#and visual/spatial processing

[21st-century-minutiae]

A QR (Quick Response) Code is a method of encoding information in an efficient and resilient manner. They are not human readable, but are machine readable by most devices with cameras. They can be considered a sophisticated two-dimensional extension of one-dimensional bar codes.

QR codes feature three easily recognizable squares in three of their four corners. This provides enough information to calculate the size and three dimensional orientation of the two dimensional encoding, which is a grid of squares that can either be black or white. This two dimensional grid encodes information in binary. Usually it is in an error-resistant format so even if the QR code is damaged in a few squares, the information is still recoverable.

QR Code scanners will look for the anchor points and calculate the projection that rotates the image so it would appear as a simple, flat grid. Then it reads the bits of information. Often QR codes will include instructions, such as 'go to a url' and the scanner will allow the user to directly go to said link. If the QR Code and scanner are both part of a game, it might render an image of complete a game action.

People in the early twenty-first century are likely to be familiar with QR codes, and, if they have a smartphone (which is very common), it is likely to have a QR code scanner built into the camera application. They might not know QR stands for Quick Response, since that almost never comes up.

(Fact Source) for more facts, follow Ultrafacts

[teenage-tourniquet]

psychiatrists, psychologists, therapists, and doctors can't quite figure out what's wrong with me. im different enough to be socially outcasted with no friends and have certain difficulties but not considered to really need any resources or programs to help.

[coldflasher]

was rewatching the pilot again yesterday for fic reasons and thinking again about the sherlock-style screen annotations they had when barry was doing CSI work that they literally only did in the first ep and then never revisited again, presumably because they realized it'd be far too much effort to work out the details on such a precise level

and thinking about like. that barry allen with the hyper-precise exact measurements that he did by eye (with joe shaking his head in awe so you know that he's a CSI supergenius) vs. the leonard snart who timed his heists to the exact nanosecond (which again, presuming they ditched because it's a logistical nightmare to write dialogue that nitpicky and obsessive, and would be such a fucking pain to do on a week-to-week basis). like. yet another reason they are soulmates tbh. is audhd4autistic a thing the same way t4t is a thing? if it isn't then i'm making it a thing

[russellmoreton]

Clay Work/1000 pots : Visceral Practices by Russell Moreton Via Flickr: russellmoreton.blogspot.com/ Material Agency : Carl Knappett, Lambros Malafouris Visualising Environmental Agency "Agents are defined as persons or things, which have the ability and intention to "cause" something "in the vicinity" or "in the mileau" to happen ( Gell 1998)" "These latter artefacts are described with the term "index", to remove the appellation "art" and to imply that they are indexes of agency." Some Stimulating Solutions, Andrew Cochrane. 1000 "pots" performative site 2011. The Yard, Winchester.

[that-gay-jedi]

Gonna be honest sometimes writing is just not a good medium to convey certain scenes that live in my head and that is why I forever wish I could draw. Like yes I can narrate the exact timing and pattern of dancing steps I can see my OT3 doing and who hands whom off to whom at which moment and it might even be well written but reading that is inherently a way different experience than just visually SEEING them do it.

I have plenty of obstacles that keep me from drawing which are part of why I focus on writing, and I'm mostly at peace with ny limitations (and I genuinely love to write), but the specific strengths and downsides of each medium are also very real. RIP.

Anyway closest I can probably get is to just drop the songs that do it to my brain and hope you get my vision lmfao. Will probably make a codobikin playlist at some point.

[bettreworld]

Moving from a 2D space to 3D with Emma Ridderstad

[jungkoode]

THE 25TH HOUR | O9

“𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋”

“We’re designed to fit,” he says, and you don’t know if he means your powers, your patterns, or the way your hand doesn’t shake in his.

next | index

— chapter details

word count: 6,7k

content: reality anchors, the quantum physics are quaking, yoongi being bossy again (and hot about it), elevator scene tension 10/10, jumping across buildings like it's casual (it is NOT), spatial distortion flirty edition, golden tendrils 2.0 (they touched... physically and emotionally??), temporal signature matching (yes it’s hot), someone finally says “we’re designed to fit” and i screamed, drone murder attempt ig, jungkook makes a dramatic entrance and is so annoying about it, team regroup ft. unexplained powers and too many secrets, portal time but make it traumatic.

— author’s note

KAY. LISTEN.

I know I say this every chapter but THIS ONE. this one fried several neurons and may have permanently altered the molecular structure of my spine. I started with “hm what if they walked through a reality anchor” and ended with “what if they synchronized their temporal signatures mid-freefall and touched tendrils in public like absolute whores.” I don’t know what to tell you. I blacked out. This is between me and my caffeine addiction now.

Let’s talk about the jump scene. Yes. You clocked it. That moment where Noma is calculating the distance and Yoongi says “don’t think, just need” and then she LAUNCHES HERSELF INTO THE VOID? Yeah. That may or may not have been deeply inspired by Neo’s rooftop jump in The Matrix (1999, my beloved). I am a massive Matrix nerd. That whole visual of someone standing on the edge of a building, trying to defy the physics they were born into, and being told “your mind is the thing in your way”? It’s been living rent-free in my frontal lobe since I was 13 and thought trench coats were peak fashion.

Because this chapter is, like, extremely about trust. And control. And the horror of not understanding what’s happening inside your own body. It’s about Noma confronting the fact that her mind—her beautiful, precise, analytical mind—is what’s limiting her. And Yoongi, who already knows, who’s BEEN like this longer, who knows what it’s like to break through that threshold and feel the laws of reality tilt around your perception, he’s just THERE. Guiding her. Softly threatening to reset time like a feral little guardian angel.

Also… let’s not ignore the fact that she destroys a drone with her brain and he’s like “cool. moving on.” Sir?? She just folded metal into origami. But okay go off I guess.

AND THEN THEY SYNCH TEMPORAL SIGNATURES. don’t even look at me. I wrote that and sat there like “huh. interesting. so that’s what soulmates sound like in science fiction.” I had to go walk around the block. I made them fit on a molecular level. I made their body chemistry harmonize. Why? Because I am unwell and this is my therapy.

Anyway. Thanks for reading I love you all. Scientifically.

— read on

ao3

wattpad

Reality Anchors are alive.

No one ever told you that part. No briefing, no memo, no research paper had ever mentioned that these imposing structures breathe.

The anchor in front of you rises 37.2 meters from ground to apex, its surface composed of quantum-stabilized alloy that shouldn't—couldn't—pulse like that.

Yet it does. Every 7 seconds, a wave of molecular adjustment ripples from base to tip, disturbing air molecules in concentric patterns that register against your skin at precisely 0.3 pascals of pressure.

Fascinating.

Your retinas register the faint blue luminescence emanating from seams in the structure-temporal energy bleeding through containment fields. 

It feels like reality itself is being compressed into a more efficient configuration.

"Mesmerizing," you murmur, cataloging the observable data. "The quantum-stabilized glass panels are oriented at exactly 73 degrees to maximize temporal field distribution. And the energy consumption must be—”

"No."

You blink, neural processes stuttering at the interruption.

Agent Min has stopped walking and turned to face you fully, his stance registering as 37% more rigid than his baseline.

"I didn't say anything," you point out, tilting your head 12 degrees in genuine confusion.

"Didn't have to." His eyes narrow by approximately 0.3 centimeters.

"Then what are you saying no to?"

"You know what."

"I genuinely don't." Your brow furrows, creating a 0.4-centimeter depression between your eyebrows. "It seems statistically improbable that you could accurately predict my thought patterns without established baseline data."

His mouth twitches—suppressed micro-expression, 0.7 seconds in duration.

"Were you or were you not thinking of using a little detour to satiate that insane curiosity of yours?"

Your silence registers at approximately 3.2 seconds. 

Longer than optimal for casual conversation.

"Exactly. No."

"I find your anticipation of my mental processes presumptuous," you counter, eyes returning to the reality anchor when the uppermost floors shimmer slightly—a temporal distortion effect that standard human vision would filter out. “And I do not appreciate it.”

"Get used to it," he says, resuming walking at a pace 7% faster than before. "You will."

You match his stride automatically.

"The probability of you developing accurate predictive models of my cognitive patterns seems—”

"Already developed," he interrupts, checking his modified Chrono-Sync Watch with a quick glance. "Seventh time you've tried to investigate a reality anchor. Always the same pattern."

This statement contains multiple logical inconsistencies. You've never attempted to investigate a reality anchor before. Your security clearance wouldn't permit it.

Yet your temporal analysis centers don't flag it as a falsehood.

"How would you know that?" 

He doesn't answer, instead gesturing toward the adjacent tower—a colossal structure of similar materials that rises at least 100 floors into the artificially blue sky.

"Travel spot is somewhere in the upper levels," he says, eyes scanning the building's facade. "We need to access it through the anchor first."

You process this information, calculating optimal routes.

"Why can't you pinpoint the exact location?" you ask, question emerging from your analytical centers. "Your previous statements implied familiarity with the network."

His jaw tightens by approximately 4.3 newtons.

"Travel spots shift position by 0.7 meters every 73 minutes," he explains, voice roughened. "Quantum uncertainty principle applied to spatial coordinates. Prevents CHRONOS from establishing fixed monitoring."

"That seems inefficient for a resistance network," you observe.

"That's the point." He checks his watch again—third time in 7.3 minutes. "Inefficiency creates unpredictability. CHRONOS systems are designed for pattern recognition."

You approach the base of the reality anchor, where a standard-looking entrance is monitored by temporal signature scanners disguised as decorative elements.

"How do we bypass security?" you ask, noting at least three visible monitoring devices and calculating a 94.7% probability of additional concealed systems.

"We don't," he says, reaching into his jacket and extracting what appears to be a standard CHRONOS identification card. "We walk in like we belong."

The card in his hand triggers your pattern recognition— holographic security features match authorized maintenance personnel credentials.

"Falsified identification carries a minimum penalty of 73 days in temporal isolation," you note automatically.

He almost smiles—left corner of his mouth lifting 0.2 centimeters.

"Only if you get caught."

He approaches the entrance with casual gait, and you follow—still processing the anchor's structure. 

The quantum equations rippling across its surface follow a pattern that suggests...

"I told you to stop analyzing," he murmurs, voice barely audible at 17 decibels. "Your temporal signature fluctuates when you're thinking too hard. Makes you detectable."

You attempt to modulate your thought patterns, an unusual exercise that creates a 0.3-second lag in your cognitive processing.

He swipes the identification card through the scanner, which responds with a soft tone at exactly 432 Hz—the standard confirmation frequency.

The interior of the reality anchor is even more fascinating than its exterior.

The lobby appears standard-neo-minimalist design, temporal-stabilized plants arranged at mathematically significant intervals—but your enhanced perception detects the subtle wrongness of the space.

The air pressure is precisely 0.7 kPa higher than standard atmospheric conditions. 

The lighting pulses at a frequency of 7 Hz, which is imperceptible to normal human vision but clearly designed to reinforce temporal compliance in visitors.

"Maintenance elevator is on the left," Agent Min says, guiding you with a subtle gesture. "Don't look at the central column."

Naturally, your eyes immediately flick toward the center of the lobby.

The sight momentarily overloads your visual processing. 

A column of pure temporal energy rises from floor to ceiling, contained within quantum-stabilized glass. The energy moves in patterns that defy standard physical laws—simultaneously flowing upward and downward, existing in multiple states… at once?

"I said don't look," he hisses, fingers closing around your wrist to redirect; not enough to cause discomfort.

"What is that?" you ask, unable to fully suppress your curiosity despite his warning.

"The anchor point," he says, voice tightening as he guides you toward the maintenance elevator. "Direct connection to the Master Clock. Looking at it too long causes temporal vertigo in most humans."

You save this information, filing it under high-priority data.

"And in non-humans?"

His steps falter—0.3-second hesitation.

"In Outliers," he corrects quietly, "it can trigger awakening."

The maintenance elevator requires another scan of his falsified credentials. 

As the doors close, enclosing you in a space of approximately 2.3 cubic meters, you notice the absence of standard temporal monitoring devices.

"Why aren't there cameras?" you ask, scanning the ceiling corners where monitoring equipment would typically be installed.

"Reality anchors generate too much temporal interference for standard surveillance," he explains, pressing the button for floor 30. "Creates blind spots in their system."

"That seems like a significant security vulnerability," you observe.

His mouth quirks again.

You don’t know why you’re starting to find the gesture attractive.

"Why do you think we're using it?"

The elevator ascends at precisely 3.7 meters per second, which you note is faster than standard civilian elevators but slower than executive transport. Your inner ear registers the acceleration, adjusting automatically.

"The travel spot," you begin, mind working through the problem. "You said it's in the upper levels of the adjacent tower. Why can't we access it directly?"

He leans against the elevator wall, posture relaxing by approximately 7%.

"Security protocols," he says. "The tower has standard monitoring. The anchor doesn't. We cross through the anchor's 30th floor-maintenance level, and then we use the connecting bridge to access the tower."

"And after that?"

"After that, we find the travel spot." He checks his watch again—fourth time in 12.7 minutes. "It should be somewhere between floors 90 and 97."

You calculate the search parameters.

"That's approximately 7,432 square meters of potential location space," you note. "Seems inefficient."

"I'll narrow it down once we're closer," he says. "My temporal sense can detect the quantum fluctuations at closer proximity."

The elevator slows as it approaches floor 30, and Agent Min straightens, resuming his alert posture.

"When we exit, walk like you're supposed to be here," he instructs. "Maintenance personnel check this level every 73 minutes. Current interval gives us approximately 47 minutes before the next sweep."

"Understood," you confirm, automatically adjusting your posture to match standard CHRONOS maintenance staff parameters—shoulders back, gaze forward, movements economic and purposeful.

The elevator doors open to reveal a stark corridor illuminated by temporal-stabilized lighting. 

Walls are lined with quantum-reinforced panels marked with mathematical equations that your pattern recognition identifies as temporal field calculations.

Agent Min steps out first, fluid and confident. 

You follow, checking every detail of this restricted environment that few civilians ever see.

"Don't touch anything," he warns, leading you down the corridor. "Some of these panels are directly connected to the temporal field generators."

You resist the urge to examine the equations more closely, focusing instead on maintaining the appropriate walking pace and posture.

"The connecting bridge is 23 meters ahead," he says, voice low. "Once we cross, we'll need to take the service stairs. The tower's elevators are monitored."

"Stairs?" you query, calculating the energy expenditure required to ascend approximately 60 floors. "That seems—"

"Necessary," he interrupts. "Unless you'd prefer to explain to CHRONOS why we're accessing restricted floors."

You concede the point with a slight nod.

15 degrees downward, 15 degrees upward.

As you walk, your mind continues processing the reality anchor's structure, the equations on the walls, the subtle vibration beneath your feet that suggests massive energy manipulation occurring somewhere below.

"You're thinking too loud again," Agent Min murmurs, not turning to look at you.

"That's not physically possible," you counter automatically.

"Your temporal signature disagrees," he says, tapping his temple with his index finger. "I can feel it fluctuating."

This statement contains another logical inconsistency. 

Standard humans cannot detect temporal signatures without specialized equipment.

Yet once again, your temporal analysis centers don't flag it as a falsehood.

"How—" you begin.

"Bridge is just ahead. Stay close."

But the bridge…

It’s not offline. It’s gone.  

You stare at the empty space where reinforced glass and temporal alloys should’ve formed a secure pathway. 

Only support beams remain, jagged edges still glowing from whatever energy weapon severed them.  

Agent Min’s eyebrows do something statistically improbable—contracting inward by 0.9 centimeters while the skin between them folds into three distinct creases. 

You’ve never seen his face execute this particular combination of micro-expressions before.  

“They altered this sector’s infrastructure,” he mutters, more to himself than you. 

His left hand twitches toward his Chrono-Sync Watch, aborting the movement halfway.  

You pivot toward the window, retinal sensors catching a faint outline-maintenance door, 3.2 meters left of the destroyed bridge. 

Beyond it: a sheer drop, then the adjacent tower’s western face. 

Your mind calculates the distance before your ethics committee can veto the idea.  

“We could jump.”  

He doesn’t immediately dismiss it. 

That’s how you know things are bad.  

“Distance?” he asks, joining you at the window.  

“14.7 meters horizontally, 3.3 meters vertical elevation differential.” You tap the glass, triggering a subconscious visualization overlay. “Structural analysis indicates the target building’s exterior has adequate grip points for—”  

“For me,” he interrupts. His breath fogs the glass near your fingertip. “Not for you.”  

You tilt your head, analyzing his profile. “You’re suggesting I remain here while you—”  

“I’m suggesting you stop suggesting suicide vectors.” His jaw works, a muscle ticking at 2.7-second intervals. “There’s another route. Has to be.”  

You let him pace—eight steps toward the elevator, twelve back—before interrupting.  

“Average human long jump record is 8.95 meters. My enhanced musculature could theoretically—”  

“Theoretically splatter across sixty floors of neo-Brutalist architecture.” 

You frown. “We’re only thirty floors up.”

“From the anchor,” he says. “The tower’s foundation sits two levels below base-grade. It drops into a full infrastructure pit—ventilation shafts, temporal gridwork, CHRONOS substation access. You fall here, you don’t just hit pavement. You keep falling.”

He gestures down through the glass.

“Sixty floors straight into the sector’s hollowed-out gut. Like getting thrown down a well lined with concrete and death.”

How does he even know all that?

But before you can let curiosity get the best of you again, he stops mid-stride, pinning you with that look again. The one that makes your internal processors skip. 

“But—”

“No.”  

You frown, press your palm against the window, feeling the tower’s vibration through the glass. 

“Then you go first. Anchor a line. I’ll follow.”  

He’s already shaking his head. “Temporal energy doesn’t work like that. Can’t manifest solid constructs without—”  

“Without triggering every sensor in the sector. Yes.” You turn from the window, meeting his glare. “So, again, that leaves one option.”  

For three seconds, the only sound is the reality anchor’s low-frequency hum. 

Then he swears—a creative combination of English and technical jargon your language centers can’t fully parse.  

The maintenance door handle feels colder than ambient temperature suggests. You’re calculating wind shear variables when his gloved hand covers yours, halting the motion.  

“If we do this,” he says, voice stripped to its raw edges, “you follow my instructions exactly. No deviations. No calculations mid-air. Understood?”  

You nod, the movement precise. 

15 degrees down, 15 up.  

He releases your hand to grip both shoulders instead, leaning in until his mint-and-ozone scent overrides the tower’s sterile air. 

“When you jump, you don’t think about falling. You don’t think about distance. You think about needing to be on that ledge. Your entire existence becomes that single purpose.”  

You open your mouth to request clarification on biomechanical feasibility—

“No.” His fingers tighten. “No questions. Your body knows how. You just have to stop overloading it with doubt.”  

The paradox registers immediately. 

“But without understanding the mechanism—”  

“Understanding comes later.” His thumb presses into your collarbone, exactly where that freckle hides beneath synthetic fabric. “Surviving comes now.”  

You glance past him to the abyss. 

He opens the door.

The wind’s howling at 37 knots now, whipping hair into your eyes. 

“Probability of success?”  

He doesn’t sugarcoat it. “Sixty-eight percent. If you focus.”  

“And if I don’t?”  

For the first time, his face contracts—a fractional widening of pupils, a minuscule catch in his breathing rhythm.  

“Then I’ll reset time until you do.”  

The words register as raw, hovering between you for a few seconds before he finally turns toward the void.  

You watch him leap—no hesitation, no visible calculation. Just pure intent translated into motion.  

He makes it look effortless.  

And then it’s your turn.  

The wind screams. The city sprawls below, a mosaic of blue-lit grids and shadow. 

You psych up the variables: air density, potential updrafts, the exact angle of your target ledge.  

Then you stop thinking.  

You launch, and the world narrows to wind and numbers.

For a moment, there’s no sound, no up or down. Just velocity and the impossible distance between you and the ledge. 

Adrenaline floods your system, not sharp but heavy, like a stone pressed to your sternum. 

You’re aware of your own mass, the drag of your body through air, the way your limbs cut a path no algorithm could ever predict.

Agent Min is already there, turned halfway, eyes tracking your arc. His mouth moves—maybe a warning, maybe your ID number—but the rush drowns it out. 

You think of the other side. You need to reach the other side. 

The imperative is simple, absolute. 

Not crossing means plummeting. Not crossing means becoming a data point in a CHRONOS incident report.

You make the mistake of looking down.

Thirty floors up, the city is abstract. 

Cars, people, light—all reduced to static. 

The void is real. 

You feel it in your teeth, in the way your stomach seems to invert, in the cold sweat prickling your palms. 

Your calculations fracture. The ground is coming up fast.

You look up. 

Agent Min’s silhouette sharpens against the skyline, mint hair a streak of color in the blue haze. His eyes widen—first time you’ve seen that particular fear. 

He’s reaching for something, or maybe just reaching.

You’re falling.

The world tilts. Air roars past your ears. Time dilates, then contracts. 

You’re aware of every heartbeat, every useless attempt your muscles make to grab onto empty space. 

The ledge is gone. The city is too close.

Then—discontinuity.

You’re upright. Feet planted on solid ground. Breath caught in your throat. 

Your hands move before your mind does, fingers flexing, checking for fractures, for blood, for any sign of what should have happened. 

Everything responds. No pain. No missing time.

Agent Min spins, posture radiating pure stress and panic. 

His face is a study in shock—mouth open, eyes blown wide, like he’s seen a ghost.

You blink. He blinks.

Your heart is still racing, but your body is whole. You’re here. You made it. The numbers don’t add up, but the outcome is undeniable.

You’re alive.

Agent Min’s gaze darts between your left and right pupils, rapid assessment mode engaged, as if he’s scanning for damage or data.

“Damn it, Noma,” he mutters, voice rough and frayed at the edges. “Holy hell.”

His hands clench into tight fists at his sides, knuckles whitening under the strain. 

You note the micro-tremor in his fingers-2.3 hertz, consistent with suppressed impulse. 

He exhales, a controlled release of 1.7 liters of air over 3.1 seconds, then drags a gloved hand down his face, smearing frustration across his features.

Before you can catalog further, a mechanical whine pierces the air-high-pitched, 17 kHz, consistent with a CHRONOS surveillance drone. 

Agent Min’s posture shifts instantly, weight forward, arm half-raised to shield or shove you aside. 

“Watch—”

You tilt your head back, a reflex, not a decision. 

There’s a sound—metal crumpling, like foil under pressure—and the drone’s frame twists mid-flight, folding inward at impossible angles. 

It drops, a lifeless heap, 4.7 meters below the ledge.

He stares at the wreckage, then at you. 

“Well. Alright then.”

Your mind is already running diagnostics. 

“Did I cause that?”

He lets out a long, resigned breath, shoulders dropping by 1.2 centimeters. 

“Yeah. You did.”

“How?” 

Your spatial awareness logs are blank—no memory of intent, no record of action. Yet the evidence is undeniable: twisted alloy, a perfect collapse. 

You flex your fingers again, searching for a trigger, a mechanism. “Was that a manipulation of spatial configuration? A localized distortion field? I need parameters.”

He steps closer, mint and ozone cutting through the sterile tower air, but his expression is all weariness. 

“We gotta move, Noma. Now.”

You plant your feet, shifting your center of gravity to counter his subtle pull. 

“Explanation required. Did I alter the drone’s physical positioning? Compress its structural integrity via spatial warp? Or—”

He makes a sound full of resignation. 

“Look, Noma, I l—”

He cuts himself off, jaw snapping shut with an audible click. 

A recalibration. 

“I get it. I do. But we don’t have the luxury of a debrief right now.”

Your brow creases, a 0.5-centimeter furrow. 

“Understanding the mechanics of an undocumented ability is not a luxury. It’s a necessity. If I can replicate—”

“You will,” he interrupts, voice low but firm, carrying a weight you can’t parse. “Just not here. Not with drones sniffing our temporal signatures.”

You glance at the wreckage again, mind spinning through theoretical models. 

No data, no precedent. 

Just a gut—deep certainty that you reshaped reality without conscious input. 

The implications are staggering. 

If you can do this instinctively, what else lies dormant? What are the limits? Energy costs? Detection risks?

He’s watching you, reading the cascade of queries behind your eyes. “I know that look. And I’m telling you to shelve it. We’re exposed.”

“Five seconds,” you negotiate, already cross-referencing the drone’s design against known CHRONOS tech. “If I can isolate the method—”

“Zero seconds.” He grumbles, fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you behind him. “Survival first. Science later.”

Your logic centers protest, but the risk assessment aligns with his. 

You exhale—petulant, probably, but you do not care. 

Because whatever you did, it’s a piece of the puzzle. A fragment of who—or what—you are. 

And you’ll dissect it, variable by variable, until the equation balances.

You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until the air shifts.

Up here, it tastes different. 

Thinner. Filtered, maybe. Like someone cleaned it too well, stripped it of anything real. 

The ground is nothing but blur—washed out in streaks of artificial white and synthetic blue haze. Designed to erase depth perception. To flatten the concept of below into something distant. Forgettable.

CHRONOS engineering at its finest.

You step closer to the edge, boots scraping faintly against the metal grating. 

The city is unrecognizable from this height. Not a city at all, just layers of grids and light. Soft pulses of movement that don’t quite feel alive. No wind reaches this far up, only some sort of hum—low, steady, mechanical. 

You wonder if the workers stationed here can still hear it when they sleep. 

If they ever sleep.

You’ve read the reports. Rotating shifts, twenty-hour cycles, neural stimulants to bypass natural fatigue responses. Cognitive degradation flagged as acceptable collateral. Worker retention rate at 37.2%.

In other words: not sustainable.

But great pay.

You press your fingertips lightly to the edge of the railing. Cool to the touch. Grounding, somehow. 

You scan the skyline, calculating angles, distances, escape vectors you’re not sure you’ll ever need but catalog anyway. 

That’s what you do. 

What you’ve always done.

But the sky pulls at you. Quietly. Persistently.

Dark velvet stretched wide above your head, broken only by the scatter of stars. 

You tip your chin back, gaze locking onto a thousand silent points of light, each one burning impossibly far away. 

Data points you can never reach, but something in you reaches anyway.

And there—framed in that endless black—

The moon.

Not in any model you’ve ever studied. Not filtered through facility-grade optics or distorted by atmospheric interference. 

Just… suspended. Brilliant. Whole. A perfect sphere painted in shades of silver and shadow. 

It’s too much, too big. 

Your breath catches again, chest tightening like something fragile just cracked open inside you.

It escapes before you can stop it. A single word.

“Beautiful.”

Soft. Uncalculated.

You freeze the second it leaves your mouth, pulse stuttering in your throat. 

You didn’t mean to say that. 

You never mean to say things like that.

A breath stirs the space beside you. Not yours.

“…Yeah.”

Quiet. Barely more than air.

“…Beautiful.”

The confirmation scrapes against something unsteady inside you. 

You shouldn’t turn. You know you shouldn’t. But your gaze shifts anyway, slow and reluctant, as if giving your body too much permission might undo you entirely.

He’s already watching.

Agent Min.

Not the skyline. Not the moon. Not the impossible stretch of space yawning above you.

You.

And he doesn’t look away.

For a suspended second, nobody speaks. 

Then his eyes flicker gold. 

It's the seventeenth time you've seen it happen. Seventeenth. You've been keeping count, tracking when it occurs, searching for the pattern. Not random—nothing about him is ever random—but the trigger remains frustratingly elusive. 

Is it emotional response? Memory access? Some kind of power regulation failing?

You step closer until you can detect the subtle heat radiating from him—always running warmer than human baseline. 

His pupils track your movement, dilating slightly.

A measurable response.

His fingers tighten on the railing, leather creaking under pressure. You note this detail, file it away. 

He stares at you.

You stare back.

"I've been meaning to ask," you say, keeping your voice even despite the strange pressure building under your sternum—like something's trying to expand beyond the confines of your ribcage.

His throat shifts as he swallows. Blinks once.

“Ask what?"

"Your eyes." 

His gaze slides away, avoiding yours for exactly 3.2 seconds before returning. Avoidance behavior. 

Why?

The silence grows heavy between you. 

If you were better at social interactions, you might understand why he doesn't respond. 

But you're not, so you elaborate.

"I have noticed they appear to shine at certain moments." You tilt your head slightly. "The same color as your tendrils. But I can't seem to figure out the why."

His focus drops briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes. Quick. Almost imperceptible. But you catch it—and the flash of gold that accompanies it. 

Interesting correlation.

He looks at your lips = eyes change.

Cause and effect?

Sexual response?

Your gloved hand lifts toward his face, hovering in the space between you. 

Not touching. Not yet. Just... there. Testing a hypothesis.

"Noma," he says, your nickname rough around the edges. "That's... not advisable."

Why does that name feel so familiar when he says it?

"Why not?" The tilt of your head increases, curiosity sharpening. "I'm collecting data. Your ocular anomalies appear to correlate with specific emotional states."

You watch his pupils expand, blackness swallowing the iris except for that gleaming ring of gold.

"It's not a lab experiment." His jaw clenches, muscle rippling beneath skin.

He's restraining something. But what?

"Everything is data," you counter, your hand still suspended between you. "The gold appears when proximity decreases between us. When conversation shifts toward personal topics. When you look at my—"

You stop yourself. Recalibrate.

"When certain visual attention patterns emerge."

His breath changes rhythm—slower in, quicker out. You track this shift automatically. 

"And what conclusion have you reached based on these... observations?" His voice has become unsteady. 

In it, a roughness that wasn't there before.

The scientist in you needs to categorize it.

The rest of you just wants to hear more of it.

"Insufficient evidence for definitive conclusion." Your palm drifts closer to his face. "Hence the need for additional testing parameters."

"Agent." Warning laces his tone, but you note the contradiction in his body language—the slight forward tilt, the micromovement toward your hand. 

Your watch beeps softly. Temporal variance: 0.87%.

Why does your temporal signature fluctuate around him?

Why does your body recognize patterns your brain can't access?

"The gloves provide sufficient barrier protection for initial contact testing," you say, though in the back of your mind, you know that's not why you want to touch him. Not really. 

"It's not about the barrier," he says, still not pulling away.

"Then what is it about?" 

His eyes lock with yours, longer than his usual pattern. Something shifts in them—not just the color, but something deeper. 

Like barriers cracking.

"It's about..." He pauses, searching for words. "Restraint."

"Explain." 

Not a request. A need.

One corner of his mouth quirks up. "Demanding tonight, aren't we?"

Your hand inches closer. 

"Is that why your eyes change?" You push for answers, always pushing. "A failure of restraint?"

A sound catches in his throat, something between amusement and pain.

"They change when I'm..." He stops, recalibrates. "When I feel things too strongly."

"What things?"

"Anger. Fear." 

His gaze drops to your mouth again, longer this time. 

"Want."

The word settles into your chest, makes a home there. 

Your lungs feel suddenly insufficient, breath coming shorter despite oxygen levels remaining constant.

"And now?" Your voice sounds different to your own ears, pitched lower. "Which is it?"

His hand leaves the railing, wraps around your wrist. Not pushing away—just holding. Containing—touch gentle but unmistakably firm.

"What do you think, Noma?" Your nickname sounds different this time. 

Softer. Almost tender.

Why does it affect you when he says it like that?

You mentally catalog his physiological responses: dilated pupils, elevated respiration, muscle tension patterns indicating both arousal and resistance.

"Want," you determine with absolute certainty.

His eyes flare gold again—holding this time, not flickering away.

"Good analysis," he murmurs, still not releasing your wrist.

Your pulse thrums against his fingers. You can feel it jumping, betraying things your clinical mind refuses to name.

"May I?" Your gloved hand moves closer to his cheek.

Why are you pushing this? Why does it matter?

This isn't efficient data collection.

This is... something else.

His throat works as he swallows. 

"We shouldn't," he says, strain evident in every syllable. "That's my professional assessment."

"We're both still wearing gloves," you argue, logic centers frantically constructing justifications. "Barrier intact. Risk parameters acceptable."

"You know it’s not about statistics." His grip loosens slightly. 

He doesn't elaborate. 

Something complicated moves across his face, too fast for even your pattern recognition to decipher.

You need to know. You need to understand.

Why him? Why you? Why now?

Decision made, your hand pushes forward, breaking through his weakened resistance. Your gloved fingers make contact with his cheek.

And—

Oh.

The sensation defies categorization. Despite the barrier of fabric between you, something passes through the touch. 

A current.

An echo. 

Something your scientific vocabulary can't properly name.

His eyes close. He looks suddenly vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.

"Your temporal signature," he says quietly, "it just... aligned with mine."

Your eyes drop to your watch. Temporal variance: 0.00%.

Perfect stabilization.

That's impossible.

There's no precedent for this in any temporal physics model.

"How?" The question slips out, unfiltered and raw.

His eyes open slowly, gold filling them completely now. 

Steady and bright and impossibly beautiful.

Beautiful.

"Because," he says simply, "we're designed to fit."

You should process this information. Should file it away with all your other observations about Agent Min and his inexplicable abilities. Should create new theoretical models to explain the perfect temporal alignment currently registered on your watch.

Instead, you just... feel. 

The warmth beneath your fingers. The impossible gold of his eyes. The way your body seems to recognize him on some cellular level your mind can't access.

‘We're designed to fit.’

The implications of that statement should terrify you. 

Instead, they feel like coming home.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

You're staring into his golden eyes when a low whizz cuts through the air. 

Your auditory processing centers register the sound at approximately 17kHz—just within human hearing range, but with a distinct mechanical oscillation pattern consistent with CHRONOS drone propulsion systems.

Before your brain can fully process the threat, Agent Min's head whips around—reaction time approximately 0.3 seconds faster than optimal human baseline. His pupils contract, gold flares brighter, mouth opens to form what appears to be a warning.

Too late.

Something hits you from behind—force vector approximately 47 newtons, angle of impact suggesting deliberate trajectory. The pressure against your back lasts precisely 0.7 seconds.

Then nothing.

Air rushes past your ears at increasing velocity. Your inner ear fluid shifts dramatically, sending conflicting data to your vestibular system. Gravity reasserts its dominance with brutal efficiency.

You're falling.

Again.

Acceleration rate: 9.8 meters per second squared.

Terminal velocity approaching.

Probability of survival without intervention: 0.003%.

The analytical part of your brain calculates these figures automatically while your body experiences what can only be termed as terror—heart rate spike of 73%, adrenal glands flooding your system with cortisol and epinephrine.

"NOMA!"

The sound tears through the rushing air—raw, primal, carrying a frequency range your pattern recognition flags as desperate. 

You twist mid-air, arms instinctively moving to shield your head from inevitable impact.

That's when you see him.

Agent Min. 

Yoongi. 

Falling just above you, body positioned in a perfect diving form that creates maximum aerodynamic efficiency. 

His trajectory indicates purposeful action.

He jumped after you.

He's saying something—lips moving rapidly—but the blood rushing in your ears creates a noise barrier approximately 84 decibels. His words are lost in the chaos of your fall.

Your abilities.

The thought crystallizes with sudden clarity. 

You teleported earlier. Spatial manipulation. If you could replicate that effect now—

Focus. But how? What's the trigger mechanism?

Your thoughts scatter across multiple processing centers, frantically searching for the neural pathway that activated during the previous incident. 

Agent Min never explained the mechanics.

He should have.

You’ll make sure to have that conversation later.

If you survive, that is.

Golden tendrils emerge from his outstretched fingers, extending at velocities that defy standard temporal physics. They reach toward you, pushing against the air itself as if trying to accelerate his fall beyond normal gravitational parameters.

You struggle to replicate whatever neural pathway activated before. Nothing happens. Your fingers flex, your mind focuses, your desperation builds.

What triggered it before? Survival instinct? Specific neural configuration? Direct threat vector?

The golden traces stretch further, now mere centimeters from your reaching hands. Their movement creates visible distortion in the air, like reality itself warping around their influence.

Then—

Something shifts within you. 

Not gradual. 

Not building.

A sudden quantum change in your neural configuration. 

Your cognitive perception splits for exactly 0.7 seconds—awareness operating in multiple states simultaneously.

Tendrils emerge from your own fingertips.

Golden, like his, but fundamentally different. Where his flow like liquid, yours crystallize like faceted gold. Where his move in clockwise patterns, yours rotate counterclockwise.

Opposing rotations. 

Perfect complements.

They reach out—not by your conscious command but through some deeper programming—and intertwine with his traces. The contact creates an immediate energy transfer that registers across your neural receptors as both hot and cold simultaneously.

In the space between one heartbeat and the next, the world blurs. Spatial coordinates shift in ways that violate every physical law you've ever studied. Distance compresses, then expands.

You're in his arms.

The transition happens without intermediate steps—one moment falling separately, the next secured against his chest, his left arm wrapped around your waist with exactly 82% more pressure than necessary for stability.

You register multiple data points simultaneously:

- His elevated body temperature: 39.1°C

- His heartbeat: 172 BPM

- His breathing: rapid, shallow, 24 respirations per minute

- His face: positioned 3.4 centimeters from your cheek, over your shoulder

So close. One small movement would bring skin against skin. 

Your temporal readings spike at the mere possibility.

Before you can process this new configuration, another force vector impacts you both—lateral trajectory, approximately 93 newtons. 

Not from Agent Min. 

External source.

Someone else.

Your coupled bodies are propelled sideways at high velocity. 

The world blurs again as you and Agent Min, still locked together, phase through what appears to be solid matter. 

Glass. Concrete. Steel. 

Your molecular structure should be encountering significant resistance, yet moves through these barriers like they're nothing more than projections.

Quantum tunneling? Spatial displacement? Molecular phasing? Your scientific vocabulary struggles to categorize the experience.

Impact comes suddenly—both of you hitting a solid surface at approximately 37% of terminal velocity. The force disperses through your skeletal structure, joints absorbing kinetic energy at efficiency rates that exceed normal human parameters.

You roll, momentum carrying you across hard flooring. Pain signals to your central nervous system—data indicating tissue stress but not structural failure.

When you finally stop, every bone in your body aches with the signature of controlled landing trauma. 

Not optimal, certainly not comfortable, but survivable.

Survivable by design.

You inhale sharply—2.1 liters of air in 0.8 seconds—and your eyes search frantically for Agent Min.

Where is he? Was he injured in the landing? Who pushed you? How did you phase through solid matter?

Your golden tendrils have vanished, leaving only lingering warmth on your fingertips where they emerged. 

Your watch beeps an unfamiliar pattern: Temporal-spatial variance detected. Recalibration required.

You blink rapidly, visual processing recalibrating as you scan the environment. 

Sleek walls. Polished concrete floor. 

Location unknown. Sector indeterminate.

Blood drips onto your hand. Your nose is bleeding again—heavier flow than before. Your fingertips come away stained crimson. Your skull throbs in pulses, each one making your vision blur at the edges.

"For fuck's sake, Jungkook, you almost killed them!" 

Taehyung's voice cuts through the fog in your head, sharp with that specific tension you've cataloged as his version of concern.

"I was literally on the clock before they became sidewalk art!" Jungkook shoots back, hands gesturing wildly. "Next time maybe give me more than a seven-second window!"

"Seven seconds is generous considering—"

"Generous?" Jungkook's voice cracks slightly. "Try mimicking two completely different abilities at once! My brain feels like it's been microwaved!"

The argument washes over you in waves as you press your palm to your forehead. 

The pain isn't unbearable, just... insistent. 

Demanding attention like everything else in this mess of a situation.

Your eyes find Agent Min, seated on the floor several meters away. His right hand grips his left shoulder, features tightening in a microexpression of pain he's clearly trying to suppress. 

The joint looks wrong—angled slightly off anatomical baseline.

"We don't have fucking time." His voice slices through the bickering, rough-edged and final. "They're onto us."

Jungkook whips around. 

“No shit? Why do you think we had to pull this stunt?" His hand sweeps through the air. "We couldn't even reach you with Taehyung's interfacing—you were completely out of range! Thank god Y/N's abilities are something else entirely."

Agent Min's eyes narrow, focusing on Jungkook with an intensity that carries clear warning. 

Not a word. 

Just that look. 

The one that stops conversations dead.

Jungkook registers it immediately, jaw snapping shut, body language shifting from confrontational to compliant in under a second.

Interesting.

They're hiding something about your abilities.

What exactly don't they want you to know?

Taehyung clears his throat—a sound designed to redirect attention. 

He points behind him toward what can only be described as a tear in reality itself. A circular formation pulsing with quantum uncertainty, its borders shifting between states of matter in ways that shouldn't be physically possible.

"What about base first, arguing later?" he suggests, voice calm in that way people get when they're trying too hard.

You wipe blood from your upper lip. Your eyes find Agent Min again, seeking his reaction. His gaze meets yours briefly before sliding away, gold still lingering at the edges of his irises.

Why won't he look at you properly?

What does he know that you don't?

"What is that?" The question falls from your lips before you can stop it, analytical systems demanding data despite everything else.

"Travel spot. Portal to headquarters," Taehyung answers, shoulders relaxing slightly at the subject change.

You shift your weight, preparing to stand, when your temporal readings spike without warning. The numbers flash red: 3.17%

That's not good.

"Stabilize her," Agent Min orders, voice clipped. "Temporal cascade imminent."

Jungkook moves fast, crossing the space between you in under a second. 

His fingers press against your temporal monitor, executing adjustments with practiced precision.

"Breathing," he instructs, tone sliding into something steadier. "Seven in, seven out. Match me."

The contact triggers something—a flash of memory that doesn't quite feel like yours:

Different hands.

Same words.

"Breathe with me, Noma. Focus."

Pain spikes behind your eyes as incompatible memory patterns try to align. The room tilts slightly.

"What happened up there?" Taehyung asks, attention on Agent Min.

"Temporal ambush," he answers, face tight. "Drones masked behind a reality field."

Taehyung's eyebrows rise. "That's still in R&D."

"Apparently not anymore." Agent Min pushes himself upright, grimacing as his shoulder shifts. "They're adapting faster this time."

This time.

As opposed to when?

"Your tendrils connected with his," Jungkook says quietly as he monitors your readings. "That's what stabilized you both mid-fall."

You blink, memory fragments of golden light intertwining in freefall. 

The way your body reacted without conscious direction. 

The impossibility of the physics involved.

Agent Min moves toward the portal with measured steps. "We need to move before CHRONOS tracks the spatial distortion."

"She deserves to know what she can do," Jungkook says, voice low but firm.

Agent Min stops, spine stiffening visibly. 

“When she's ready."

"And who decides that?" Jungkook challenges, though his hands remain gentle on your monitor. "You?"

The tension between them feels old somehow. Well-worn. Like terrain they've crossed many times.

"Portal stability dropping," Taehyung interrupts, hand cutting through the air. "Either we go now, or we're stuck here."

Agent Min's eyes flick between you and the portal, calculations running visible behind his eyes.

“We are leaving.” He simply mutters, final.

“Of course we are.” Jungkook replies with a hint of something almost like resignation.

Your temporal readings begin to stabilize: 1.47% and decreasing.

Jungkook's hands withdraw from your monitor. "Stable enough for transit."

Agent Min approaches, movements careful despite his obvious discomfort. His right hand extends toward you, gloved palm up.

"The first transit is... disorienting," he says, voice dropping to something softer. "Holding on helps with the spatial realignment."

You stare at his outstretched hand. The leather creases in familiar patterns. The angle of his fingers seems to match your palm perfectly.

‘We're designed to fit.’

His earlier words echo through your mind, connecting dots you didn't even know existed.

"Noma," he says quietly. "Trust me on this one."

The nickname bypasses all your analytical systems, triggering responses you can't explain or quantify.

Your hand moves before your brain fully catches up, fingers sliding into his with strange, impossible familiarity.

Your watch beeps once more: Temporal variance: 0.73%.

Stabilizing.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“Let’s go.”

goal: 275 notes

next | index

— taglist

@cannotalwaysbenight @taevanille @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @ktownshizzle @yoongiiuu93 @billy-jeans23 @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @hobis-sprite0218 @mikrokookiex @minniejim @curse-of-art @cristy-101 @mellyyyyyyx

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[theunsinkableship1]

CRAZY ABOUT THEIR LOVE

"There's love there" dixit Nicola.

Yesterday, Nicola received a BAFTA nomination for her work in Big Mood, which has been renewed for a second season. She is a talented actress with a good heart and an agreeable personality. I hope that she’ll win and if she doesn’t it’s ok. Whether she wins or not, there are likely more opportunities ahead for her to achieve further successes. There have also been discussions regarding her private life, which is unfortunate on a day that marks a significant milestone in her career.

Was it unfortunate? Yes! Unexpected? No!

Her talent and beauty are widely recognized, but much of the interest in her online is centered around her private life. She may not be comfortable with this aspect of her popularity, and public figures often have limited control over how they are perceived. I’ve never been a real fan of a person before and certainly not to the point of knowing as much as I know now about lukola. The fact is that I’m just a casual fan of both actors and normally I wouldn’t follow their activities that closely and wouldn’t be much interested in their private lives, this why I restate that I will not follow their other relationships as I am not fully aware of the dynamics or background information necessary to form a conclusive opinion and what has transpired to this day isn’t appealing to me and to be fair can’t really be because we don’t have years of interactions and the deep dive with world tour like background knowledge .

Luke and Nicola have already recognized that a significant part of their public appeal stems from their dynamic together. This could be one of the reasons why they’re creating distance, whether for personal reasons, professional positioning, or external pressures.

By stepping back, they control the narrative, preventing their careers from being overshadowed by speculation. It allows them to establish individual identities beyond their joint appeal, ensuring their work is taken seriously on its own merit.

It could also be a missed opportunity , their bond is a force that transcends standard co-star dynamics. Instead of resisting it, embracing their unique impact could elevate their legacy beyond just a TV show. Some connections aren’t meant to be hidden; they become cultural moments that inspire, move, and even change people’s perspectives on love and human connection.

Ultimately, while they may try to control the perception of their relationship, the way the world receives and resonates with them is beyond their control. And perhaps, that’s not something to fight, but something to embrace.

Yesterday, someone, not a close friend called me crazy because I asked them to listen to a Lukola clip I had posted on my Tumblr. Some people could hear what I was pointing out, while others couldn’t, even after I boosted the audio to make it clearer. My immediate test some of my audience couldn’t hear anything, and one person went so far as to call me crazy. I didn’t appreciate it and struggled to understand why they were unable to hear it. Was I really imagining things? Was there truly nothing there?

The answer is simple: No, I wasn’t imagining things. And yes, there is something there.

Human perception is far from uniform, especially when it comes to hearing. Just as some people have sharper eyesight or better spatial awareness, hearing ability varies greatly from person to person. Factors like age, frequency sensitivity, past exposure to loud sounds, and even genetic predisposition affect how we process audio.

In my case, I didn’t just rely on my own ears. I took the clip, and had it analyzed through audio spectrum tools that visually display sound frequencies. The analysis confirmed that the frequencies of the words were indeed present in the audio file, proving that I wasn’t "hearing voices" or imagining things. AI tools, interestingly, also struggled to transcribe certain parts, just as some humans did. This is similar to the well-known "blue and gold dress" phenomenon, where different people perceived the same visual input in vastly different ways. Just as with color perception, auditory perception can differ dramatically based on how an individual's brain processes sound.

This extends beyond just hearing. In general, people interpret reality based on personal biases, past experiences, and even subconscious conditioning. Some are more attuned to body language, micro-expressions, and emotional undercurrents, while others need more explicit confirmation to recognize what’s right in front of them.

In the case of Lukola, shippers often see and feel something an energy that transcends mere friendship. Yet skeptics, for various reasons, might dismiss these same moments, either because they aren’t looking closely enough, don’t want to see it, or simply don’t have the intuitive ability to pick up on subtle dynamics.

If Lukola were just a projection of wishful thinking, then why does the same pattern of interactions, glances, physical closeness, and emotional depth consistently appear? Why do so many unrelated observers, across different cultures, backgrounds, and levels of analytical skill, pick up on the same chemistry? And why does every attempt to disprove Lukola rely on external factors rather than what’s actually happening between Luke and Nicola?

Lukola possesses unique and exceptional qualities. Their interactions, reactions, and ability to reconnect despite adverse circumstances defy conventional understanding. It is not possible to simulate the level of ease, tension, or emotional resonance they exhibit. For those who can observe and interpret the details, the patterns become unmistakable.

So no, I’m not crazy. And neither are the countless others who perceive what’s right there in front of us. Some may not hear it. Some may not see it. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t real.

Luke and Nicola's dynamic appears to go beyond a typical co-star relationship. This level of interest is absolutely unusual for me, and others in the Lukola community have reported similar feelings of attachment to their bond. Whether this relationship is romantic, deeply intimate, or something else, it seems to resonate strongly with many observers. The reasons behind this strong resonance remain unclear.

Humans are wired to seek patterns, to make sense of connections that may not be immediately obvious. Lukola shippers aren’t just indulging in wishful thinking; many of us sense undeniable chemistry, subtle moments of tension, and contradictions in their public narrative. This sparks an instinct to analyze, to decode, to uncover something that doesn’t quite fit into the "just friends" framework.

Additionally, the longer one observes and collects evidence, whether it’s body language, micro expressions, or the apparent shifts in behavior when they are together, the deeper the emotional investment grows. The brain seeks to validate what it already suspects, reinforcing the belief that there is something real happening beneath the surface.

For many, the draw toward Lukola feels intuitive. There is a gut feeling, an unshakable certainty that their bond holds more meaning than what is publicly acknowledged. Some might describe it as an energetic connection, a frequency that people unconsciously pick up on.

Carl Jung’s concept of the collective unconscious suggests that groups of people can tap into hidden truths before they become widely accepted. Could it be that Lukola shippers are picking up on an unspoken reality that the world hasn’t fully acknowledged yet? It would explain why so many independent observers arrive at the same conclusion despite official narratives trying to steer them away.

There’s also the idea of twin flames or fated connections, relationships that seem destined, even if obstacles stand in the way. Many Lukola supporters believe that what they see in Luke and Nicola is more than just friendly affection; it’s the kind of deep bond that challenges both people involved.

Lukola stands out in today's media for its authenticity, countering the trend of PR-driven relationships and polished celebrity personas. People crave something genuine and unique. Their potential is intoxicating.

There’s also a subconscious rebellion at play. The media tells us one thing, but the evidence and our instincts tell us another. Lukola shippers challenge mainstream narratives by trusting their own observations over curated publicity.

Here lies an interesting paradox: should we accept the public version of events while continuing to ship Lukola? The answer for me is yes because the two are not incompatible. If Luke and Nicola (or their teams) are actively presenting a certain narrative, it means they want us to believe it. Respecting that choice doesn’t mean we have to stop believing in what we’ve already seen and felt.

Lukola, in a way, is a submarine ship, it moves beneath the surface, unseen but always present. To the outside world, we might nod along, acknowledging what is being presented, but deep down, we stay steady in what we know. The Three Wise Monkeys philosophy applies here: see no truth, hear no truth, speak no truth…until it is time.

Despite external narratives, Lukola remains afloat. Luke and Nicola are the ones who can steer it into harbor, let it drift, or sink it, and they have kept it sailing so far. Watching Lukola sometimes feels like you're in a theater, being trapped and forced to watch a mix of romantic comedy and a horror movie, where you want to yell—_ “Don’t go there! Stay safe!” _—but you’re just a spectator. It’s not your story to steer or your choices to make. You can only watch, hope, and brace for what comes next.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How to write genius level characters? :(

One of the most reliable measures of intelligence today is the Stanford-Binet Intelligence Scale—currently in its 5th edition, with an upcoming edition in the works.

Using the tool/scale, scores are converted into nominal categories designated by certain cutoff boundaries for quick reference:

Measured IQ Range — Category

145-160: Very gifted or highly advanced

130–144: Gifted or very advanced

120–129: Superior

110–119: High average

90–109: Average

80–89: Low average

70–79: Borderline impaired or delayed

55–69: Mildly impaired or delayed

40–54: Moderately impaired or delayed

To write your "genius" character, you may want them within the Gifted to Very Gifted categories.

Note: With reference to this list, Roid (2003) cautioned that “the important concern is to describe the examinee’s skills and abilities in detail, going beyond the label itself”. The primary value of such labels is as a shorthand reference in some psychological reports.

These are the factors measured by the scale, and you ideally should aim for your "genius" character/s to exhibit high levels of:

Fluid Reasoning: Novel problem solving; understanding of relationships that are not culturally bound

Knowledge: Skills and knowledge acquired by formal and informal education

Quantitative Reasoning: Knowledge of mathematical thinking including number concepts, estimation, problem solving, and measurement

Visual-Spatial Processing: Ability to see patterns and relationships and spatial orientation as well as the gestalt among diverse visual stimuli

Working Memory: Cognitive process of temporarily storing and then transforming or sorting information in memory

Or maybe your character doesn't excel in all of these areas but in a specific one, or just a few of these. Maybe they perform within the average or high average in some, but are highly gifted in other areas.

The following may also guide you in writing your genius character, based on research compiled by Dr. J. Renzulli, which can be found in the Mensa Gifted Youth Handbook:

Characteristics of Giftedness

LEARNING CHARACTERISTICS

Has unusually advanced vocabulary for age or grade level

Has quick mastery and recall of factual information

Wants to know what makes things or people tick

Usually sees more or gets more out of a story, film, etc., than others

Reads a great deal on his or her own; usually prefers adult-level books; does not avoid difficult materials

Reasons things out for him- or herself

MOTIVATIONAL CHARACTERISTICS

Becomes easily absorbed with and truly involved in certain topics or problems

Is easily bored with routine tasks

Needs little external motivation to follow through in work that initially excited him or her

Strives toward perfection; is self-critical; is not easily satisfied with his or her own speed and products

Prefers to work independently; requires little direction from teachers

Is interested in many "adult" problems such as religion, politics, sex and race

Stubborn in his or her beliefs

Concerned with right and wrong, good and bad

CREATIVITY CHARACTERISTICS

Constantly asking questions about anything and everything

Often offers unusual, unique or clever responses

Is uninhibited in expressions of opinion

Is a high-risk taker; is adventurous and speculative

Is often concerned with adapting, improving and modifying institutions, objects and systems

Displays a keen sense of humor

Shows emotional sensitivity

Is sensitive to beauty

Is nonconforming; accepts disorder; is not interested in details; is individualistic; does not fear being different

Is unwilling to accept authoritarian pronouncements without critical examination

LEADERSHIP CHARACTERISTICS

Carries responsibility well

Is self-confident with children his or her own age as well as adults

Can express him- or herself well

Adapts readily to new situations

Is sociable and prefers not to be alone

Generally directs the activity in which he or she is involved

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 ⚜ Writing Notes & References

Hope this helps with your writing. Do tag me, or send me a link. I'd love to read your work!

[grison-in-space]

Stupidest of stupid questions: So humans are trichromatic, right? We basically have RGB eyes. How inefficient would it be to have CMYK eyes? Is it even possible?

You could absolutely do CMY eyes, but the K (being black) is a little more difficult because black isn't a wavelength of light so much as the absence of light. I suppose you could call the K your rods, which are best used in low light and convey things like "shadows" and "movement" particularly effectively. As a human, the most sensitive part of your retina, the part you're using when you directly look at things, is called the fovea. It is PACKED with cones, which are good for color and also tight spatial resolution; rods are found outside along the periphery of both the retinal and visual field. So we're just going to set the K aside now and think about those cones.

Honestly, tetrachromat eyes are technically pretty easy to achieve: all you need is four versions of cone-rhodopsin genes getting translated into different kinds of cone-rhodopsin cells in your retina. Old World primates evolved our trichromat eyes from dichromat mammalian ancestors exactly this way: with a gene duplication in one core cone-rhodopsin gene that allowed one of the copies to accumulate mutations until a sufficiently divergent copy fixed in the population.

So to have CMY eyes, you'd need three cone-rhodopsins with different wavelength sensitivities: one that is most sensitive to cerulean, one most sensitive to maroon, and one most sensitive to yellow. You might or might not have better color resolution than a regular old RGB human, though: color resolution is partly a function of the sensory information hitting your retinas, but it's also partly a function of how much brain space you dedicate to processing that information.

I mentioned my blind cat Arthur the other day--here's a photo:

Arthur is what we call cortically blind. As a kitten, he had an intact pupillary reflex and could probably see light vs dark, but he also had severe nystagmus, so his pupils jittered uncontrollably all the time and he probably didn't get a whole lot of useful visual input. Without the visual experience of seeing things and learning how to organize and process visual information, his brain as he developed went "you know what? fuck this" and stopped dedicating any processing power to whatever visual input he was getting.

Basically, he lost visual acuity because the information he was able to pipe to his brain was fragmented and poor-quality enough that his brain stopped bothering to process it. If I pulled his current eyeballs out and magically hooked up new totally functional ones, he wouldn't be able to do anything with them: his brain has given up sorting out the information.

So the question of whether theoretical CMY humans could distinguish colors better than RGB humans is driven by two things: one, whether having two highly-overlapping cones helps you distinguish between slightly variant light types better than very different cones, and two, whether we're extending the total visual range by moving the cones at the external ends of the range (B and R) farther apart. Overlapping but unique sensory information can be really helpful for localizing and distinguishing similar-but-not-identical inputs--that's one of the reasons owls are good at localizing quiet noises, actually, their ears are wildly asymmetrical and they can computer where a noise is made based on how loudly it can be heard with each ear, especially if the owl is on the move as it listens. Like the Doppler effect, but faster with a lot more processing power on it.

I have no idea which would be more effective, but it's a fun thing to think about!

[regular-gnome]

hey..

at what point do collectors opt to turn things from puppets to scrolls? I feel like turning an entire living creature into [a piece of paper] is very complicated, while turning them into simple puppets is easier because they keep all the same parts, just simplified and wood?

It is! It depends on the person's proficiency and understanding of the mechanism regarding when and how they change the creature. Once someone gets good at it, the creature can be transformed into a lifeless object without it dying in the process, and they will move on to more complex and efficient ways.

The way I see it, archiving is a form of information compression and storage—and there is A LOT of information. When looking at Earth creatures we have everything from single-cell bacteria to whales that range up to 100 quadrillion cells, all with different sizes. The smallest single-cell critter is 0.3 μm, while the largest single cell is an ostrich egg that can get to 18 cm. So it's not just noting "a cell"—there's also a lot of information about the cell content, size, the DNA, current water, and oxygen levels, what protein it contains and how much. Then there are spatial dimensions. (While we can consider there being more, especially in fiction, I’m sticking to three; trying to visualize four fills me with frustration and existential dread xD) Every cell has its place in space in relation to the others, and all the contents' relations are also important. If, suddenly, all histones materialize inside a mitochondria instead of the nucleus, we can have a problem. Additionally, physical and chemical processes gotta be considered. There's electricity powering our brains, hearts, running nerves, air in airways traveling to lungs, chemical signals traveling between synapses that also need to be accounted for. So, you have all the contents in space, their vectors, and building blocks. Thats a ton to save. This information has to be compressed to be preserved in an organized manner while also remaining lossless so that when returned to its original shape, it's as it was. Not even mentioning that in intelligent beings, there are also minds to take care of. Jellyfish might be fine after 100 years in a static void, but a human? Yhhhhh.

I think the mechanism would work by saving information in intangible magic and assigning it to a physical medium—be it a statue, doll, book, or scroll. If it is physical and can carry information, it can be used. We can argue the mind is part of the soul, or it is a biochemical process, but the fact is nobody really knows for sure what it is and Im not a theolog, so for the sake of this universe, I'll say it's something that occupies the same space magic does and is influenced by chemical processes, meeeeaning it can also be tricked by them. And the magic.

The first degree of preservation would be spells that only change the material but keep all shapes and info in place. This wouldn't require much thought while executing and could be "automated" or worse, taught to mortals (if they have enough magic to power the spell), like petrification or changing someone into wood, metal, or any other solid material. It's not perfect, if the structure is damaged, the spatial information is damaged too. Breaking is one thing, but imagine if the statue melts.

The next step would be assigning objects with some compression and change, like toys and dolls. I feel like there would need to be a system like a content library, so not every single atom is saved each time, but chemical structures like nucleotides in DNA (the ATGC thingies) would just have a shortcut. Larger repeating patterns could also be assigned their own id to save data, and it would slowly stack up. While things are written in intangible magic form and anchored to the medium, the medium can be somewhat customized, like the decorations the Collector added to the dolls. The mind, running in controlled magic, can also be affected, as we saw with Collie trying to scare them and Luz’s dream. On the spell keeping the preserved critter stable has a link to what shortcut it uses so with countless diffrent worlds and structres it wouldnt mix up.

Then we go further into compression, reducing size and dimensions until we reach a point where one axis is almost entirely removed, and we end up with a scroll. Then there are other things—creatures saved as amber miniatures, snow globes, scrolls, or drawings, sometimes purely to annoy the sibling that has to deal with the creature in unhandy form. A more permanent binding would be in a book that can contain a bunch of different animals. Rebinding for long-term preservation is the Curator’s job.

Looking at Earth creatures, eucariotic life shares ancestry with some ancient bacteria that decided to rebel and started to cooperate, so we share similarities even with distant organisms in some strutures since they come from each other. So when it comes to preserving whole populations with relations, the library of compression doesn’t have to be separate for every single animal or plant. For each section of the archive, there would be a common library of building blocks, and scrolls being somewhat separate carrying the exact instructions for body arrangement and the soul/mind/the part that makes them alive attached.

Next is unpacking the information. I think this requires the ability to interpret and recreate what was saved that mortals lack. While they couldn't really unpetrify others, a collector could (assuming the mind hadn’t deteriorated into a husk). In the case of an automated spell, I think it would result in a very lossy transmutation—like a jpg losing pixels, the creature might lose like heart funtion. The Collector's spell also looked temporary or incomplete since an influx of other types of magic (like in Amity or Raine’s case) was able to push back on it. That might also be why they were conscious in the form they were in. Not meant for long just enough to take them to archive in normal conditions. When a creature is heavily compressed, it needs external force to rebuild, as it's essentially written fully in magic. That’s what I think happened to the Owl Beast. Lilith released it from the medium, but since it wasn’t fully rebuilt, it being a magic form attached itself to a magic source.

SO YEAH, its a process that takes quite a while for them to master and it comes with experience. But when experience is based on life it often makes it hard to practice so those with less empathetic approach master it faster. Thanks for the ask! I was dying to talk about that for such a long time and that was a perfect thing to organise thoughts

[transhawks]

LET'S TALK ABOUT JIN BEING SMART!! okay, so double clearly has two things that mechanically affect Jin. One, he clearly has an amazing memory - think about all the numbers he needs to replicate someone, I think it makes the quirk similar to creation in that he needs a lot of info prior to doubling, but outside of even how Momo's quirk needs chemical makeup, Jin essentially converts the measurements into something visual and spatial. So, just based on that, he should be one of those people who very vividly can picture stuff or draw up a map of something based on numeric values.

In additional to a great memory and spatial intelligence, he also clearly has to understand people really well. Don't forget, he's also doubling personalities, which can be explained as scifi mumbo jumbo, I think would require really understanding people around him.

Despite Jin's loneliness and trauma clouding his judgment, I do want to say he understood Keigo and his loneliness very well. It's no coincidence one of our first insights into the society at large post-Kamino was Jin reflecting on the current state of society, and 115 absolutely makes it clear he's a far deeper thinker than his illness allows him to express. So, while it's all inward, I just think there's an incredible depth to how he processes other people (and events/society in general). And it's a natural sort of thing, not something he was taught to do. Really one of the cooler characters in this manga and very well-written!

[geometrymatters]

Sir Roger Penrose

To me, the world of perfect forms is primary (as was Plato’s own belief) — its existence being almost a logical necessity — and both the other two worlds are its shadows.

Sir Roger Penrose, born on August 8, 1931, in Colchester, Essex, England, is a luminary in the realm of mathematical physics. His journey began with a Ph.D. in algebraic geometry from the University of Cambridge in 1957, and his career has spanned numerous prestigious posts at universities in both England and the United States. His work in the 1960s on the fundamental features of black holes, celestial bodies of such immense gravity that nothing, not even light, can escape, earned him the 2020 Nobel Prize for Physics.

Penrose’s work on black holes, in collaboration with Stephen Hawking, led to the ground-breaking discovery that all matter within a black hole collapses to a singularity, a point in space where mass is compressed to infinite density and zero volume. This revelation illuminated our understanding of these enigmatic cosmic entities.

His work did not stop at the theoretical; he also developed a method of mapping the regions of space-time surrounding a black hole, known as a Penrose diagram. This tool allows us to visualize the effects of gravitation upon an entity approaching a black hole, providing a window into the heart of these celestial mysteries.

Within Penrose’s chapter, “The Godelian Case” (from “The Road to Reality”) the profound implications of Kurt Gödel’s incompleteness theorems are examined in relation to the connection between mathematics and geometry. Specifically, Penrose’s attention centers on the model depicted in Figure 2.1, which portrays a cubic array of spheres. Through this visual representation, Penrose explores the intricate relationship between geometry and mathematical understanding.

By introducing the model of a cubic array of spheres, Penrose highlights the fundamental role of spatial arrangements in mathematical cognition. This geometrical structure serves as a metaphorical embodiment of mathematical concepts, illustrating how spatial configurations can stimulate cognitive processes and facilitate intuitive comprehension of mathematical truths. The intricate interplay between the arrangement of spheres within the model and the underlying principles of mathematics encourages contemplation on the deep-rooted connections between geometry, spatial reasoning, and abstract mathematical thought.

Penrose’s utilization of the cubic array of spheres underscores his broader philosophical framework, which challenges reductionist accounts of human cognition that rely solely on formal systems or computational models. Through this geometrical representation, he advocates for a more holistic understanding of mathematical insight, one that recognizes the essential role of geometric intuition in shaping human understanding.

By looking at the intricate connection between mathematics and geometry, Penrose prompts a re-evaluation of the mechanistic view of cognition, emphasizing the need to incorporate spatial reasoning and intuitive geometrical understanding into comprehensive models of human thought.

(E) Find a sum of successive hexagonal numbers, starting from 1 , that is not a cube. I am going to try to convince you that this computation will indeed continue for ever without stopping. First of all, a cube is called a cube because it is a number that can be represented as a cubic array of points as depicted in Fig. 2. 1 . I want you to try to think of such an array as built up successively, starting at one corner and then adding a succession of three-faced arrangements each consisting of a back wall, side wall, and ceiling, as depicted in Fig. 2.2. Now view this three-faced arrangement from a long way out, along the direction of the corner common to all three faces. What do we see? A hexagon as in Fig. 2.3. The marks that constitute these hexagons, successively increasing in size, when taken together, correspond to the marks that constitute the entire cube. This, then, establishes the fact that adding together successive hexagonal numbers, starting with 1 , will always give a cube. Accordingly, we have indeed ascertained that (E) will never stop.

Penrose’s work is characterized by a profound appreciation for geometry. His father, a biologist with a passion for mathematics, introduced him to the beauty of geometric shapes and patterns at a young age. This early exposure to geometry shaped Penrose’s unique approach to scientific problems, leading him to develop new mathematical notations and diagrams that have become indispensable tools in the field. His creation of the Penrose tiling, a method of covering a plane with a set of shapes without using a repeating pattern, is a testament to his innovative thinking and his deep understanding of geometric principles.

His fascination with geometry extended beyond the realm of mathematics and into the world of art. He was deeply influenced by the work of Dutch artist M.C. Escher, whose intricate drawings of impossible structures and infinite patterns captivated Penrose’s imagination. This encounter with Escher’s art led Penrose to explore the interplay between geometry and art, culminating in his own contributions to the field of mathematical art. His work in this area, like his scientific research, is characterized by a deep appreciation for the beauty and complexity of geometric forms.

In geometric cognition, Penrose’s work has the potential to make significant contributions. His unique perspective on the role of geometry in understanding the physical world, the mind, and even art, offers a fresh approach to this emerging field. His belief in the power of geometric thinking, as evidenced by his own ground-breaking work, suggests that a geometric approach to cognition could yield valuable insights into the nature of thought and consciousness.

Objective mathematical notions must be thought of as timeless entities and are not to be regarded as being conjured into existence at the moment that they are first humanly perceived.

I argue that the phenomenon of consciousness cannot be accommodated within the framework of present-day physical theory.

His Orch OR theory posits that consciousness arises from quantum computations within the brain’s neurons. This bold hypothesis, bridging the gap between the physical and the mental, has sparked intense debate and research in the scientific community.

Penrose’s work on twistor theory, a geometric framework that seeks to unify quantum mechanics and general relativity, is a testament to his belief in the primacy of geometric structures. This theory, which represents particles and fields in a way that emphasizes their geometric and topological properties, can be seen as a metaphor for his views on cognition. Just as twistor theory seeks to represent complex physical phenomena in terms of simpler geometric structures, Penrose suggests that human cognition may also be understood in terms of fundamental geometric and topological structures.

This perspective has significant implications for the field of cognitive geometry, which studies how humans and other animals understand and navigate the geometric properties of their environment. If Penrose’s ideas are correct, our ability to understand and manipulate geometric structures may be a fundamental aspect of consciousness, rooted in the quantum geometry of the brain itself.

The final conclusion of all this is rather alarming. For it suggests that we must seek a non-computable physical theory that reaches beyond every computable level of oracle machines (and perhaps beyond). — Roger Penrose, Shadows of the Mind: A Search for the Missing Science of Consciousness

[russellmoreton]

Temporal Paths/Zones by Russell Moreton Via Flickr: russellmoreton.blogspot.com/

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

Autistic Sensory Differences

What are they?

Autistic people experience the sensory world very differently from non-Autistic people. One Autistic person might be hyper-sensitive to certain sensory experiences, and do whatever to avoid them, whereas another might be hypo-sensitive and crave heavy sensory input (or both/a mix). Sensory differences include the main 5 senses:

Sight

Sound

Touch

Smell

Taste

addition to 3 lesser-known senses:

Interception

Movement

Balance

SIGHT: A person might struggle with intense eye contact, bright lights, a chaotic mix of colours or a lack of visuals for support. Another might seek out loud colours, lots of lighting or certain visuals (e.g. shiny things).

What might help:

Sunglasses to block out light

Reducing eye contact

Using visual prompts such as labels/lists

Using calm/dim/ mood lighting

SOUND: A person might struggle with loud/sudden noises, overlapping voices, certain pitches or a lack of noise. Another might seek out loud music, repetitive sounds/words/songs or white noise.

What might help:

Using subtitles for videos when the audio is too overwhelming

Wearing headphones to reduce noise/utilise music for comfort

Using ear plugs to lower background volume

TOUCH: A person might struggle with rough surfaces and textures, the feeling of dirt or unclean skin, clothes labels or human contact (e.g. hugs, handshakes etc.).

Another might seek out objects to squeeze, fabrics to feel or people to embrace.

What might help:

Setting a boundary to not be touched without consent

Removing fabrics and materials from your environment that you dislike

Find clothes with stamped labels rather than ones with external tags

SMELL: A person might struggle with strong or pungent smells, odours that are too overwhelming for them, or just too many different smells at once. Another might seek out powerful smells or like to overload themselves on favourite scents.

What might help:

Keep to hand something that smells nice to you to counter any bad smells

Use unscented products

Use candles, diffusers or air fresheners to surround yourself with comforting smells

TASTE: A person might struggle with different textures in food (e.g. soft with crunchy), certain flavours or unfamiliar foods. Another might seek out hot/spicy/sour foods or chewy/stimmy foods.

What might help:

Providing familiar/safe foods at meals

Don't force trying new foods if not interested

Be aware of clashing textures

INTERCEPTION (processing info about physical needs on and inside the body):

A person might struggle with recognising physical needs (e.g. going to the toilet, feeling unwell, needing to eat/drink) whilst another might feel them intensely.

What might help:

Creating routines/alarms/reminders for fulfilling bodily needs

Be well prepared/equipped to fulfil needs e.g. taking water with you to places

Fulfilling bodily needs earlier to avoid pains of thirst, hunger, full bladder etc.

MOUEMENT (Proprioception): A person might struggle with an overly aware sense of body positioning, becoming tired easily from movement or disliking tight clothes. Another might seek out physical activity (running, climbing etc.), have less awareness of personal space and have a need to fidget/cannot remain still.

What might help:

Use of deep-pressure products like weighted blankets

Keeping active through slower movements, e.g. walking instead of running

BALANCE (Vestibular): A person might struggle with sensitivities to balance and spatial orientation if moving too fast or have difficulties with motion sickness.

Another might struggle with not moving at all or seek out movements such as dancing and swinging around.

What might help:

Using trampolines, rollercoasters, rocking chairs to meet vestibular needs

Physical support such as with stairs to help control balance with steps

Autisticality

Autism

Sensory Processing

[tonguetiedraven]

Hi! I love your analyses and ideas! In one of your fics, you wrote Rin being dyslexic (I hope I'm not misremembering or haven't misread anything, haha). Is it your headcanon/canon theory, or was it just for the AU you wrote? If that's your theory/hc, can you share your reasoning? It really resonates with me for some reason and is, at least imo, canon possible, as Rin calls himself a hands-on learner, irrc:) Just wanted to know what you think:)

I do have Rin being dyslexic in a few of my fics, and the answer on it being a head canon varies. I sometimes write things because they're useful for a story and sometimes because they're head canons in general.

For Rin with dyslexia, it's a yes with a caveat. I think that could be a reasonable option for an increase in his difficulty with English, but I have had a hard time confirming whether or not dyslexia is common with Japanese people in general, and it seems to have a very low rate of diagnosis if it is. What I have found is that Japanese is a far easier language for most people who have dyslexia to learn and manage, and that it (dyslexia) has traditionally not been heavily studied in Japan and some people even hold the false belief that it doesn't happen at all. Which is not true, but we do see it occur in different ways. And that is probably in part because 'dyslexia' is a bit of a fuzzy term with a few different conditions in it.

The nature of how a systematic writing like katakana and kanji works makes them far easier to differentiate and remember than the non systematic language of English. Katakana words are always written as they are pronounced and English is decidedly not. (Basically English is one of the worst languages for the dyslexic and Japanese is one of the best.) Japanese students also tend to start writing and reading at younger ages than English speakers and readers which helps.

From what I've found over my years of looking, it seems most likely that Rin, if his struggles with school come from more than just a long period of not applying himself, then it's likely he has both a phonological and a visual-spatial processing deficit which give him the English and Japanese issues. One being what most people would think of dyslexia for English, and the other being trouble figuring out all the bits of kanji in a square and not mixing them up.

So in short and brief: Yes and no. I don't think dyslexia is main problem, or even one we get a lot of indication he has. It could absolutely be his reason for getting 0s in English, but I don't know that there's support for it being his general issue with school. I think he has different learning difficulties that come into play, and I think a lot of it also comes from years of not applying himself at all. From what we see he just largely didn't go to middle school which would greatly increase his high school struggles without anything else going on, and boy is there a lot else going on.

But that's just my head canons and thoughts ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ )