#adult language acquisition

[cardiac-agreste]

The linguistic richness of Himawari House is incredible. It's a story about a girl whose family moved from Japan to the US when she was little, and now she's taking a gap year to reconnect with her heritage.

But her Japanese is weak from all those years fighting to assimilate into American culture. Her new flatmates include a Singaporean girl, a Korean girl, and two Japanese guys. The first two speak good English, while the latter two do not.

The way the author visually depicts bilingualism, a lack of fluency, dialects, accents, and the process of language acquisition is amazing and a WHOLE ASS MOOD.

I see so much of myself in this story since I, too, moved to Japan from the US with decent but not great Japanese, and come from a household where I had to re-acquire my family's language in adulthood with great effort to preserve my culture.

I can't recommend this graphic novel enough.

[joshuaalbert]

how it feels to get more than three notes on a post

[liltizzymandarin]

Website : https://www.liltizzymandarin.com

Address : Tullgårdsgatan 8, 11668 Stockholm, Sweden

Lil' Tizzy Mandarin, located in Stockholm, Sweden, is a premier Taiwan Center for Mandarin Learning in Scandinavia. Offering a range of Mandarin courses for toddlers, children, teenagers, and adults, both in-class and online, the school is dedicated to promoting Mandarin learning and Taiwanese culture. With a team of experienced teachers, Lil' Tizzy Mandarin provides a friendly and comfortable learning environment, focusing on engaging, fun, and authentic content to ensure effective language acquisition.

Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/liltizzymandarin/

Instagram : https://www.instagram.com/twmandarin.stockholm/

Youtube : https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCZHtnU6_7x4desJbpsYs1pQ

Linktr.ee : https://linktr.ee/liltizzymandarin

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[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Children's Dialogue

Language is extremely complex, yet children already know most of the grammar of their native language(s) before they are 5 years old.

BABBLING

Babbling begins at about 6 months and is considered the earliest stage of language acquisition

By 1 year babbles are composed only of the phonemes used in the language(s) they hear

Deaf babies babble with their hands like hearing babies babble using sounds

FIRST WORDS

After the age of one, children figure out that sounds are related to meanings and start to produce their first words

Usually children go through a holophrastic stage, where their one-word utterances may convey more meaning

Example: "Up" is used to indicate something in the sky or to mean “pick me up”

Most common first words (among the first 10 words uttered in many languages): “mommy,” “daddy,” “woof woof,” “no,” “bye,” “hi,” “yes,” “vroom,” “ball” and “banana”

WORD MEANINGS

When learning words, children often overextend a word’s meaning

Example: Using the word dog to refer to any furry, four-legged animal (overextensions tend to be based on shape, size, or texture, but never color)

They may also underextend a word’s meaning

Example: Using the word dog to refer only to the family pet, as if dog were a proper noun

The Whole Object Principle: When a child learns a new word, (s)he is likely to interpret the word to refer to a whole object rather than one of its parts

SYNTAX

At about two years of age, children start to put words together to form two-word utterances

The intonation contour extends over the two words as a unit, and the two-word utterances can convey a range of meanings:

Example: "mommy sock" = subject + object or possessive

NOTE: Chronological age is NOT a good measure of linguistic development due to individual differences, so instead linguists use the child’s mean length of utterance (MLU) to measure development

The telegraphic stage describes a phase when children tend to omit function morphemes such as articles, subject pronouns, auxiliaries, and verbal inflection

Examples: "He play little tune" or "Andrew want that"

Between 2;6 and 3;6 a language explosion occurs and children undergo rapid development

By the age of 3, most children consistently use function morphemes and can produce complex syntactic structures:

Examples: "He was stuck and I got him out" / "It’s too early for us to eat"

After 3;6 children can produce wh-questions, and relative pronouns

Sometime after 4;0 children have acquired most of the adult syntactic competence

PRAGMATICS

Deixis: Children often have problems with the shifting reference of pronouns

Children may refer to themselves as "you"

Problems with the context-dependent nature of deictic words: Children often assume the hearer knows who s/he is talking about

AUXILIARIES

In the telegraphic stage, children often omit auxiliaries from their speech but can form questions (with rising intonation) and negative sentences

Examples: "I ride train?" / "I not like this book"

As children acquire auxiliaries in questions and negative sentences, they generally use them correctly

SIGNED LANGUAGES

Deaf babies acquire sign language in the same way that hearing babies acquire spoken language: babbling, holophrastic stage, telegraphic stage

When deaf babies are not exposed to sign language, they will create their own signs, complete with systematic rules

IMITATION, REINFORCEMENT, ANALOGY

Children do imitate the speech heard around them to a certain extent, but language acquisition goes beyond imitation

Children produce utterances that they never hear from adults around them, such as "holded" or "tooths"

Children cannot imitate adults fully while acquiring grammar

Example:

Adult: "Where can I put them?" Child: "Where I can put them?"

Children who develop the ability to speak later in their childhood can understand the language spoken around them even if they cannot imitate it

NOTE: Children May Resist Correction

Example: Cazden (1972) (observation attributed to Jean Berko Gleason) – My teacher holded the baby rabbits and we patted them. – Did you say your teacher held the baby rabbits? – Yes. – What did you say she did? – She holded the baby rabbits and we patted them. – Did you say she held them tightly? – No, she holded them loosely.

Another theory asserts that children hear a sentence and then use it as a model to form other sentences by analogy

But while analogy may work in some situations, certainly not in all situations:

– I painted a red barn. – I painted a barn red. – I saw a red barn. – I saw a barn red.

Children never make mistakes of this kind based on analogy which shows that they understand structure dependency at a very young age

BIRTH ORDER

Children’s birth order may affect their speech.

Firstborns often speak earlier than later-born children, most likely because they get more one-on-one attention from parents.

They favor different words than their siblings. 

Whereas firstborns gabble on about animals and favorite colors, the rest of the pack cut to the chase with “brother,” “sister,” “hate” and such treats as “candy,” “popsicles” and “donuts.” 

The social dynamics of siblings, it would appear, prime their vocabularies for a reality different than the firstborns’ idyllic world of sheep, owls, the green of the earth and the blue of the sky.

MOTHER'S LEVEL OF EDUCATION

Children may adopt vocabulary quite differently depending on their mother’s level of education.

In American English, among the words disproportionately favored by the children of mothers who have not completed secondary education are: “so,” “walker,” “gum,” “candy,” “each,” “could,” “wish,” “but,” “penny” and “be” (ordered starting with the highest frequency).

The words favored by the children of mothers in the “college and above” category are: “sheep,” “giraffe,” “cockadoodledoo,” “quack quack,” the babysitter’s name, “gentle,” “owl,” “zebra,” “play dough” and “mittens.” 

BOYS / GIRLS

One area of remarkable consistency across language groups is the degree to which the language of children is gendered.

The words more likely to be used by American girls than by boys are: “dress,” “vagina,” “tights,” “doll,” “necklace,” “pretty,” “underpants,” “purse,” “girl” and “sweater.”

Whereas those favored by boys are “penis,” “vroom,” “tractor,” “truck,” “hammer,” “bat,” “dump,” “firetruck,” “police” and “motorcycle.”

Tips for Writing Children's Dialogue (compiled from various sources cited below):

Milestones - The dialogue you write should be consistent with the child's developmental milestones for their age. Of course, other factors should be considered such as if the child has any speech or intellectual difficulties. Also note that developmental milestones are not set in stone and each child is unique in their own way.

Too "Cutesy" - If your child characters are going to be cute, they must be cute naturally through the force of their personality, not because the entire purpose of their existence is to be adorable.

Too Wise - It’s true kids have the benefit of seeing some situations a little more objectively than adults. But when they start calmly and unwittingly spouting all the answers, the results often seem more clichéd and convenient than impressive or ironic.

Unintelligent - Don’t confuse a child’s lack of experience with lack of intelligence. 

Baby Talk - Don’t make a habit of letting them misuse words. Children are more intelligent than most people think.

Unique Individuals - Adults often tend to lump all children into a single category: cute, small, loud, and occasionally annoying. Look beyond the stereotype.

Personal Goals - The single ingredient that transforms someone from a static character to a dynamic character is a goal. It can be easy to forget kids also have goals. Kids are arguably even more defined by their goals than are adults. Kids want something every waking minute. Their entire existence is wrapped up in wanting something and figuring out how to get it.

Don't Forget your Character IS a Child - Most of the pitfalls in how to write child characters have to do with making them too simplistic and childish. But don’t fall into the opposite trap either: don’t create child characters who are essentially adults in little bodies.

Your Personal Observation - To write dialogue that truly sounds like it could come from a child, start by being an attentive listener. Spend time around children and observe how they interact with their peers and adults. You can also study other pieces of media that show/write about children's behaviour (e.g., documentaries, films, TV shows, even other written works like novels and scripts).

Context - The context in which children speak is crucial to creating realistic dialogue. Consider their environment, who they're speaking to, and what's happening around them. Dialogue can change drastically depending on whether a child is talking to a friend, a parent, or a teacher. Additionally, children's language can be influenced by their cultural background, family dynamics, and personal experiences. Make sure the context informs the dialogue, lending credibility to your characters' voices.

Sources and other related articles: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Writing Notes: On Children ⚜ Childhood Bilingualism More: Writing Notes & References

[german-enthusiast]

In my L1-acquisition class two weeks ago, our professor talked about how only 9% of the speech a baby hears is single words. Everything else is phrases and sentences, onslaughts of words and meaning!

Thus, a baby not only has to learn words and their meanings but also learn to segment lots of sounds INTO words. Doyouwantalittlemoresoupyesyoudoyoucutie. Damn.

When she talked about HOW babies learn to segment words our professor said, and I love it, "babies are little statisticians" because when listening to all the sounds, they start understanding what sound is likely to come after another vs which is not.

After discussing lots of experiments done with babies, our professor added something that I already knew somewhere in my brain but didn't know I know: All this knowledge is helpful when learning an L2 as well:

Listen to natives speaking their language. Original speed. Whatever speaker. Whatever topic.

It is NOT about understanding meaning. It is about learning the rhythm of the language, getting a feeling for its sound, the combination of sounds, the melody and the pronunciation.

Just how babies have to learn to identify single words within waves of sounds, so do adults learning a language. It will help immensely with later (more intentional) listening because you're already used to the sound, can already get into the groove of the languge.

Be as brave as a baby.

You don't even have to pay special attention. Just bathe in the sound of your target language. You'll soak it up without even noticing.

[thisisgraeme]

Empowering Success: Transformative Foundations of ESOL Teaching for Tertiary Educators in Aotearoa NZ – Part 1

xplore the foundations of ESOL teaching in this comprehensive course module. Learn about second language acquisition principles, cultural diversity, challenges, and integrating first languages. Enhance your teaching practice today.

I’m writing a series of modules on the foundations of teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages (ESOL). This is long overdue as I was an ESOL teacher for many years, but it feels good to be looking at this content again with fresh eyes. I have roughly six chunks planned which I will draft and post here like I normally do with new content: Introduction to ESOL Teaching (this…

[xenosagaepisodeone]

it's fascinating observing children slowly discover they are children. I see this a lot at work. a child who has grown past the babbling stage of speech acquisition mimics the way their parents/caretakers communicate. they've learned during the infant stage that certain sounds can be used to acquire certain things (food, hugs, etc), and at the toddler/small child stage are perpetually experimenting with the limitations of these abilities via navigating public space. their growing minds and lack of life experience force them to interpret language as a kind of magic. words make things happen, the rhyme or reason behind it an eternally mysterious entity they cannot contest.

when a small child doesn't want to leave a public space, they sometimes will mimic what a parent says when they do not want to do something ("not right now", "next time, okay?", "it's not time yet", etc). the parent (in the gentle way that nice parents do) presses the matter again, telling the child that it is time to go now. the child senses the walls closing in and chooses to rely on their one power, their magical incantation, once more. the meltdown ensuing from their inevitable failure is the product of both frustration at not getting what they want, and also frustration at finding that their words do not always work. that this magic moving the world stopped for them. that bigger people have a different and stronger kind of magic. they may not have the awareness or the knowledge to understand that they are processing it this way, but I feel like it becomes self-evident when you see how older children describe the ubiquitous power that adults have and solemnly accepting it as "as is", as well as how many adults struggle to escape the concepts that their parents forced on them as children.

[thisiswhereikeepdcthings]

Fic things I will never have enough of/get over:

“Oh no, they’re hot.”

“Great, now there’s two of them.”

See above but with more swearing and feelings of dread and impending doom

BAMFs with swords

Old wise person causing 90% of the chaos

“They’ve never met in canon.” “Actually, they’re dating.”

“They’re mortal enemies.” “Actually, they’re married.”

The keeper of the braincell

Sharing one braincell but they lost it

The cinnamon roll goes feral

Tiny feral child and their supportive, enabling, non-parental background adults

“I’m your problem now”

“Welp, guess I’m a parent now”

Accidental world domination

Competence

Competence kink

Calmly sipping tea while everything behind them is on fire

Trying to be a good, supportive adult but you have no point of reference so you end up giving a sword to a ten-year-old

Time travel

Person A and person B start dating and when they tell everyone persons C-Q are confused because haven’t they been dating for like three years now and persons R-Z thought they were already married

*does something previously thought to be impossible* “What, like it’s hard?”

Platonic besties that will help hide the bodies

Fake dating

Accidental baby acquisition

Accidental baby acquisition but they’re a middle-aged to senior adult with like five thirty-something-year-olds that are now their children

Crossovers that shouldn’t work but do

“I need help” “I’ll grab the shovel” “Not that kind of help”

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

Well-written non-canon pairings for characters that have other firmly established canon pairings. Like, fully alters the entire story line non-canon pairings. But done in a way that feels like a reasonable possible outcome.

A protagonist with a million problems to solve still taking the time to be kind

Forehead kisses

Time traveller going apeshit and fixing everything preferably in as Mary-Sue a way as possible

OP character who is oblivious to the fact that they are indeed OP

Character who spouts off increasingly concerning details of their life while not realizing everyone else’s growing concern or the fact that they’re probably about to be mother-henned for the next decade

Character who chooses a parental figure and informs said parental figure of this new development with little to no forewarning

Strong, stoic character is actually the most chaotic one there

Everything in the chaotic portion of the alignment chart

Getting back at a bad guy in as petty a way as possible

Time travel with two or more time travellers who don’t realize they’re not the only time traveller

The guy everyone thinks is going to beat up all the bad guys sitting back and watching the person previously believed to be as strong as an uncooked noodle absolutely demolish them

Any situation where characters play hot potato with a position of great power. “Congrats, you’re king now.” “Not if you can’t catch me, I’m not.”

Unexpected language skills

Unexpected skills in general, particularly if they’re as niche as hell

Two extremely competent individuals who lose all brain cells when within a close proximity of each other

Fixing problems on accident

Fixing problems on accident while actively trying to cause problems on purpose

Surviving primarily due to spite

[morbidology]

The story of Genie is one of the most tragic cases in the study of child psychology and linguistics. Genie's life began in conditions of severe abuse and isolation that left her profoundly affected. She had been born in Arcadia, California, in 1957, and was the fourth child of Clark and Irene Wiley.

Her early life was marked by extreme abuse and neglect. Clark Wiley, her father, believed she was mentally disabled and imposed a regime of isolation and deprivation on her from a very young age. For over a decade, Genie was confined to a small room, often strapped to a child's potty chair or bound in a sleeping bag, unable to move freely. She was deprived of normal human interaction, rarely exposed to light, and subjected to severe physical punishment if she made noise.

Genie's diet was restricted to baby food and liquids, and she was denied basic medical care and personal hygiene. The isolation left her with severe physical and mental disabilities. When she was discovered in 1970 at the age of 13, she could not speak, was severely malnourished, and had the social and cognitive development of a much younger child.

Genie was discovered when her mother, who had been partially blind, finally sought help and left her abusive husband. Authorities were alerted to Genie's condition, and she was placed in the care of the state. She quickly became the subject of intense study by psychologists, linguists, and medical professionals, eager to understand the effects of her severe isolation and deprivation.

Initially, Genie made remarkable progress. She began to learn to speak, although her language development never reached normal levels. Her case provided invaluable insights into critical periods in language acquisition and the effects of extreme social isolation on cognitive development. Researchers such as Jean Butler and James Kent, along with linguist Susan Curtiss, documented her progress meticulously, offering both hope and new knowledge about human development.

However, Genie's story is also one of ethical controversy and further hardship. As she moved through various foster homes and institutions, her progress fluctuated, often hindered by the instability and further trauma she experienced. The initial optimism surrounding her rehabilitation turned into disputes among the professionals involved in her care. Questions about the ethics of the research conducted on her arose, particularly concerning the balance between scientific interest and her well-being.

Eventually, Genie was placed in a series of foster homes, some of which reportedly subjected her to further abuse and neglect. The promising advances she had made in her speech and social skills largely regressed. As of the last reports, Genie resides in a private care facility for adults with disabilities, her exact location and condition kept confidential to protect her privacy.

[max1461]

another linguistics question, do you guys make distinctions between the accents of non-native speakers and accent from within the native speaker group? if so, how do you tell yhem apart, and what are some distinctions between them? I assume there's some kind of structural difference between the two

Yeah, so the first thing I should clarify here is that there is no technical difference between a "language" and a "dialect". Linguists often use the term "language variety" to be maximally clear on this point. French is a language variety, Bavarian (traditionally called a dialect of German) is a language variety, California English is a language variety. One language variety can be part of another: California English is a variety of English, "English" itself being a broader variety with many sub-varieties. We might further split California English, perhaps into Southern California English, Northern California English, and California Central Valley English, or some such. In the extreme, we can look only at the speech of an individual person; this is called an idiolect. Every human being who speaks a language speaks in their own unique idiolect, which differs from the speech of other humans in various ways. An idiolect is also a language variety.

Now, linguists do make a distinction, a very important distinction, between native and non-native speech. Roughly, a native speaker is someone who acquired a language by exposure during childhood. They were not explicitly taught the language, but picked it up by virtue of being surrounded by people who speak it. Human children seem to have various sorts of special cognitive mechanisms for acquiring language in this way, many of which we lose as we get older. This early period of life in which humans are primed for language acquisition is called the "critical period". There is a lot of debate about what exactly defines the critical period and when it ends (it's more of a gradual taper than a sharp cutoff), but there is basically no debate over the idea that children and adults have at least some fundamental differences when it comes to language learning. A non-native speaker, then, is someone who learned a given language in adulthood, after the critical period of language acquisition.

When linguists speak of a language variety, by fiat they take that variety to be defined by the speech of its native speakers. That is to say: the grammar of English is defined to be that set of rules which describes the speech of native English speakers. Where different varieties of English disagree, a thorough descriptive grammar will make note of that variation, and researchers will zoom in and study on its own terms the grammar of each relevant sub-variety. Every human is, by definition, a perfectly fluent speaker of their own idiolect in any language they acquired during childhood.

So, you asked about the difference between native and non-native "accents". In light of all the above, there are two differences:

First, there is the difference between native and non-native speech in general. Non-native speech is characterized by certain artifacts of the adult language learning process, including carry-over from one's native language(s), which broadly do not affect native speech. Thus, a non-native "accent" is different from a native "accent" in various empirical ways which are pinned down and studied in the field of second language acquisition.

By virtue of the way we have set our definitions up, above, native "accents" differ from non-native ones in that a native "accent" is in fact synonymous with a language variety; rather than being an imperfect specimen of some predefined standard language, it is a definitionally perfect exemplar of a particular linguistic system in its own right.

You could, of course, take up the linguistic system represented by the speech of some adult learner as an object of study in its own right, and some people do. But by and large, the standard which is taken up in linguistics is "language varieties are defined by the speech of their native speakers". I think this is a quite reasonable place to draw a line, especially in light of the empirical differences, as mentioned, between native and non-native speech.

[onceinathirty]

𖦹 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. “You are a ghost in the Gojo clan - a nameless echo lost in a legacy that has no room, even for you.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬. gojo satoru x (implied AFAB) reader. dead dove: do not eat. unfair use of power. hurt / no comfort. forced marriage. possible ooc satoru (?) violence upon the reader. read at your own risk. english is not my first language!

“GET UP.”

That mere voice was cutting through the ringing in your ears, you tried to push yourself off the floor; but your arms trembled beneath the weight of exhaustion, pain pulling you back down.

A hand gripped your hair, yanking your head back, and you gasped, the sound choked and desperate.

“Pathetic,” the elder hissed, their face inches from yours. “You were supposed to be a gift. Instead, you’re just a stain on this family’s name.”

The edges of your vision blurred, but you didn’t let the tears fall. You had been taught early on that crying was weakness, and weakness was punished.

You were nine years old the first time you realized your body didn’t belong to you. The hands were always cold, always rough, always devoid of the warmth you craved but could never find. They gripped you like you were a thing, an object to be shaped and molded until you fit into the image they wanted.

“You’ll learn,” they would say, their voices dripping with mock patience. “You’ll understand your purpose soon enough.”

That was the night you stopped praying for rescue. The night you learned no one was coming.

They sold you, expectedly.

"You’re going to make a fine wife," they told you, voices dripping with mock sweetness. You were a young adult then, your body still fragile and growing, your mind fractured under the weight of expectations.

The first time they sent you to be dressed in silks, you were terrified. The fabric was smooth and cool against your skin, a deceptive softness that did little to ease the roughness of their hands. They made you stand for hours, measuring, pulling, pinching until you fit their vision of perfection.

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” one of them said as they tightened the obi around your waist. “You’re here to serve the clan, to serve him.”

Him.

You’d barely met Satoru Gojo then, only seen glimpses of him from afar. He was dazzling, untouchable, everything they said he was. His laughter echoed through the halls, carefree and confident, a stark contrast to the muted existence you were forced to endure.

They sold you to him like a piece of fine art, an acquisition for the sake of appearances. You didn’t matter. What you thought, what you felt, none of it mattered.

The Gojo estate was a labyrinth of opulence, but it may as well have been a prison. You weren’t allowed to leave your chambers without permission, and even then, it was only under the watchful eyes of the elders or the servants who whispered about you when they thought you couldn’t hear.

The nights were the worst.

The silence pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, as memories clawed their way to the surface. Your clan’s teachings echoed in your mind, reminding you of your place, of your role as a tool for others to use.

You were born for this.

You were made to endure.

“Why don’t you fight back?”

The question came out of nowhere, slicing through the silence that had enveloped the room. Did he know? Was it him that was punishing you? It wasn’t a servant or one of the elders, no, this was Satoru, standing in the doorway of your chambers, his usual confident posture slightly more rigid than you were used to.

His sunglasses were pushed up into his hair, the familiar barrier between you and his sharp, unreadable gaze now removed. His eyes, always so difficult to read, bore into you now with an intensity that you couldn’t escape.

You froze, the question catching you completely off guard. For a moment, all you could hear was the pounding of your own heart, deafening in the quiet space between the two of you. The air felt heavy, thick with an unsaid understanding, and yet you had no idea what to say in response.

What was the point of fighting back? You wanted to say that, to scream it into his face, but the words felt useless, hollow. Every part of your life had been shaped by forces greater than you, by rules you didn’t understand, by expectations you could never meet. Your choices were always limited, your voice muffled, drowning in the noise of a world that didn’t seem to care about anything but control.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. What could you say? What was left to say?

Satoru seemed to catch the hesitation in your silence, and without waiting for a response, he let out a quiet, almost disappointed sigh. His expression flickered, just for a moment, before he masked it behind that usual smirk, one that always made you wonder if he was mocking you or genuinely trying to make you laugh.

“Never mind,” he muttered, his voice carrying a strange blend of indifference and something else you couldn’t quite place. Maybe regret, maybe something darker. He straightened up from the doorframe and turned as if the conversation had ended, as if the weight of your silence no longer mattered to him.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter. See you around.”

And just like that, he was gone.

The door closed softly behind him, and for a second, you thought you might suffocate in the stillness. The air felt thicker now, almost suffocating, filled with the residue of the question he’d asked. It lingered, unanswered, in the space between you. It didn’t matter, he had said. But somehow, it mattered to you.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted in that brief moment, something fragile, something that had always been there but was now broken. He had asked because he cared, or at least, you thought he did. But now, in the wake of his departure, you couldn’t tell anymore. His indifference felt colder than anything you had ever experienced.

The weight of his words pressed down on you, each syllable digging deeper into your chest. You should’ve fought back, you thought, but it was never that simple. The world around you had always dictated your every move, and yet, somehow, you had allowed yourself to believe that there was something beyond that; something beyond the rules, beyond the silent punishment that followed every step you took.

But now, standing in the silence of your room, you wondered if that was all you’d ever be. A ghost drifting through a world you couldn’t change, too afraid to make the waves that might shatter everything you had come to accept.

Satoru’s absence felt like an echo that would never fade, the remnants of a chance at something, something real, slipping away just as easily as it had come. And you were left alone with the weight of your own uncertainty, your own resignation.

Would you ever be able to fight back?

Or had you already lost the fight before it even began?

The air felt thick with the weight of it, and for a second, you could almost feel the coldness of their hands on you again. It was the day they broke your fingers; the day you stopped believing that you could survive, or that anyone would ever truly care.

You didn’t expect it at first. It had started like any other day, with the usual silence in the corridors and the same oppressive heaviness that followed you like a cloak. But then, suddenly, the world shifted, and you were caught, pinned to the ground.

They didn’t act out of anger or rage. No, it wasn’t about fury. It was about amusement. They laughed as they did it, a sound so wrong, so hollow, that it echoed through the room like a cruel joke. It was like they found it funny; like you were nothing more than an inconvenience, something beneath them to be controlled.

The gag in your mouth muffled the screams that clawed at your throat. The pain came quickly. Blinding and sharp - so sharp that it was hard to tell where the pain from your broken fingers ended and where the pain in your chest began. But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was the words.

One of them leaned in close, their breath warm against your ear as they whispered, soft and almost tender, as if trying to soothe you. But it wasn’t comfort, it was poison.

“You’re nothing. Nothing but a tool for us to use. Don’t ever forget that.”

The words sank deep, carving into your soul with the force of a blade. It wasn’t the broken bones that stayed with you, nor the bruises that marked your skin. It was those words, like a brand, burning into your very being. You had never felt smaller, more disposable.

Nothing.

The memory clung to you like a shadow, never fully fading. Even when the pain was gone, even when the bruises faded, those words remained, lingering in the corners of your mind.

You’re nothing.

That night, those mere words - were carved onto your thigh.

The sound of his voice sliced through the silence, sharp and impatient, causing you to freeze in place. You hadn’t even realized you were standing there, lost in thought, until he spoke.

“Why are you just standing there?”

His tone was colder than usual, carrying with it the weight of unspoken frustration. You quickly turned, dropping your gaze as you bowed your head, a reflex ingrained in you from years of service. “I apologize, My Lord,” you said, voice soft, measured.

Satoru’s eyes narrowed at the title, a subtle but unmistakable displeasure crossing his features. He let out an exasperated sigh, his arms folding across his chest as he stepped closer. “Stop calling me that. It’s weird.”

You blinked, confusion flickering in your expression. You had always addressed him with that title - taught to respect him above all, to never forget your place. It was a word that had become second nature, a symbol of the hierarchy that defined your relationship. But now, his words left you uncertain.

“I... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Just... don’t stand there like a ghost,” he interrupted, running a hand through his snowy hair, the frustration clear in the way his fingers combed through the strands as if trying to untangle his thoughts. His voice softened slightly, but it carried an edge of irritation. “It’s creepy.”

You nodded quickly, trying to move out of his way. He didn’t wait for you, walking past you with his usual, unbothered stride. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the space between you, growing fainter with each step.

He didn’t look back.

He never looked back.

You stood there for a moment, the silence heavy in his absence. You had grown accustomed to being in his presence, always at his side, always waiting for his command, always invisible in the background. But there were moments, like now, when you felt less like a servant and more like an afterthought. It was a strange, unsettling feeling, but one you pushed aside quickly. You had a role to play, and you were good at it.

But as the weight of his words settled in your chest, a faint flicker of something else stirred beneath your skin. You weren’t sure what it was, but it lingered, nagging at the back of your mind.

You remembered when you were six, the first bruise bloomed on your skin. It was your fault, they said. You’d tripped while carrying tea for the elders, spilling the hot liquid across the pristine tatami mat. Their anger was swift, their hands quick to punish.

“Clumsy,” your mother had hissed, dragging you away by the arm. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you know how much shame you’ve brought us?”

The beating was long and meticulous, each strike calculated to leave a mark that would fade just in time for the next punishment. You cried until your throat was raw, but the only thing your tears earned you was more pain.

“Stop crying,” she spat, her face a mask of disdain. “You’re a woman. You’re supposed to endure.”

Those words became your mantra, the refrain that carried you through every moment of suffering. You’re supposed to endure.

You had long since learned to expect the cold indifference of the Gojo clan. It wasn’t a surprise anymore, if anything, it was predictable. Their treatment, their expectations, their disregard for your humanity; it was all part of the same twisted game.

Even within the Gojo clan, no one was exempt from the rules, not even the ones born with potential. And Satoru, the shining star of the family, was no exception to this cold, calculating world.

The punishments were quieter here, more calculated. Where others might lash out in fury, the Gojo clan's methods were far more deliberate, carefully planned to break you down slowly, to teach you that nothing; no emotion, no rebellion, was ever worth your defiance.

They called it discipline, a necessary evil. But you knew better. It was a system of control, a way to mold you into someone worthy of standing beside Satoru Gojo.

Someone worthy. And you know that was not you.

“You’re lucky,” one of the elders said, their voice smooth and cold as ice, as if they were offering you a rare gift. “Do you know how many girls would kill to be in your position?”

You clenched your jaw, your fingers curling into fists. The words stung, not just from their arrogance, but from the way they looked at you; like you were nothing more than a tool, a pawn. You had been trained for this, taught to bend and submit, to smile when told to smile, to stay silent when told to stay silent.

You wanted to scream, you wanted to shout at them that you’d trade places with any one of those girls in a heartbeat. Anything to escape this cold, suffocating reality. Anything to stop being a shadow in someone else's world, to stop being the invisible piece in a game that only served to crush you beneath its weight.

Yet, you didn’t. You stayed silent.

Because silence was survival.

“Do you even realize how important you are?” the elder continued, their voice laced with a bitter sweetness.

“How many have failed before you? How many would die to have this opportunity?” Their eyes were cold, unblinking, as if you were little more than a project to them.

“You’ll be nothing without the Gojo name. Remember that.”

Every word felt like a lash, each one more painful than the last. You swallowed the bitterness rising in your throat, the anger threatening to boil over.

“You have a purpose here,” the elder added, taking a step closer to you, their presence suffocating.

“And you will learn your place.”

You closed your eyes, fighting the sting in your chest, the tightness in your throat. But there was no escaping it. There never had been. The Gojo clan had a way of breaking people down, making them feel like their worth was tied to something that could never truly be theirs; never truly belong to them.

The idea of standing beside Satoru Gojo, of being worthy of him, felt like a cruel joke. A dream that was far too out of reach, yet one that they expected you to chase. Every training session, every test, every moment of harsh judgment; it was all a reminder that you were not you. You were just a tool. A means to an end.

But you knew the truth, didn’t you? You weren’t special. You weren’t unique.

You were just another girl.

Another girl in a long line of girls who had been broken, twisted into something the Gojo clan could use.

And so, you endured. You pushed the emotions down and forced a smile. Because that’s all you could do.

It wasn’t until you found yourself standing in front of Satoru one night, his icy blue eyes meeting yours with a detached curiosity, that you finally felt the weight of the world pressing down on you.

“Don’t look so miserable,” he said, voice too light, too indifferent. “You know what’s expected of you, right?”

His gaze was piercing, but there was no warmth, no hint of concern. There never was with him. You nodded, suppressing the bitter taste in your mouth. “I understand, My Lord.”

He stared at you for a moment, as if searching for something. When he found nothing, he simply turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. He never looked back.

He never needed to.

And you were left alone once again, a ghost in the cold, calculating world of the Gojo clan.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to run away. But instead, you stood still, fighting the storm raging inside you. Because silence was survival. And as long as you played their game, you might just make it through alive.

Standing in the garden, numbness falling upon your body. It all felt normal now. The ray of the sunlight impacted upon your skin, it felt like comfort itself. But you weren’t sure, what does comfort even feel like?

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

Satoru’s voice sliced through the stillness of the garden, the words lingering in the air like smoke. You flinched, not expecting him to be there.

He was lounging lazily beneath a cherry blossom tree, his posture carelessly relaxed, as pale pink petals floated down around him, oblivious to the tension that had settled between you both.

You hesitated, unsure of what he wanted from you. What could you say?

“I—” you began, but stopped yourself.

“I know,” he cut in, waving a hand dismissively. His sunglasses hid his eyes, but you could feel his gaze like a weight pressing against you, like he could see straight through the silence you wrapped yourself in.

“Regardless, I know you won’t say anything, anyway.”

You looked away, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your sleeves as if that would somehow keep you grounded. It was easier this way; easier to not speak, easier to keep your thoughts locked away where they couldn’t be seen.

Satoru leaned back, tilting his head as if he were studying you from beneath the lenses of his sunglasses. “You’re always so.. quiet. It’s kinda eerie, you know?”

The words shouldn’t have hit you like they did, but they did. Every syllable felt like a punch to the gut, not because of what he said, but because of how it made you feel; like you were something unnatural. Something that didn’t belong. You couldn’t help but feel that maybe he was right.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words slipping out automatically, like they were the only thing you were allowed to say. Like it was all you ever said anymore.

He laughed then, the sound light and carefree, as if it was all a joke to him. But it wasn’t funny. Not to you.

“You say that a lot,” he said, still laughing. “It’s like your default setting or something.”

You forced a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. No matter how much you wanted it to, it never did. The smile felt hollow, like a mask you wore so no one would see how broken you were underneath.

But Satoru wasn’t the type to miss the cracks. He never was.

Later that night, when the echoes of their voices had faded into the shadows of the hall, the real punishment began.

They had never been subtle, not with you. The Gojo clan’s discipline was a quiet thing, a slow burn that left no mark on the outside but tore at your insides. Tonight, however, was different. This time, they were harsher, more deliberate, as if their patience had finally worn thin.

“You think you can just coast by?” one of them sneered, their voice cutting through the silence like a knife. You were on the floor, pain already setting in from the earlier blows, your limbs stiff from the strain. Every breath you took felt like it was slicing through your chest. “You think we won’t notice when you slack off?”

You barely managed to open your eyes, the world spinning around you. You wanted to answer, wanted to explain that you hadn’t slacked off, that you were trying, trying so hard to be what they wanted. But the words were trapped in your throat, buried under the weight of the pain that spread like wildfire through your body.

Before you could react, a heavy boot pressed against your side, a brutal reminder of how powerless you were in this place. The breath was knocked from your lungs, a harsh, guttural sound escaping as you gasped for air, but it wouldn’t come.

“You’re not good enough,” the voice said again, colder now, harsher. “Not obedient enough. Not perfect enough.”

You tried to move, to crawl away, but the agony in your chest and ribs was unbearable. Every movement sent sharp spikes of pain through your body, and your limbs refused to cooperate. You wanted to get up, to show them that you could still fight, but you couldn’t. You were trapped in your own body, helpless and broken.

“Get up,” they ordered, their tone devoid of any empathy. “We’re not done yet.”

Your body screamed for mercy, but the words never left your lips. The room was spinning, the edges of your vision darkening as your ribs seemed to crack under their pressure. But still, you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

They didn’t care.

Instead, they moved in closer, their presence a suffocating weight as they watched you struggle, their eyes filled with disdain. They knew you couldn’t escape, couldn’t fight back. You were nothing. Just a broken tool, a body to be molded into something useful. And tonight, they were making sure you never forgot that.

You had failed them. And they would make sure you knew just how much it hurt to fail.

Satoru didn’t notice.

He was too caught up in his own world, basking in the glow of his own brilliance, to see the cracks slowly spreading through you.

As usual, he was the center of attention, his every word and movement commanding the space around him. It was the world he lived in - his own universe, with everyone else revolving around him, unnoticed, forgotten. Even you.

“You look tired,” he remarked one day, his voice light, but his tone holding a trace of curiosity.

The words should have meant something, should have made you feel seen, but instead, they just hung in the air, too disconnected from what you really needed. You met his gaze, offering a smile that felt more like a reflex than a genuine expression. It was brittle, fragile, cracking at the edges.

“I’m fine,” you said, and even as the words left your lips, you knew they were a lie. But you always said that, didn’t you?

He shrugged, a careless motion, like it didn’t really matter either way. “If you say so.”

And that was it. The conversation was over before it had even begun. He didn’t push for more, didn’t ask if you really were fine, didn’t see the weight that was pulling you down. His world didn’t allow for anything more than surface-level interactions. So you let the moment slip away, just like all the others. Silent, ignored, and unseen.

The years blurred together, each day indistinguishable from the last. The punishments grew worse, the bruises darker, the silence heavier.

You were a ghost, a shadow, a broken thing hidden away behind closed doors.

And Satoru Gojo, the strongest, the untouchable, the invincible. He never saw it. But did he really?

“You’re nothing,” they told you, their voices echoing in your mind.

And you believed them.

The estate, always shrouded in an eerie calm, weighed heavily on you. The polished marble floors beneath your feet echoed with each careful step, a constant reminder of the distance between you and the rest of the world. The cold grandeur of it all made you feel smaller, insignificant.

You had learned the language of silence long before you could speak it. You had learned to move in the shadows of the grand halls, to blend into the backgrounds of ornate paintings and delicate tapestries. It was as if your presence was something to be forgotten, and you had obliged, burying your own voice in the silence they so valued.

It was the only thing you could give them.

The kimono clung to your skin, each stitch reminding you that you were a thing to be displayed, not to be understood. The delicate embroidery and intricate patterns felt suffocating, each thread a testament to their control over you. You fiddled with the hem, smoothing it out with shaky fingers, trying to regain some semblance of control over your body and your thoughts.

The silence was oppressive, but it was the only language you knew. It kept them at bay. It kept you hidden.

But then, footsteps. Not the usual ones. You recognized them immediately. Satoru’s presence was always unmistakable, a force of nature in the stillness of this place.

“Still here, huh?” His voice was familiar, casual, and it scraped against the tension in the room. “You’re always hiding in these places.”

You didn't look up. You didn’t want him to see what he could easily see, a fragile mask barely holding together. You kept your gaze lowered, focusing on the folds of your kimono as you whispered, “I’m not hiding.”

“Yeah, sure.” Satoru’s voice was dry, teasing. “If by ‘not hiding,’ you mean standing still in the middle of the hallway like you’re waiting for someone to notice you.”

It wasn’t the first time he had teased you, but this time, it felt different. You could hear the faint hint of something deeper in his tone, something you didn’t want to examine. You could feel his eyes on you, sharp, calculating. He always knew how to read you, how to pierce through the layers you worked so hard to build.

“I’m not waiting,” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Then what’s with the sad little silence?” He took a step closer, his footsteps louder now as he closed the distance. You could feel his presence hovering over you like a storm cloud, threatening to break the fragile calm.

You wanted to retreat. You wanted to take a step back, to escape the intensity of his gaze, but you couldn’t. You were trapped here, standing in the center of your own fears, your own brokenness.

“I’m just thinking,” you said, even though it was a lie. You weren’t thinking. You were drowning in the silence. You were thinking about the ways you had learned to disappear, about the moments when the pain felt unbearable, but you couldn’t speak it aloud. You couldn’t let anyone know.

Satoru chuckled, the sound light but with an underlying sharpness. “Thinking? Is that what you call it?” He paused for a moment, his tone shifting to something more serious. “You know, you really suck at pretending everything’s okay.”

You flinched, but quickly masked the reaction. You shouldn’t have let him see that. You shouldn’t have let him in at all.

“You wouldn’t understand,” you said, your voice hollow, like an echo bouncing off the walls of your mind.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Satoru replied, his voice taking on a slightly softer edge, though it was still laced with a bite. “I get it. You think no one cares, but that’s not true. I care.”

It was the last thing you had expected him to say. You felt the words hit you like a punch to the gut. You wanted to laugh it off, to dismiss them as empty, meaningless words, but something in his voice held weight. It wasn’t like all the other empty promises people had made to you before.

It was different.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. You were frozen, trapped by the quiet storm swirling inside of you. Satoru was still watching you, his gaze unwavering, his lips pressed into a thin line as if he were waiting for you to crack open. You could feel it, he was waiting for you to break, to say something, anything.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "Really."

He didn’t back away. Satoru stayed where he was, standing too close, like an unwanted light trying to pierce the dark you’d wrapped yourself in. The distance between you wasn’t physical; it was in the way you felt. The widening gap between the lie you fed him and the truth you couldn’t say. The truth that you didn’t even know how to breathe.

“You’re not fine,” Satoru said quietly, his voice soft but unyielding. “I can tell. I know you better than you think.”

The weight of his words hit you harder than any blow. They pulled at the cracks in your walls, prodding at the fragile seams you’d spent years carefully fortifying. You couldn’t let him see. You couldn’t let him in. It was too dangerous, too suffocating.

“No,” you snapped, your voice sharper now, desperation leaking through. The tremor in your words betrayed the fragile control you had over yourself. “You don’t. You don’t know anything.”

The words hung between you like a raw wound, the silence after them thick with things unsaid. You couldn’t even look at him. If you did, if you let yourself meet his gaze, you knew the dam would break; the anger, the hurt, the fear, everything would spill out. And you couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t be vulnerable, not again.

There was a long pause before Satoru spoke again, his breath sharp in the quiet. His words were slow, like he was struggling with them, weighing each one.

“You can’t keep pushing people away,” he said, quieter now, like he was trying to reach you. But the words sounded hollow, like he wasn’t even sure he believed them. “Not everyone’s going to leave you.”

You almost laughed. It wasn’t a bitter laugh. It wasn’t a laugh at all. It was a dead sound that had no right to exist. You didn’t believe him. Not anymore. You’d learned long ago that people left, whether they meant to or not. It was never a choice; it just happened. They always moved on, because you weren’t worth sticking around for. Silence, obedience. That was all you had left. The less people saw of you, the less they could break you.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” you murmured, looking down at your hands. Your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of your kimono, like it could hold you together. “You don’t understand.”

Satoru’s hand moved, and your heart stopped. That one simple motion, a reach toward you, sent waves of panic surging through you. You jerked away from him instinctively, your back hitting the cold, unforgiving wall behind you. His touch, just the thought of it; was too much. It was like it was pressing on a wound you didn’t even know was there.

“I’m not—” you started, but the words stopped dead in your throat, like they couldn’t bear to be spoken. Your chest tightened, and the panic almost swallowed you whole. “I’m not someone you should care about. I’m not—”

Before you could finish, Satoru’s face changed. His expression darkened, eyes narrowing, jaw tightening. The shift was subtle, but it was there. The warmth, the care, the understanding. They were all gone. In their place was something colder, harder. Something that hit you harder than any of the blows they’d given you before. But you’re my wife, is what he wanted to say.

“Fine,” he said, his voice cutting through you like ice. “You don’t want my help. You don’t want anyone’s help. Just… stay in your little world of silence then. But don’t expect me to keep pretending like I don’t care.”

His words hit you like a slap. It wasn’t the anger in them that hurt, it was the finality. The rejection. The understanding that he had already walked away, even if his body was still there. You could see it in his eyes, even if he didn’t say it aloud: you were too much. Too broken. Too far gone for him to fix.

And you didn’t know why, but a part of you felt a sick sense of relief. A twisted relief that he was leaving, because you didn’t deserve his help. You didn’t deserve anyone’s help. You were just a thing. Someone to be used and tossed aside when you were no longer needed. And that’s how it always was. Always had been.

You pushed him away because you had to. Because if you didn’t, the pieces of you that were still intact might have shattered. But the worst part was that you didn’t care anymore. That broken part of you had already given up on being seen, on being saved.

And so, when Satoru turned away, you didn’t try to stop him. You didn’t scream. You didn’t beg him to stay.

Because you knew. Deep down, you knew he wouldn’t. And part of you; some horrible, twisted part of you, was grateful for that.

The hours stretched into the evening, and the weight of Satoru’s words lingered in your chest like a dull ache. He hadn’t spoken to you since. He hadn’t even looked at you, as if you were nothing but a shadow in the corners of his mind.

But the silence in the estate was thick, suffocating. It pressed against your chest, drawing out the old, familiar feeling of being alone.

You weren’t alone, though. Not really.

“Where are you going?” came a voice from behind you, cutting through your thoughts.

You froze. It was one of the elders, an older woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue. You didn’t answer, didn’t even look at her. The silence you had built up, the silence that was supposed to keep you safe, was slipping through your fingers.

She was waiting for an answer. She always did.

“I—I’m just—” You stumbled over the words, unsure of where to go, unsure of what to do. But she didn’t let you finish.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around,” she said, her voice soft but laced with authority. “It doesn’t look proper.”

You felt the sting of her words, the implication that you were doing something wrong, but you didn’t argue. You never did.

“Come with me,” she ordered, turning on her heel without a single glance back, her voice sharp like the click of a blade.

You followed, each step echoing too loudly in the silence of the empty halls. The farther you went, the heavier the air grew, pressing down on you, suffocating you with every inch. It felt wrong, like walking into a trap, but you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop.

She led you to a small, secluded room; a place you only ever went when you had no choice, when you were a mistake needing to be dealt with quietly. The walls seemed to close in on you as she shut the door behind you, sealing you in.

“Remove your kimono,” she said, voice cold and unfeeling, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You paused only briefly. Hesitation didn’t matter here. It never did. You knew better than to defy her. Slowly, you peeled away the layers of silk, the cool air of the room biting into your exposed skin. The vulnerability was unbearable, but there was no escape. You didn’t fight it. You couldn’t.

The elder circled you, her eyes scanning you like a predator, cold and calculating. You felt her gaze like ice, like she was stripping you down not just of your clothes but of your very humanity.

“You think you can disrespect Lord Satoru?” she sneered, her voice cutting through the room like a knife. “Discard his concern like it’s nothing? You forget your place.”

Her words lashed at you, sharp and venomous. You flinched, but stayed silent. The silence was your prison, and in it, you were nothing. Nothing but a disappointment, a failure, always one step away from being cast aside.

The slap came suddenly, and the room was filled with the sharp crack of it. Pain bloomed on your cheek, burning from the force. You gasped involuntarily but quickly stifled the sound, pressing your hand to the reddening mark, hiding the weakness in your body.

“You will never ignore your duty again,” the elder hissed, her grip tightening around your shoulder, her nails digging in until you thought they might break skin.

“You’ll learn respect, whether you want to or not.”

But it wasn’t the pain that broke you. It was the tears. They welled up, blurring your vision. Not from the sting of the slap or the bruising on your skin. No, it was the weight—the suffocating weight—of everything they had done to you, everything they had made you into. You were nothing but a tool. A thing to be used until you broke.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to fight back, to make them see you, to make them stop, but you couldn’t. The silence, the obedience—it had molded you into something that couldn’t fight. You had learned long ago that your worth was determined by their whim. You were nothing if they didn’t want you.

And as the elder continued, her voice a constant hum of reprimands, you wanted it to stop. You wanted to disappear. Fade into the cold, lifeless walls of this place. Let it swallow you whole, where no one could hurt you anymore. But you couldn’t.

You were trapped. Trapped by your silence. Trapped by their cruelty. Trapped by a world that never cared.

When she finally left, the silence was even worse. It was suffocating. The punishment had ended, but the pain hadn’t. Your body throbbed with bruises and burns, and when you looked into the polished mirror across the room, you didn’t recognize yourself. The mask you’d been wearing had cracked, and all that was left was the raw emptiness beneath.

You had pushed him away, and now it was too late. The price was paid, and it wasn’t over yet because the worst part? You didn’t even know how to stop it.

That exact morning, you apologized to him. Even if you were limping but he didn’t notice, he waved his hand and told you; it was fine. You endured, and that was good enough. This won’t happen again.

Sometimes, you don’t get to choose your battles. Especially when, you’re just the casualty. In the end, you were always the dainty, perfect wife.

‎ ‎ © . onceinathirty — this is the only place where i post ! ^ᴗ^

[paper-mario-wiki]

apologies if this question has been asked before, but how did you go about learning japanese? I want to learn, but don't know where to start besides learning hiragana/katakana so i can actually read

that's a tough question! because i dont really know how to quantify my japanese (it's not much, broken conversational at best, completely illiterate at worst), which is mostly due to how infrequently i study.

i can tell you one thing though, most people who learn language are trying way too hard to use their conscious mind to translate their mother tongue into their target language, and vice versa. to become fluent in a language, you must be able to speak it unconsciously. when you speak english (or any other language you know well), you're not needing to think about the things you say before you say them, right? and you also don't control the words being said by people in your dreams, right? that's because your brain understands the language as a tool for comprehending the world around you. that's why language immersion is so important. you have to have constant reinforcement that the color of the trees is 緑色, and that 緑色 means this color. the word "Green" should not come up even a single time in your mind.

this is the most important thing ive learned in language acquisition. you will not start by speaking adult japanese, or adult spanish, or adult german, or adult english. you always start by speaking baby language. even if you're only able to use the language in a broken way reflexively, if you keep it reflexive and keep training it through constant input, your skill will only become more and more refined.

hope this helps.

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

So, fun detail I just noticed about Megamind:

Famously, throughout the film Megamind mispronounces certain words, most notably: "hello" ("olo"), "Metro City" ("Metrocity") and "school" ("shool").

Like many fans, I'd attributed this and other oddities— like not knowing what a window is— to his unconventional upbringing and general social isolation. His speech sounds a lot like the way people pronounce words that they've only seen written down, so maybe he just hasn't had enough practice talking to other people out loud.

Lovely theory, very angsty, makes sense that this would be what the film-makers intended.

Except…

You know who doesn't seem to have this problem with pronunciation? And who in fact attempts to correct Megamind's pronunciation of various words more than any other character?

Fucking Minion.

Minion was there for literally every step of Megamind's childhood. They were raised on Earth together and went through seemingly the exact same experiences. Yet somehow Minion came out the other end knowing how to answer the phone and what a window is and why people use codes, while Megamind didn't.

And I am just so fascinated as to why.

Top three theories:

1. Megamind isn't actually mispronouncing words due to lack of practice, but rather for some other reason.

Maybe there's something up with his ability to hear certain sounds, or his alien anatomy makes it harder to pronounce them. Maybe he's neurodivergent (I mean, he definitely is, but maybe that fact is affecting his speech).

2. Megamind is mispronouncing things due to lack of practice, but there's something about Minion that makes him need less practice to pick up new languages.

Possibly as part of their protective role, his species has advanced language acquisition programmed in so they can act as translators. Else, while Minion and Megamind landed on Earth together, it's not 100% clear whether they were actually at the same age/developmental stage when that happened. If Minion was an adult (or older child) when he became fluent in English, he might have consciously focused more on accurate pronunciation than Megamind did.

3. Megamind is mispronouncing things due to lack of practice, but Minion is getting more practice than him.

This is… honestly the theory with the most evidence behind it. Like, we know that Minion isn't in jail at the start of the film, so he's clearly mot spending the same amount of time in solitary confinement that Megamind is.

He also appears to be in charge of providing Megamind with the resources needed to carry out his plans, which would presumably require him to communicate with scrap merchants, crocodile breeders and Romanian outlet store owners (among others) on the regular.

And like… if he's not getting thrown in jail whenever Megamind does, and Megamind is spending a fair amount of time on the inside, then Minion has to be doing something to pass the time. He's clearly a bit of an extrovert, and seems to take more pleasure in interacting with people than Megamind does.

It seems unlikely that he'd spend all his time sitting in the Evil Lair waiting for Megamind contact him or escape. So what does he do?

I find it both sweet and hilarious to imagine that Minion actually does have his own social circle outside of Megamind.

Minion goes to DnD on the second Tuesday of every month.

Minion gets advice on making costumes for Megamind from his weekly sewing circle.

Minion has been going to university online for the past eight years and is currently working towards his PhD in Marine Biology.

Minion is a semi-regular at Metrocity Night Clubs.

Minion does volunteer work sometimes with kids at the Metrocity hospital.

Megamind has barely any idea about any of this. Like, he knows Minion goes places at various times.

He knows that when he's rampaging through the streets Minion will sometimes stop to wave hello to various people that Megamind has never met. He's seen the half-orc paladin costume that Minion made for DnD.

But he's never really asked about it, and Minion has never seen the need to tell him. So long as Minion's happy, Megamind's happy, and so long as Megamind's happy, Minion is happy.

Meanwhile Roxanna, post-movie, has to grapple with the fact that sometimes she'll go to visit her boyfriend only for him to ask if they can go out for dinner instead because Minion's book club is meeting in the Evil Lair, and he's been gently encouraged not to come back after what he said to Helen about her (wrong) opinions on To Kill A Mockingbird.

[mehilaiselokuva]

How much time 🪂 did it took you to learn Finnish?

To quote the Knowable Magazine:

"Children go from babbling, starting by about 6 months, to speaking their first words around the age of 1, to forming full sentences by their third year. This process, known as language acquisition, happens with hardly any structured adult guidance."

Hope this helps! <3

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

On the language debate, I personally headcanon that the main language spoken at NRC is a common one. (?) (Like how English is the business language, or like how generally Native Americans had a common language that they spoke when trading with other tribes.) And Crowley or the Mirror used magic so that You was temporary fluent in that language.

After the ceremony, Yuu has to learn the common language and picks it up really fast (as one would in such a situation). Therefore, Yuu can still speak it when away from NRC.

(I also headcanon English as an ancient language akin to Latin, because I heard that Arabic was canonically an ancient language.)

[Referencing this post!]

I’d buy that everyone at NRC speaks the common language to some level of proficiency; it’s like how international students typically need to speak the language of whichever country they hope to study in and need to prove their fluency in an exam beforehand. As I said in the original post, the light novel does mention a translation spell over the school, so maybe that’s part of the “magic” that helps Yuu to understand what the others are saying.

Now, it’s theoretically possible for Yuu to learn the common language of Twisted Wonderland in a year, but I don’t think immersion alone would cut it (especially since the main story is only up to like 2/4 to 3/4 of a year so far) . They’d probably have to put in significant effort outside of everyday conversations to pick up its rules (because remember that language isn’t just vocabulary but also grammar, syntax, and social conventions). Yuu would also need consistent feedback from people since that’s how one usually “fixes” their incorrect language use. It’s similar to how adults would correct a child learning their first language; ie a kid says “wadur” instead of “water”.)

One site I looked at suggested that, depending on the language categorization (I, II, III, of IV), it can take 24-92 weeks’ worth of time to become an “advanced” speaker. Realistically, just getting to the basic conversational level could be hundreds or thousands (700-2500+) of hours on its own—and Yuu has to do this on their own time between homework, going to classes, and managing all the issues that Crowley doesn’t 💀 To me, that doesn’t sound like a lot of free time. Counterpoint to my own point though, we also have to consider that Yuu is... well, technically Yuu can be any age you want, but most Yuus are implied or portrayed to be 16-18. The critical window for language acquisition is theorized to be anywhere from the first three years of life up to as late as 17-18 years. After this critical window, the ability for language development tapers off. So, thinking about that, Yuu's brain could still be very pliable and able to absorb new language (though they'd have to work quite intensely to pack in as much as they can before this ability starts to decline).

Something that I feel would be difficult for Yuu is that the characters often use slang (Cater, Floyd, Idia, etc.) and/or uncommon words (like Vil’s “pulchritude”). The former may not follow the standardized rules of a language or may be idioms (other non-literal meanings for common words), which could make it hard for a non-native speaker to understand. The latter would not be used that often, so Yuu would be forced to guesstimate what the word means. I’d imagine this would make fluency challenging, because as immersed as Yuu is in Twisted Wonderland, less frequently used words are harder to grasp.

Maybe Crowley cast a translation spell ON Yuu so that they can still converse with people in the common tongue whenever they leave NRC? Or, since the events basically occur in an AU, more than a year has passed so it has allowed Yuu more time to absorb the language. Language in TWST and how it works… It’s really interesting to think about!

[ozzgin]

Professor Payne reacting to finding pickles daughter in the salt with him. Also his reaction to the daughter hunting and bringing back an unconscious Katsumi back to her father. P.S what would the daughter be called?

Professor Payne would most likely be excited to see an ancient human in a different stage of life from Pickle. Having a sample of both adult and juvenile variations (especially male/female) allows one to determine the growth rate, development, differences in biology and many more things. From a scientist’s perspective he’s hit a gold mine. Instead of vague guesses and statistical hypotheses about the evolution of prehistoric humans, he has the concrete possibility of a longitudinal study that’ll give him most answers. Another advantage of a child specimen is that - at least in the case of modern humans - language acquisition is at its peak. A child’s brain will absorb lexical structures like a sponge. While Pickle might struggle to accommodate and require years of training for articulate speech, his daughter could master it in half the time or less. It’ll definitely remove some of the barriers in communicating with the Jurassic guests.

As for the latter scenario…I’m going to assume that Katsumi was caught off guard or was already in a vulnerable state. Pickle and his daughter are strong alright, but I wouldn’t go as far as to have Katsumi defeated into unconsciousness by a literal child. The poor man has his pride and value. Let us give credit where it’s due. Dr Payne would most likely have his sedating team on standby in case Pickle actually goes along with the offering, but I suspect Dad might not enjoy having to be fed by his own daughter. He’ll express his praise, but reassure her that she can rely on him still. She shouldn’t hurry to grow up. There’s a time for everything and for now she can allow herself to be spoiled by her dad.

I remember @rottmntrulesall discussing her name ideas for Pickle’s children and (Y/N) and I liked the suggestions, so I might leave the creative process to her (or anyone else interested for that matter). What would be a fitting name for Pickle’s daughter?