—it wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t going to let them tear themselves apart.

Linda sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her own hands like they might hold answers she didn’t want to face. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the city outside, but inside her head it was chaos—a looping reel of everything she’d said that night.

You can go look for information in that book. Like she hadn’t just kissed Jay until her lips were raw. Like she hadn’t let herself—wanted herself—to fall apart in their arms. She’d shut down, slammed that wall back up because it was safe, because it made sense. Because wanting Jay was dangerous.

And now? That wall was rubble, and she was choking on the dust.

Her mind kept going back to the look on Jay’s face when they’d left—sharp edges masking something brittle underneath. Linda had seen it, even if Jay tried to smother it under that infuriating smirk. She knew she’d hurt them. She’d meant to. Or had she? God, she didn’t even know anymore.

The worst part? She wasn’t sure if this pull—the ache that wouldn’t leave her chest—was because of the bond or because of what she’d done. What if Jay hated her now? What if they were done? She told herself that’s what she wanted. It was cleaner that way. Easier.

So why did it feel like someone had carved her open and left her bleeding out?

Linda dragged her hands over her face, frustration burning behind her eyes. “This is so stupid,” she whispered to the dark. She was supposed to be the rational one, the one who kept her head when everyone else lost theirs. And here she was, unraveling because of a kiss. A meaningless hookup. Because of a bond.

Except it wasn’t just the bond, was it? That was the part that made her sick. Because even without the magic threading between them like barbed wire, she would still want Jay. Still want their hands on her skin, their mouth on hers, the way they looked at her like she was something worth burning for.

Her breath stuttered, shame curling low in her stomach. She hated this. Hated that the thought of Jay walking away—really walking away—made her chest cave in.

And then it hit her. A sudden, violent pull that knocked the wind out of her. Linda doubled over with a gasp, clutching her ribs like she’d been hit. The bond. It was thrumming so loud she could feel it in her teeth, a magnetic force yanking at her insides, screaming at her to move.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but that only made the vision clearer—Jay in a circle of black earth, blood dripping from their arm, candles flickering like dying stars. And Sabine. God, Sabine was there, her voice curling through the smoke, words Linda couldn’t hear but felt in her bones. This wasn’t just some spell. This was destruction.

“Jay…” Her voice cracked on the name, and she hated how small it sounded. She saw their face, pale and set like stone, and something inside her snapped. They were going to do this. They were going to rip the bond apart even if it killed them.

Linda’s throat tightened as the question dug in like a thorn: Is this because of me? Because of what I said? Because she had pushed them away, shoved every raw, honest thing between them into the dark, and now—

“No.” She stood so fast the chair beside her rattled. Her legs felt weak, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered except getting to Jay. The bond yanked again, hard enough to make her stumble, and she let it. For once, she didn’t fight the pull.

If she didn’t stop this now, she was going to lose them.

Linda snatched her jacket off the chair and shrugged it on with trembling hands, but she didn’t leave—not yet. Her heart was racing like a drumbeat in her throat, the bond tugging at her ribs in sharp, merciless pulses, but she forced herself to stop, to think.

Because this wasn’t just about barging in and screaming at Jay to stop. This was Sabine. And Sabine didn’t do anything without an angle.

Linda’s mind scrambled through everything she knew: Sabine’s obsession with power, her casual cruelty, the way she circled Jay like a vulture whenever things got tense. This ritual—it wasn’t just about severing the bond. There would be a price, and Sabine wouldn’t pay it. Jay would.

Linda pressed her palms to the desk, grounding herself in the wood’s edge. What do I do? The old part of her, the rational part, whispered that she should call Alex. Call Anne. Call someone. But the thought of explaining any of this—of admitting what she and Jay had done, what they’d almost become—made her chest seize.

No. This wasn’t about shame. This was about saving them.

She grabbed her satchel, fingers shaking as she shoved in what she might need: a few protective charms, the cracked mirror she’d been studying, a folded map of Jarlaheim with Sabine’s known haunts circled in red. None of it felt like enough. Against Sabine, against whatever she had planned, Linda felt…small. Like that same girl who’d once hidden behind books because books didn’t break your heart.

She caught her reflection in the mirror above her desk—hair messy, face pale, eyes wide and wild—and for a second she didn’t recognize herself.

“Pull it together,” she whispered. But the words sounded weak, even to her own ears.

Her thoughts spiraled back, unrelenting: Is this because of me? Because she’d kissed Jay and then shoved them away like it meant nothing. Because she’d been too scared to admit what she wanted—that she wanted them, even without the bond twisting her veins into knots.

If Jay believed this was the only way to be free… if they thought cutting her out was the answer…

Linda’s breath hitched, and for a terrifying moment she thought she might cry. She clenched her fists instead, nails biting into her palms until pain cut through the fog.

Linda staggered back from the edge of the vision, clutching the bedframe like it might anchor her to reality. Her heart was pounding so violently it made her ribs ache, every beat syncing with that tether in her chest—the bond pulling her like a rip current she couldn’t escape.

Jay. Jay bleeding in the dirt. Jay chanting words they didn’t even understand just because Sabine promised it would work.

Linda squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the urge to scream. This wasn’t a plan. This wasn’t rational. Sabine didn’t give without taking—Linda knew that better than anyone. If Jay thought for a second that severing the bond would leave them untouched, they were wrong. Dead wrong.

And whose fault was that?

Mine. The thought was a knife in her chest. She had pushed. She had shut down. She had tried to make it clinical, transactional, when everything in her body wanted the opposite. She had told herself that was safer—for both of them. And now Jay was so desperate to claw free of her that they’d run straight into Sabine’s waiting arms.

Linda paced the room, hands in her hair, dragging ragged breaths through her teeth. She couldn’t just storm in there with nothing. Not against Sabine. If Sabine was willing to help Jay do this, then it wasn’t just about breaking the bond. It was about hurting Linda. Maybe all of them.

Her gaze snapped to the shelves on the far wall. Books heavy with symbols etched into their spines. Pages that smelled like iron and old storms. She moved fast, fingers flying over worn covers until she found what she needed: Wards and Binding Counterspells. Her pulse throbbed in her throat as she yanked it open, flipping past diagrams and incantations she’d memorized years ago.

A simple shield wouldn’t hold—not against Sabine. She needed something layered. Something that could wrap around her like armor, make her harder to touch in more ways than one.

Linda lit the candles with shaking hands, whispering under her breath, syllables that tasted like copper and salt. The air thickened, heavy with magic, pressing down on her shoulders. The flame on the last candle flared blue, and she felt it settle inside her like a second heartbeat.

Then she hesitated. Her eyes drifted shut, and she pictured Jay—reckless, stubborn, stupid Jay—kneeling in that circle like a lamb to slaughter. Sabine would twist them until they didn’t even recognize themselves. The thought made Linda’s stomach flip.

“Fine,” she muttered, voice rough as gravel. She turned to the second circle she’d drawn in chalk, hands trembling as she placed Jay’s name at the center of it. A strip of fabric torn from their jacket—something she’d kept without thinking—sat beneath it like an anchor.

This one wasn’t just for her.

The chant started low, words scraping at her throat as the energy bled from her fingertips into the symbols on the floor. It coiled tight, wrapping around the bond like a thread spun from moonlight, seeping into Jay whether they wanted it or not. A ward that would burn anyone who tried to tear at what connected them.

Linda sank back on her heels when it was done, lungs aching, hands smeared with chalk and blood from where she’d bitten her lip raw. She stared at the flickering candles, at the faint shimmer hanging in the air like frost. It wouldn’t last forever. Maybe not even an hour. But it was enough.

She blew out the flames, grabbed her jacket, and pressed her palm flat over her chest. The bond was a live wire under her skin now, tugging her, begging her to move faster.

And for once, she didn’t fight it.

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Jay lay on Sabine’s couch, one arm thrown over their eyes, the other dangling off the side like they were trying to let the floor absorb the static crawling through their veins. They’d been restless for hours—long after Sabine had gone to bed and left them alone with their thoughts, their plan, their doubts.

They told themselves they didn’t care. That this was the right move. That they were stronger without the bond, that Linda was just… noise. Distraction. A glitch in the system. They had almost convinced themselves of it, too—until now, when their chest wouldn’t stop buzzing like someone had lit a fuse inside them.

They exhaled sharply and dragged their arm down, staring at the ceiling like it might have answers. The chalk lines of the ritual still burned behind their eyelids when they blinked. The symbols Sabine had shown them—sharp, elegant curves that promised freedom. They were going to do this. They had to do this.

Except—

The hum in their chest deepened. Not louder, not painful. Just… heavier. Like being pulled under warm water. Jay froze, their breath hitching as the sensation spread—out from the tether, into their ribs, down their arms. It wasn’t like the bond clawing for attention when Linda was close, sharp and demanding. This was soft. Gentle.

Protective.

Jay sat up halfway, eyes darting around the dark room like someone might be there, whispering spells against their skin. But there was no one. Just the faint glow of city lights leaking through the blinds, and that… warmth curling in their bones like a hand smoothing down their spine.

“Linda,” they whispered, and hated the way it sounded—raw, quiet, like something cracked open in them.

They swung their legs off the couch, trying to shake it off, but the more they fought it, the stronger it wrapped around them. The hum turned into a pulse, syncing with their heartbeat. It wasn’t asking, wasn’t taking—just being. A shield, soft as silk and stubborn as iron.

Jay’s throat tightened. Sabine had warned them about resistance—told them the bond would fight back if Linda didn’t want to let go. But this didn’t feel like resistance. This felt like… a promise.

For a second, Jay almost tore the chalk lines off the floor and burned the pages Sabine had given them. Almost.

Instead, they curled back on the couch, jaw clenched, trying to pretend it wasn’t making their chest ache in the worst way. They’d never admit it out loud—not to Sabine, not to anyone—but for the first time in weeks, the noise in their head went quiet.

And Jay, who hadn’t slept more than an hour in days, let their eyes slip shut. The warmth stayed. The tether thrummed. And despite everything—the plan, the anger, the need to sever this—they sank into the kind of sleep they’d forgotten existed.

Jay drifted in the kind of silence that doesn’t feel empty, but heavy. A silence that presses against your ears like deep water. When their eyes opened, they weren’t on Sabine’s couch anymore.

They were standing barefoot on something cold—slick and hard, like glass. No, not glass. Ice. A pale sheet stretching out forever, the surface cracked in jagged veins that glowed faint blue beneath their feet. A mist curled around them, so thick it ate the horizon.

Jay turned, breath catching in their throat. Through the fog, a figure moved—soft edges, dark hair spilling down over a white sweater they knew too well. Linda.

“Linda?” Jay’s voice sounded wrong, muffled like someone had stuffed snow in their ears. They tried again, louder this time. “Linda!”

Her head snapped up, and even from this distance, they saw the relief in her eyes. She started toward them—slow, careful steps on the slick ground. Jay took one step forward, then another, heart hammering as the fog thinned just enough for them to see what separated them.

A split in the ice. Not a crack—a chasm. A jagged, black mouth cutting straight across the ground. And Linda was on the other side.

Jay moved closer, but the gap stretched with every step. It wasn’t possible—wasn’t fair. They lunged forward, shouting, and Linda’s lips moved like she was calling their name. Her voice didn’t reach them—just a ghost of sound, broken by the wind.

“No, no, no,” Jay muttered, moving faster now, boots slipping on frost, panic clawing up their throat. “Don’t—don’t do this—”

But Linda kept drifting. Not walking—drifting, like the ice under her was floating away, taking her with it. Her hands stretched toward Jay, fingers trembling, the bond between them a faint silver thread in the mist. Jay felt it tug in their chest—soft, pleading—but the thread was fraying.

“Don’t go!” Jay shouted, voice cracking as they broke into a run. They didn’t care if the ground shattered, if the cold swallowed them whole. They just needed to reach her.

Her lips moved again, forming words Jay couldn’t hear, couldn’t hold on to. The fog warped her face, blurring her like a half-finished painting—but Jay knew what that look meant. Desperation. Fear. Love they weren’t supposed to see.

Jay hit their knees at the edge of the chasm, fists curling against the freezing ice. “Linda! Please!”

She shook her head slowly, eyes shining like molten gold against the pale, and mouthed something again—one word this time, sharp enough that Jay thought they felt it more than heard it: Don’t.

Then the thread snapped.

Linda vanished into the fog, her iceberg sliding away into nothingness, and Jay screamed—a raw, broken sound that fractured the dreamscape.

And then they were awake, heart racing, sweat dampening their skin despite the chill of the room. For a long time, they just sat there, fists gripping the edge of the couch, pulse hammering in their ears. The hum of the bond was still there, faint but steady, like a heartbeat under ice.

if i’m not posting sso-related stuff, it’s usually about other games or shows like life is strange, arcane, sims, evil women, or just random shitposting because i’m too lazy to make a sideblog tbh lmfaooo.

i’m not super keen on sharing a lot of personal info, but here are some fun facts anyway:

- i’m in college majoring in advertising - favorite colors: green, yellow, and pink - i like reading books (and fics) - dr pepper connoisseur (blackberry my beloved) - i love analyzing media (film, books, people in general) - very femme - very chronically online ( im so serious my brain is rotted)

anyway! if you want, i have lots of star stable writing — sabine x oc, sabine x reader, and my jaylinda crack ship.

here are some fics i’m writing and/or have finished that i think are pretty good (most are on tumblr but also on ao3):

Sabine x reader enemies to lovers equestrian festival

jaylinda but they are comsically connected and dont like it

random sabine x reader oneshots based off songs

sabine x oc lovers to enemies to lovers fic

Feel free to say hi or tag me or send asks if you ever wanna talk about SSO (or evil women). Thanks for being here!

dni if you:

are a homophobe, transphobe, racist, sexist, TERFs, xenophobic, anything similar to these

maga

you can't handle discussions of fictional characters

are only here to argue or start drama

ship policing

canon enforcers (its not that deep bro)

Also i block freely and if something upsets you can too (: