#absolute solver reader

"Yellow Words From The Dark" Part 2 Mandy / Blonde Blazer x Cyn!Reader

Blonde Blazer did not announce her arrival.

That alone was unusual.

The Torrance SDN building glowed the way it always did—white light, glass, corporate reassurance baked into every reflective surface—but Mandy slipped through a side entrance instead of the front doors. Her amulet hummed low against her sternum, a persistent vibration she kept mistaking for nerves.

She told herself this was temporary. An assessment. A containment decision.

Behind her, the person(?) followed.

Not closely. Not distantly. At an angle that never quite aligned with Mandy’s peripheral vision.

Their gait was wrong, too careful, like gravity was a suggestion rather than a rule. Every few steps their head tipped sideways, neck joint clicking faintly, until they steadied it with one hand. Their feet pointed inward as they walked, shoes scuffing the polished floor.

“Quiet traversal,” ██████ murmured. “Successful.”

Mandy flinched, then caught herself. “You don’t need to narrate,” she said, sharper than intended.

██████ looked at her. Really looked. Yellow eyes reflective in the overhead lights.

“Understood,” they said. A beat. “Reduced narration.”

Two seconds passed.

“Silence imitation.”

Mandy exhaled through her nose and kept walking.

She still didn’t know why she’d brought them here.

No, that wasn’t true.

She knew the reasons, they’d been unconscious in an alley, anomalous readings, non-hostile behavior, no criminal activity she could immediately pin on them. SDN had protocols for displaced supers, undocumented metas, even extradimensional refugees.

What it didn’t have protocols for was the feeling in her chest when she’d tried to leave them behind.

A subtle pressure. A sense of wrongness. As if abandoning them would create a problem larger than keeping them.

She told herself that was empathy.

She did not consider the possibility that it wasn’t entirely her thought.

The hallway to the live-in quarters was mercifully empty at first. Late shift. Reduced staff. Mandy walked with the brisk confidence of someone who absolutely belonged here, even as her mind scrambled for excuses.

Consultant. Witness. Temporary asset. None of them fit.

Behind her, ██████ paused at a wall-mounted hero poster and leaned in close, nose almost touching the glass.

“Observation,” they said softly. “Brand consistency.”

“Don’t touch anything,” Mandy said automatically.

██████ pulled their hands back and clasped them behind their back. “Compliance.”

They resumed walking.

The first person they ran into was Prism.

Alice was leaning against the vending machines near the junction corridor, light idly spiraling around her fingers as she scrolled through her phone. She looked up mid-swipe, and froze.

Her pupils dilated.

“Oh,” she said, smiling slowly. “Hi.”

Mandy felt her shoulders tense. “Prism. You’re… still here.”

“Late edits,” Alice replied absently, eyes never leaving the Reader. “And, wow. You didn’t tell me we were getting a new one.”

██████ tilted their head. Too far. Corrected it with their hand.

“Greeting,” they said. “Hello, luminous individual.”

Alice laughed, bright and delighted.

“You’re creepy,” she said fondly. “I love it.”

“Affection acknowledged,” the Reader replied.

Mandy stepped in. “They’re not... they’re with me.”

Alice’s grin widened. “Yeah, I figured.”

She circled once, slow, appraising. Light refracted oddly around the Reader, bending in angles Alice wasn’t consciously shaping.

Her instincts were screaming predator, not attacking, not hostile, just waiting. But the feeling thrilled her more than it scared her.

“What’s your name?” Alice asked.

They opened their mouth.

They spoke.

The name slid out of Alice’s mind like oil over glass. Her smile faltered for half a second.

“…Okay,” she said, blinking. “That’s not fair.”

Mandy stiffened. “This is—temporary.”

“Sure it is,” Alice said breezily, circling ██████ like she was appraising a sculpture. “They’ve got vibes. Big vibes. Creepy-cute. Like—” she snapped her fingers, light flaring, “—if static learned how to people.”

██████ tracked her perfectly as she moved.

“Compliment acknowledged,” they said. “Tail wag imitation unavailable.”

Alice laughed, delighted. “Okay, that was adorable.”

Mandy opened her mouth to shut this down—

—but the ██████ suddenly leaned forward, peering at Alice’s glowing hands.

“Photokinesis,” they murmured. “Pretty.”

Alice’s heart skipped.

She hadn’t told them that.

“…Yeah,” she said slowly. “You’re not wrong.”

For a moment, Alice could swear the light bent toward the Reader, not the other way around.

Then Mandy stepped between them. “We need to get going, if you don't mind”

Mandy’s stomach tightened.

Alice laughed it off, stepping back. “Well. Whatever you are, welcome to SDN. Try not to eat the building.”

“Consumption not scheduled.” ██████ replied.

Mandy dragged them gently but firmly down the hall before Alice could ask more questions.

Behind them, Prism watched, light coiling tighter around her fingers, smile thoughtful rather than playful now.

They didn’t make it much farther before a portal irised open in the air ahead of them.

Malevola stepped through, broadsword resting easily on her shoulder. She took one look at the Reader and stopped.

Her expression did not change.

“Child?” she asked in a one word question.

██████ straightened.

“Classification uncertain.” they replied.

Malevola knelt anyway, bringing herself level with them. Her presence was grounding, solid demonic gravity rather than human warmth.

“You’re shaking.” she observed.

██████ looked down at their hands. They were trembling, just slightly.

“Kinetic posture unstable,” they admitted. “But… fine.”

Malevola nodded, like that explained everything. She reached out, adjusting ██████’s collar with surprising care, fingers lingering just long enough to ensure they were real.

“You’re cold,” she observed.

“Temperature sensation minimal.”

“Hm.”

Malevola straightened, turning her gaze to Mandy. “You’re planning to hide them in the live-ins.”

Mandy froze. “I—”

“You don’t know what they are,” Malevola continued calmly. “But you know they don’t belong on the street.”

It wasn’t a question.

Mandy swallowed. “…Yes.”

Malevola looked back at ██████. Studied the way their shadow didn’t quite line up. The way space felt thicker around them.

Then she nodded once.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

██████ tilted their head.

“Thank you,” they said, sincerely.

Malevola smiled faintly. “You’re welcome.”

But she stepped aside, letting them pass.

██████ watched her go, head tilted.

“Protective entity,” they murmured. “Noted.”

They were almost to the residential wing when Courtney appeared out of nowhere.

She phased into visibility directly in front of them, arms crossed, eyes sharp and unamused. Stood at the far end of the corridor, arms crossed, inhaler clipped at her belt. Her eyes flicked between Mandy and the Reader.

“Hey blondy” she said flatly. “What the hell is that?”

██████ stopped dead.

Mandy’s mind blanked for half a second.

“That’s none of your business,” she said quickly. Courtney scoffed. “Funny, because brand new people in SDN are my business.” Courtney’s gaze flicked to ██████. “They don’t blink.”

“I blink.” ██████ said immediately. “Blink.”

They squeezed their eyes shut once. Hard. Too deliberate.

Courtney recoiled. “Oh, hell no.” ██████ tilted their head, studying Courtney with unsettling intensity.

“Suspicion and respiratory strain detected,” they said. “you are tense.”

Courtney bristled. “Don’t analyze me.”

“Understood,” ██████ replied. A pause. “Ceasing analysis.”

They did not stop looking.

Courtney’s hand hovered near her inhaler. “You’re making excuses,” she said to Mandy. “Why?”

Mandy opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

For a terrifying moment, she couldn’t remember why she’d brought ██████ here, only that it would be wrong not to.

██████ leaned slightly closer to her, not touching.

“Stress indicators elevated,” they whispered. “Assistance.”

Mandy’s breath steadied.

“I’m responsible for them,” she said firmly. “That’s enough.”

Courtney searched her face, then the ██████'s.

“…Fine,” she said at last. “but you’re making a mistake.”

Courtney vanished again, leaving behind a chill and the echo of distrust. After a beat ██████ replied to the empty air “Possibility acknowledged,” they replied. “Goodnight, Courtney.” Mandy didn’t notice that ██████ suddenly knew someones name. She was already ushering the Reader down the hall, heart pounding, thoughts reassuringly smooth.

They reached the live-in room at the end of the hall, small, utilitarian, meant for exhausted heroes between shifts or SDN Staff who have to work overnight.

Mandy used her masterkey to open the door.

“Just for tonight,” she said again, more to herself than anyone else.

██████ stepped inside, looking around with quiet fascination. They sat on the edge of the bed, posture awkward, feet turned inward, hands folded in their lap.

“Temporary containment accepted,” they said.

Mandy leaned against the doorframe, suddenly exhausted.

She didn’t see the way the ██████'s eyes followed her every movement.

Didn’t hear the almost-silent hum beneath their voice as they added, to no one at all:

Since this isnt part of the story and more for fun, I'll scrap the ██████ stuff and just refer to the Reader as Reader.

A — Affection

Mandy never thought she’d be the more affectionate one—but here she is.

She’s the one who reaches out first: a hand on your shoulder, fingers brushing the back of your neck to steady it when it tilts too far. You respond by copying her gestures with uncanny precision, sometimes seconds later, sometimes minutes.

“Affection reciprocated,” you say, monotone. Then you lean into her anyway.

You don’t initiate often, but when you do, it’s absolute, quietly sitting beside her, resting your head against her arm like gravity finally chose you. Mandy pretends her heart doesn’t stutter every time.

B — Boss

Mandy is the boss.

She plans schedules. You destroy celestial bodies.

Somehow, this works.

You obey her without resistance, not out of submission but trust. When she tells you to stay, you stay. When she tells you to wait, you do, hands folded, feet turned inward.

Occasionally, reality bends slightly to make her plans easier.

Mandy never questions why.

C — Cuddles

Cuddling is… experimental.

You don’t quite understand comfort, but you understand proximity. You sit too stiff at first, narrating adjustments aloud.

“Arm placement corrected.” “Thermal regulation acceptable.”

Mandy eventually pulls you closer, tucking your head under her chin, holding it there when your neck threatens to give out. You go very still.

Your internal systems quiet.

You do not move until she does.

D — Domestic

You are terrible at chores.

Not because you won’t do them, because you do them too well.

Once, you cleaned the kitchen so thoroughly that the concept of bacteria in a eighty-foot radius ceased to exist.

You enjoy cooking, but only because you like narrating the process.

“Light stir.” “Heat application.” “Catastrophic error—oh.”

The smoke alarm fears you.

E — Earner

Mandy is the breadwinner.

Officially.

Unofficially, you occasionally conjure rare matter or impossible materials that somehow end up funding SDN infrastructure upgrades. Mandy doesn’t ask. Accounting doesn’t question it.

If there were ever children involved, Mandy knows, knows, you’d be the one home.

Watching. Waiting. Protecting.

F — Fiancé

It takes a long time.

Not because Mandy hesitates—but because you don’t understand what marriage means beyond “permanent association.”

When you finally propose, it’s quiet.

“Request: continued existence together,” you say, holding out a ring you fabricated from a collapsed star. “Forever, if acceptable.”

Mandy cries. She says yes immediately.

The wedding is small. The universe behaves itself. Barely.

G — Gentle

You are devastatingly gentle with her.

You regulate your strength, your presence, your very existence around Mandy. Reality stabilizes when she’s near. You touch her like she might shatter, not because she’s weak, but because she’s precious.

In moments where the Solver stirs, Mandy grounds you with a hand on your chest.

You always listen.

H — Honesty

You do not lie.

You omit.

Not maliciously, just because some truths are too large. Mandy senses it but doesn’t push. She knows when something isn’t meant for her.

When you do tell the truth, it’s absolute.

“I would end the universe for you,” you say once, calmly.

Mandy believes you.

I — “I Love You”

You say it first.

Awkwardly.

Incorrectly.

“I love you,” you state, flat. Then, concerned: “Emotion detected. Clarification requested.”

Mandy laughs through tears and says it back.

You repeat it often afterward. Sometimes just to hear the sound.

J — Jealousy

You don’t get jealous.

You get protective.

When someone flirts with Mandy, the lights flicker. Gravity feels heavier.

You lean in and say, pleasantly, “She is mine.”

Mandy clears her throat and gently steers you away before something catastrophic happens.

K — Kissing

You like kisses on the forehead.

They feel… stabilizing.

Mandy prefers your cheek, cool, faintly humming with power. Sometimes she presses a kiss to your temple just to feel the world settle.

You always pause afterward.

“Processing.”

L — Little Ones

Children confuse you.

They are loud. Fragile. Inefficient.

You adore them anyway.

You kneel to their level, eyes glowing softly, terrifying every parent except Mandy. You would guard a child with the same fervor you guard her.

Mandy suspects you’d be an excellent parent in the strangest way.

M — Morning

Mandy wakes early.

You do not sleep.

Instead, you watch her, head tilted, memorizing her breathing patterns until she stirs.

“Morning,” you say the instant her eyes open.

She startles every time.

N — Night

You like nights.

Less noise. Less expectation.

You sit on rooftops with Mandy, legs dangling, stars bending ever so slightly closer when you hum. Mandy leans against you, trusting the world won’t end tonight.

You make sure it doesn’t.

O — Open

You don’t talk about what you are.

But you are open about how you feel about her.

“I am calmer when you are near.” “I prefer existence with you.”

Mandy takes that as love.

P — Protective

You are terrifyingly protective.

Nothing touches Mandy without your permission, be it threat, timeline, or fate itself.

You would unravel gods for her.

She knows this and gently asks you not to.

You listen.

Q — Quizzes

You remember everything.

Birthdays. Anniversaries. The exact tone Mandy used the first time she laughed at you.

You remind her of things before she forgets.

She pretends not to notice how comforting that is.

R — Remember

Your favorite memory is simple.

Mandy asleep on the couch. Her head on your shoulder. Your systems quiet.

No Solver. No hunger.

Just stillness.

S — Simple Moments

You like sitting together.

No talking. No plans.

Mandy working. You watching. Occasionally narrating something mundane just to hear your own voice.

“Contentment acknowledged.”

T — Try

You try very hard.

So does Mandy.

That’s what makes it work.

U — Ugly

Mandy hates that sometimes… she forgets you’re dangerous.

You hate that sometimes… you enjoy her fearing you.

Neither of you say it out loud.

V — Vanity

You don’t care how you look.

Mandy does it for you.

She fixes your clothes, smooths your hair, adjusts your posture. You let her. You trust her judgment more than your own.

W — Whole

Without Mandy, you would still exist.

But it would be… incomplete.

With her, the universe feels quieter.

Manageable.

X — Extra

Sometimes, when Mandy is overwhelmed, you quietly fold reality to make things easier.

She never notices.

Y — You

Mandy’s favorite thing about you?

That for all your power, for all your horror

You chose her.

Z — Zzz

You don’t sleep.

But you stay.

The alley was supposed to be empty.

Mandy told herself that as she drifted down between two condemned office blocks, boots barely touching the pavement. The SDN scanner had pinged something, no heat signature, no movement, just a persistent anomaly that refused to clear. The kind of thing the system logged as probably debris and supervisors quietly hoped someone else would deal with.

The smell hit first. Not rot. Not blood. Just… cold metal and old rain.

Then she saw the body.

It was slumped against the brick wall like it had been dropped there and forgotten. Limbs bent wrong, not broken but rather arranged with a careless geometry that made her neck prickle. Head tilted sharply to the side, chin almost resting on shoulder. Feet pointed inward, toes nearly touching.

Not breathing.

Mandy landed softly, amulet humming against her chest. Her posture shifted automatically into hero-mode, all confidence and control, but her eyes stayed sharp.

“No visible wounds,” she muttered. “No scorch marks. No—”

The face looked young. Too young to be dead in an alley. Eyes closed. Expression neutral in a way that felt practiced rather than peaceful.

She crouched, two fingers reaching for the neck.

The instant her skin brushed the body's throat—

The body sat up.

Not jerking. Not gasping.

Just… upright, smooth as a machine completing a task.

Mandy yelped, stumbling backward, energy already crackling in her palm. “SDN! Don’t move—!”

The thing, person?, tilted its head further, neck joint clicking softly, then steadied it with one hand, palm pressed to temple like it might fall off otherwise.

Yellow eyes opened.

They focused on Mandy with unsettling precision.

There was a pause. Long enough for Mandy’s heart to start hammering.

Then the figure spoke.

“Activation confirmed.” it said calmly. Voice soft, almost pleasant. “Light sit.”

It adjusted its posture, sitting straighter against the wall. The movement was awkward, stilted, like it was following invisible instructions.

Mandy stared. “Okay. That’s...nope. That’s new.”

The figure’s gaze tracked her, unblinking.

“I am designated—” It paused. Head tilted again. A faint frown, as if searching internal files. “██████.”

The sound that came out wasn’t wrong. It just… slid out of her mind.

Mandy blinked. “Sorry. You’re… what?”

The figure repeated it. Exactly the same way.

Her brain refused to hold onto it. The syllables dissolved the moment they were spoken, like trying to remember a word from a dream.

Mandy pressed her lips together. “That’s not funny.”

“Humor not detected,” the figure replied. “Sheepish nod.”

It nodded. Slowly. Earnestly.

Mandy’s stomach dropped.

“…You just said that out loud.”

“Yes.”

A beat.

Then, softly: “Giggle.”

It laughed. A real laugh, a small sharp, entirely genuine. It echoed oddly off the brick.

Mandy stood, backing up another step. Her amulet pulsed brighter, reacting to something it couldn’t categorize.

“Okay,” she said carefully, slipping into her corporate hero cadence. “You were lying unconscious in an alley. People don’t usually do that unless they’re hurt or dangerous. Which one are you?”

The figure considered this. Its eyes flicked down to its own hands, flexing fingers like it was checking they were still attached.

“Uncertain.” it said. “Both is plausible.”

That was not comforting.

Mandy glanced around, scanning rooftops, shadows, anywhere an ambush might spring from. Nothing. Just rainwater dripping and the distant hum of traffic.

When she looked back, the figure was watching her intently, head supported by its hand again.

“You exhibit elevated heart rate.” it observed. “Apology. Not intended.”

“You don’t get to apologize like that” Mandy snapped, then stopped herself. Breathed. “What are you doing here?”

Another pause.

“Waiting.” the figure said. “Context missing.”

“…Waiting for what?”

It shrugged. An imitation, not quite right. Shoulders lifted too late.

“You.” it said, simply.

Silence stretched between them.

Mandy felt it then—that crawling sensation under her skin, like reality itself was leaning in, listening. Her amulet vibrated, not with danger, but with confusion.

Whatever this was, it didn’t register as an enemy.

Or a civilian.

“Right.” Mandy said finally, forcing steadiness into her voice. “We’re not doing this in an alley.”

“Agreement.” the figure replied instantly. “Standing attempt.”

It rose to its feet, wobbled, nearly tipping forward, then corrected with a jerky adjustment. Feet pointed inward again, like a child learning balance.

Mandy reached out without thinking, steadying it by the arm.

The contact sent a faint static shock up her spine.

The figure looked down at her hand, then back up at her face.

“…Thank you.” it said, carefully. Like it had learned the word from a manual.

Mandy didn’t let go.

Against every instinct, every protocol, she sighed.

“Okay.” she muttered. “Whatever you are, congratulations. You just made my night so much worse.”

The figure tilted its head, eyes bright.

“Positive outcome detected?”

Mandy snorted despite herself.

“Don’t push it.”

And with that, Blonde Blazer, corporate hero, SDN manager, woman who thought she’d seen everything, escorted an impossible nameless thing out of the alley, unaware that this quiet, unsettling meeting was the start of something that would never fit neatly into her world.