#estimate to learn a language

[rigelmejo]

"If I spend only 15 minutes a day on a language, what's the best use of my time, what will help the quickest?" Doesn't matter. Its the same answer as always: whatever study activities you can get yourself to do regularly for years, where you both encounter new stuff to learn regularly and practice understanding the stuff you learned.

I'm about to get in the weeds. But I really want to reflect on what is realistic, in terms of study time to plan for, to reach a long term goal like learning a language to the degree you can do many things in the language.

If a language is going to take 1200-3520 hours to learn (this is based on the FSI Estimates of how long to learn a language to around B2 takes for an English speaker to learn, with 1 week of study being 40 hours - a combination of 23 hours class study and 17 hours self study. Which is an easy estimate for people to find - note the actual hours of study, not just the weeks, 30 weeks at 15 minutes a day is way Different, than the 30 weeks at 40 hours a week or ~5.71 hours a day)

Then at 15 minutes a day, which is 0.25 hours per day, it will take you 4,800 days to learn an "easier" language (that's 1200 hours/0.25 hours a day = 4800 days). Or 4800 days/365 days in a year = 13.15 YEARS.

Now it's fine to take 13 years. In fact, many people will take a decade or more to learn a language. Most of us who took some language classes in school, and then did some self study in the following years, probably took 5-10 years total or more to learn the language enough to use it the way we want to.

So be realistic with yourself. Are you okay with it taking 13 years to reach your goal? If so, that's fine. It takes many people that long. But it won't be "quick" in terms of days or months or years.

If you are serious about learning a language to achieve a specific goal, honestly reflect on how much time you're willing to study daily on a regular basis. If it were say 1 hour, then 1200/1 hour is 1200 days to B2, or 3.29 years, which is now shorter than High School or a college Bachelors degree. 2 hours you can spend? 1200 hours/2 days per hour is 600 days or a little under 2 years at ~1.65 years. Less time than it would take to complete an Associates degree.

And if your specific goal isn't something as high as B2, such as A2 to travel to a tourist destination, or low B1 to start reading novels or watching shows while looking up words? Then you could reach your goal in probably half the time or less.

If you are good at making study plans, you may be able to reach your Short Term goal in even less hours, then in the following study hours spend them "doing your goal as you learn more."

Such as wanting to read (using my own short term goal as an example), you could work 1-2 hours a day to learn to read graded readers specifically, then increase the difficulty of graded readers gradually - now learning by reading which you enjoy more than the word/grammar study of the first few months, then start reading novels when you've worked your way up to them - continuing to learn reading by Reading which you enjoy. You could reach the goal of "reading graded readers" in a few months of 1-2 hours of study a day. And once you can read, then you can just continue reading as your study, which may be easier for you to do daily for 15 minutes for 13 years or 2 hours for another year, or however long it takes. Because you Enjoy reading, and it was your short term goal.

Now again, to be realistic, lets say you're an English speaker trying to learn Chinese. FSI estimates say it will take ~3520 hours, and some places like Mandarin Blueprint(which I'm not a fan of) estimate HSK 6 will take 5760 hours. Dang. Okay so if you only study 15 minutes a day, so 0.25 hours daily, let's use the smaller FSI Estimate. 3520 days/0.25 hours per day equals 14,080 days. Or 14080 days/365 days a year equals 38.58 years.

That's a lot of years....

Now to be fair, some people do spend that long learning and then reach their goal. Some people do spend decades. Are you prepared to spend that long learning? I doubt it, if you're using the word "quick."

Okay so lets say you decide to dedicate 1 hour a day. Then it would be 3520 hours/1 hour a day = 3520 hours, or 9.64 years. A decade isn't bad. That's more like what many people spend learning.

But lets say you want to do more for a shorter period of days, so you can get past studying to mainly using the language ASAP? Okay lets say 3520 hours/2 hours per day = 1760 days, or 4.82 years. That's only about as long as it takes to finish High School or a Bachelors degree. And 2 hours a day may not be that "hard," especially if you make a good study plan where you can start learning by doing What You Enjoy within a few months to several months. (As an example: me and the many other people who learned with the intention to read, and were able to read within a few months, and read webnovels from within 3 months to 1 year, and then able to jyst keep "learning" by reading regularly which we enjoy).

My point is:

1. a potential study plan to get you to a shorter term goal you want to do in the language, will help the most in making it easier to fit in regular study time for the long term. Because once you can do something in the language you want to do, you can keep doing the thing you enjoy in a slightly challenging way, to keep learning. So if you are looking at potentially a decade to learn to "ability to function in daily life in the language" then plan shorter term study plans for aspects of the language that you want to be able to do sooner. It will still take MANY hours to learn a language, but you can make most of those hours into things you enjoy doing. When I see a lot of intermediate learners who remain consistent, they've been able to put the language study into one of their other hobbies/interests. Intermediate level is going to take more hours to push through than beginner level, so finding a way to keep motivated for the long period of being intermediate will really be helpful.

2. If you want to learn to function in daily life in the language in a short amount of years, be realistic with yourself. 15 minutes a day probably isn't going to cut it. Consider 1-2 hours daily. Or more, if you really have the spare time in your day and want it to take as few years as possible. When I look at other learners, a lot of them consistently study at least 30 minutes to 1 hour daily on average.

Note: if anything, FSI Estimates are lower than the hours many people will need. You will waste some time with figuring out which study plans work for you, and which study materials to learn with. (If you think you'll struggle to plan and decide what to do a lot, then formal classes, and organized tutors who provide learning materials and structure, and pre-planned study materials other people already made and used successfully will probably help you save time. If you can be motivated with them. In the end though, whatever motivates you will be the quickest route for you though). Dreaming Spanish roadmap estimates are significantly lower than some FSI Estimates - and higher than others - and the progress milestone details in each Level may be of some use to reference. For figuring out when you could start reading easily, or watching shows, or watching hobby vloggers and reading their blogs, all activities which may make it easier to add the language to your normal daily hobby/interest time and stick with learning long term.

[polyglot-sock]

nothing improves your self-esteem as much as looking for a word in Cambridge Dictionary and seeing it marked as C2

[lurkingteapot]

When I say I wish popular romanisations of Thai were less ambiguous and more consistent, it's stuff like this:

Phupha and Pat (and Pa!) have the same initial consonant sound. Pran's is different—it's the same as Kampung's "p" sound. Pran, Pa, and Phupha share an "a" sound though—the same "a" sound Kampung also has (though it's written differently (*)). Kampung's "u" sound and Phupha's "u" sound are not the same. Kampung's "p" is the same sound as the initial in Pran. Kampung and Korn share an initial. It's the same sound the names Gunn (MSP) and Gun (Atthaphan) and Kan (KPTS) start with. All three of those names are pronounced identically. Kan (KPTS) is not pronounced the same as Kan (The Eclipse). Tian does not share an initial with Toto, but Toto (BBS) and Tinn (MSP) do. If the romanisation of BBS given names and ATOTS place names were consistent, we'd have Phut and Pha and Pran (or Pa Pan Dao). (Pa the person and Pha the word for cliff do not sound the same because of tones, but that's another topic.) I could go on.

And all this is just based on consonants and vowel quality and lengths, not even going into different glyphs for the same consonant. I don't have a solution to offer for this. I 100% think authors or subtitling teams (or, y'know, REGULAR PEOPLE who just want folks who don't speak Thai to be able to put their name in writing) choosing a romanisation that looks good to them is valid. But I'm also a language nerd, so I can't quite stop thinking how much harder this makes it for folks trying to learn more about the language, or pick up more about it, either.

(Name examples and corresponding official romanisation taken from real life, A Tale of Thousand Stars, Bad Buddy Series, KinnPorsche The Series, My School President, and Our Skyy 2)

(*) Edited 2023-06-16 to add: this was a mistake stemming from too many unchecked edits and I'm sorry. Kampung's "a" is neither long nor short whereas Pran, Pa, and Phupha have long "a" sounds and Pat has a short one.

[otiksimr]

I am sitting down on the number block carpet I want to hear about him

Bob is an eldritch monster (I've just been calling their species Worldeaters, I don't have any plans to change the name) that eats planets and rocks in general (Stars too but that's a rare snack).

He was laid on Earth sometime during the end of Precambrian Era. And hatched a year BEFORE the Cambrian Era officially started. His parents kind of just left him there (due to their species they can't exactly stay with him, they do visit sometimes though!) with a babysitter so he wont be completely alone growing up.

Bob's just kind of vibing on Earth until he reaches maturity :)

[littlemizzlinguistics]

My brain: okay baby girl (gender-neutral), you’re gonna be slightly better than average at language-learning

Me: 😃

Brain: but you’re also gonna be so bad at math that you shouldn’t ever be trusted with anything relating to numbers.

Me: 🫠

[3liza]

i said this YEARS ago when the 'vibes based literacy" discussion started because i had been reading about dyslexia to try to help my partner at the time, who was undiagnosed: the book about dyslexia that i was reading described precisely the techniques used in the "contextual guessing" reading education system, but as dysfunctional adaptations by dyslexic children. the contect guessing and memorization thing is a way of teaching entire generations of children to be functionally dyslexic, a profound and devastating disability, when they do not have dyslexia and do not need to have it. it's horrifying. it was how my partner read things, and watching him try to read something out loud was extremely demonstrative of the struggle he was having.

ken goodman probably had dyslexia and didn't know it, it's the most common learning disability in the world, an estimated 20% of all humans on earth have some degree of it.

In the paper, Goodman rejected the idea that reading is a precise process that involves exact or detailed perception of letters or words. Instead, he argued that as people read, they make predictions about the words on the page using these three cues: 1. graphic cues (what do the letters tell you about what the word might be?) 2. syntactic cues (what kind of word could it be, for example, a noun or a verb?) 3. semantic cues (what word would make sense here, based on the context?) Goodman concluded that: Skill in reading involves not greater precision, but more accurate first guesses based on better sampling techniques, greater control over language structure, broadened experiences and increased conceptual development. As the child develops reading skill and speed, he uses increasingly fewer graphic cues.

he's completely wrong, this not how fully literate people read. this is how dyslexic people read. fully literate people are using phonics and the alphabet all the time, that's how we read so fast and so easily, even texts that we're unfamiliar with or that aren't in our native language. i can scan a page of italian, french or norwegian and get the gist of it even though i don't speak the languages. i can sound out those words and pronounce them, even if im pronouncing them incorrectly, just by reading the actual letters and phonemes.

relying on context to predict which word comes next is what leads to the kind of aphasia dyslexics often exhibit not only while reading, but when speaking aloud. my partner would swap words that were contextually correct but not what he actually meant all the time. for example if he wanted me to hand him a blue comb lying nearby on a table, he would say "could you please hand me the green brush?" or if he was describing a cat he saw, he would often swap in another contextually-related word, one that sounded the same, like "bat", or one that was conceptually related but incorrect, like "dog". as a result i had to ask him to clarify or repeat himself many times to figure out what he was trying to say. it created profound problems for him and separated him from me and everyone else. the worst part is that he was barely aware of this. when he was driving it was extremely difficult for him to follow or give directions because he would swap out "left" and 'right" randomly.

you cant actually read like this.

She thinks the students who learned three cueing were actually harmed by the approach. "I did lasting damage to these kids. It was so hard to ever get them to stop looking at a picture to guess what a word would be. It was so hard to ever get them to slow down and sound a word out because they had had this experience of knowing that you predict what you read before you read it."

[misskamelie]

What do you know, my understanding of this foreign language is improving even if I'm not there to listen to it and use it, that's pretty good news :)

[frowningfox]

I’m so glad I redrew that picture of asim/yunuen.

It’s a simple composition and I overcomplicated beyond what I should have but. Looking at the picture and his soft but sharpandbitey smile always made me feel a little happier. And the redraw has the same effect. And now I have an update icon of him and I can just look over at it and go :)

he cannot fix my massive migraine from my stepmom talking so loud though. But at least he believes in me.

[yasministration]

Love at first sight - Sirius Black

summary: lily's sister who goes to beauxbatons throws the party of the summer which sparks likely friendships, and an even likelier romance. wc: 2.3k

Lily came into the Great Hall the same way she always did: a determined look on her face, chin lifted up confidently, carrying overflowing papers in her arms, but something was different. Those paper she carried? They weren’t filled with head girl applications or polished assignments, no, they were party invitations.

She sat at her usual seat, and as per usual, the marauders ruffled through her papers. “Party invitations?” Whispered Sirius excitedly, as though it was something secret. Lily puffed her chest out “Y/n’s throwing a party, and encouraged me to extend the invitations to some Hogwarts students.” James cleared his throat to stop himself from choking on his tea. “I’m sorry? Your parents are letting you throw a party? The same two people who didn’t let you come over to Marlene’s tea party?” Lily grinned widely. “Well, y/n only comes home during the summers. I’m there every winter and spring break , so she kind of has a way with our parents. All she had to say was ‘this is our last summer before we graduate’ and she had them.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Marlene cut in, her face lighting up, “If this is y/n’s party, does this mean it’s going to be filled with sexy french kids?” Lily nodded happily, sharing a look with the other marauders. It was going to be the party of the year.

You and Lily were the epitome of opposites. You’d engrossed yourself in getting to know all the kids in the neighborhood and quickly because friends with your french neighbour, while Lily only befriended one — Severus. By force of being around the young boy, you’d learned his language, his language which quickly became your own. Whilst you and Lily had your own friends, no one was closer to you both than each other. You were twins, not only blood brothers but best friends. Due to your linguistic talent, you’d not only received a letter from Hogwarts on your eleventh birthday, but from Beauxbatons too. Petunia, ever so jealous of your relationship and your magic, had duped your parents into sending you away.

Petunia had ran off crying, locked in her room alone until she formed the plan of the century to break your relationship with your twin apart. “Well, they’re always together. Isn’t it better for them to learn how to live apart from each other?” And your parents had fallen for her trick. Now, you only saw each other during the summers, and your relationship was stronger than ever. But things would soon change.

The only thing Lily heard of for the rest of the day was this party. Who was she inviting? How many people would be there? “Sirius, it’s not my party. I don’t know the details. All I’ve been told is that I have these invitations to give out to people.” Sirius stared at the front of the boldly decorated invitation on the top of the pile which read in a glittery font ‘No invite, no entry!’ He ran a rough estimate in his mind and decided there had to be at least seventy invitations in the stack of papers. “Can I help give them out?”

Lily and Sirius had proudly made up a list of who to invite, or not to invite, the rest of the marauders eventually gathering around to put in their own two cents. When the invitations had been given out, Lily returned to her dorm whilst the marauders all sat in front of the black lake, soaking up the limited sun rays whilst staring at their own invitations. “This is some high end decor.” Commented Remus, turning his invitation in his hands. The fonts had been carefully chosen, and a textured disco ball sat in the centre of the page. “Yeah, according to Lily, y/n loooves to party.” Marlene added, laying on her back. “I’m excited to meet her,” started James “She sounds fun, and we barely ever hear about her from Lily.”

Sirius hummed, gears turning in his brain. “Lily said they’re nothing alike.” He recalls. It was true. You and Lily weren’t only opposites in terms of personality, but looks too. Despite being twins, you had taken all of your father’s genes while Lily took after your mother. No one ever believed you when you said you were twins, let alone siblings.

The party was nearly an entire month later. The marauders found themselves outside an ordinary muggle house, glancing at each other nervously. Had they arrived too early? Marlene glanced down at her invitation, ensuring that they were there right on time. A knock on the door and they were waiting. The door slammed open and they were met with you, a bright smile on your face and a tray in the other with an array of pink and blue jell-o shots. You weren’t the only thing that welcomed them, but the loud roar of noise from inside the house blasted them too. Remus cocked an eyebrow, thinking ‘That’s one mean silencing charm.’ “Grab a drink you guys!” You called, holding the door open with your foot as you moved to the side for them to come in. You introduced yourself over the noise, clueless to the mesmerised eyes following you.

Sirius let himself be dragged into the house by Remus, though his eyes followed you as you escaped into the backyard. Lily had been right, you weren’t nothing alike. You wore fishnets under your small denim shorts, your top exposing more than just midriff. He gulped, trying not to be caught staring at your breasts when you turned around, instead moving his gaze to the endless jewellery you wore.

Sirius heard himself gasp — apparently the french like to be early. The party in the backyard was lit, he finally noticed, with groups of people already playing beer pong, dancing to the music, and even exchanging light conversation. Lily ran to join them, trying to properly introduce you to her friends, but you were running back to the door as the bell rung once more.  Apparently everyone arrived at once, because a crowd of people suddenly flooded the living room. A mix of elegant french and fast english chatter filled the air, and Sirius saw Marlene’s jaw drop, already picking the girl she was going to spend the rest of the night flirting with. Just as Lily was about to catch you, you jumped onto the coffee table, pointing your wand to your neck with an amplification charm.

“Okay, listen up everyone!” You called out, and from within the crowd, Sirius caught your eye, his muscular arms thrown over two of his friends' shoulders. You hadn’t properly noticed him when he walked in, but now? You shook the thought out of your head. “We have about 200 wizards in this house. A house that you can tell is in a muggle neighbourhood! Now, my silencing charm may be great, but it doesn’t hide magical activity! So if we can keep the magic down to a minimum and get the party up to a maximum that would be great! Where’s my music!?” And suddenly the music roared to life. Sirius shoved to the front of the crowd, offering you a hand to help you down from the coffee table. You felt your stomach jump at his offer, the light reflecting off his silver jewellery. Instead of taking Sirius’s hand, you wrapped your arms around his neck, swinging your legs off the table. Sirius snaked his arms around your waist without missing a beat, spinning you around so you let out a joyous laugh. “And who might you be?” You asked, running your hands down his chest before letting them hang by your sides.

Sirius curtseyed, miming saluting you with a hat whilst very poshly saying “Sirius Black, at your service.” You giggled, putting both your hands on his bicep. “Hey, you met Sirius!” Lily cut in, bumping you with her hip. You met her eyes, and they glinted with mischief. She most definitely knew how attracted you were to Sirius in that moment. “Come meet the others!” She didn’t give you time to respond, instead tugging you away from the curly haired boy. You waved at him, yelling “I’ll see you later!” and then “Shut up” to Lily when you turned around. You didn’t have to look at her to know she was smiling like the cheshire cat.

James was the first to bring you into a hug, his hands respectfully patting your back. You turned to look at Lily, nodding in approval. Your introductions with Remus and Marlene were quick, witty comments given by each of them before Marlene so boldly asked “Hey, is that cute brunette over there into girls?” You laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Sweetheart, you’re going to have to be more specific, but for you? Anyone would be into girls.” Simple to say, Marlene turned bright red, and not because of the warmth the alcohol had given her.

When Sirius returned to the group, you were already gone, dancing with your friends. He threw his arms around James’s shoulders, resting his head on his best friends’s shoulder. “James, we’re going to be brothers in law!” The boy barked out a laugh, pushing Sirius away to look at him properly. “I’m in love with her James.” Remus laughed, slapping a hand on Sirius’s back. “Well what are you going to do about it buddy?” He asked, sharing an amused glance with James. “I’m going to convince her to come to Hogwarts. Wait! First, I’m going to make her fall in love with me!” Sirius frowned at his two friends’ loud laughs, muttering something like “I’ll show you.” But he didn’t have the chance to come find you in the crowd, because two pairs of hands were placed upon his shoulders, and you appeared, saying “Come dance with me.”

Sirius almost passed out at your offer, blindly following you onto the dance floor and missing the surprised look Remus and James shot each other. Apparently, you wouldn't need much convincing to fall for Sirius. Sirius took your hand, spinning you around, and you looking him up, looking around as though it would hide the bite of your lip. Sirius’s jeans were just tight enough around the crotch, and low waisted enough that every time he raised his arms too high, a sliver of his abdomen would show as his top would ride up. You spun around in Sirius’s arms, pressing your back against his chest. His hands trailed down to your hips, tugging them closer to his own. You giggled, moving your body alongside the music. Sirius groaned, whispering the lyrics in your ear, his hot breath hitting your sweaty skin.

The next time Sirius groaned, it wasn’t out of enjoyment, it was because someone had called out your name. “Viens avec nous? Just une cigarette!” (Come with us? Just one cigarette!) You had laughed at your friend’s words, shaking your head. “Non, il est trop beau, je ne veux pas le quitter!” (No, he’s so gorgeous, I don’t want to leave him!) Sirius hummed as you turned around in his arms, putting both your hands on his chest. “Come outside with me! Somewhere we can talk!” You grinned, sliding both your hands down in his, and letting him drag you outside.

You let Sirius guide you to a less crowded side of your garden, where you could people watch without being disturbed. You pushed Sirius against the wall of your backyard, watching as his eyebrows flew upwards in surprise. “So, Mr. Black, what would you like to discuss?” Sirius felt his heart surge, its pace quickening by the second, and he was sure you could feel it under your fingertips too. “Go out with me.” He heard himself blurt, and his eyes went wide at his own question. You laughed, looking around. “Aren’t we out right now?” The silence he left you with made you giggle, leaning your head forward on his chest. “I’m just joking.” Sirius shoulders slumped down in relief, hands loosely gripping your hips.

“I don’t want this to just be a little party flirt. I want to really get to know you. You… you seem cool.” You pressed yourself onto your tip toes, leaning forward to softly kiss Sirius. He sighed as you pulled away, chasing the kiss softly, but you refused to reconnect your lips. “I’d really like that.” Sirius smiled widely, pulling you flat against his body. “And hey, who knows, maybe you can show me around Hogwarts?” Sirius nodded, replying with “Yeah of- wait, what?” You straightened your back, cocking your head to the side. “Yeah, I’m moving to Hogwarts next year. Mum and dad finally had enough of me being so far away.” You interrupted yourself with your own laugh, pushing yourself off of him and looking around. “That’s what this is! My goodbye slash welcome party. Didn’t Lily tell you?” Sirius shook his head, stepping closer to you. “Well since I’ll be seeing more of you, can I properly kiss you now?”

Nodding at Sirius, you let him tug you closer to him, bringing you into a passionate kiss. You gasped at the force of his kiss, letting Sirius slide his tongue into your mouth. Moaning softly, you brought your hands up to cup Sirius’s face, pushing your body even deeper into his. “Oh my!” You pulled away from Sirius harshly, stumbling away from him. “I mean, I knew you guys had something going on, but I didn’t know it was going on.” You felt your face flush at Lily’s words, and heard Sirius cry out from behind you “Why didn’t you tell us she’s joining next year!?” James, from next to Lily, turned to face her, surprise overtaking his features. “I wanted to see how you guys got along before telling anyone!”

Remus approached the four of you, tipsily mumbling “Marlene has a roster of like three girls right now, and I just overheard some guy saying he wants to jump in the lake. I didn’t know there was a lake.” Remus stood silently, finally taking in the scene in front of him.

“I’m sorry, did I miss something?”

taglist:

@ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe

[utopicwork]

Trying this again:

I'll do programming odd jobs for cheap. $10/hour. You'll be given an estimate of how long it'll take to complete upfront.

Languages I can program in without prep:

Python

Java

Javascript

CSS

HTML

Lua

C++

C#

Rust

Ruby

Processing

Languages I know just a bit of but could learn more easily

R

Matlab

C

PHP

I can pick up other languages for $100/language

I can also do light remote sysadmin, so like setting up a Mastodon instance, setting up an nginx server for web hosting, stuff like that

Email: me@agie.gay

Samples of my work below

[rigelmejo]

Okay I've been playing with the Mandarin From Scratch blog post's ALG language acquisition equation, from a paper by Marvin Brown about ALG.

y = C(1-e^(-kx/L))

Below the cut, a bunch of me messing with the ALG equation and comparing it with Dreaming Spanish estimates to try and figure out WHAT is an accurate estimate of time it will take to learn a language with comprehensible input.

Y is understanding/fluency, which their goal is to get to 88%. I wanted to look at how many hours it would take me to reach 88%, then something over 90%, then something approaching my estimated "ceiling". Average ceilings were 95% - after which point students struggled to improve further. So I set mine as 0.95.

(Note: they say their goal for students is to reach 88% fluency/understanding, but I am not sure if that's B2, or lower, or higher. My goal is around upper intermediate/B2 so that's kind of fucking important for me to know... I want to be able to read, listen to audio, watch shows, and eventually have conversations about anything on my mind in at least a basic way - which would be B2 conversationally and possibly higher comprehension for passive skills)

C is the ceiling.

y is how much language they know (1 = native). If you have a ceiling, then y would never surpass the ceiling.

x is how many hours they have understood.

k is the acquisition constant: .0018

e is the natural logarithm base: 2.718

I plugged in a few potential amounts of hours I could study:

It looks like if I aim for 1500 hours, I'll hit 88% fluency. This seems a bit low for my goals, considering thats only 600 more hours from where I am. But it sure would be nice if that's all it took.

When I solved for x instead I got ~1448 hours.

If I aim for over 90% comprehension, then it looks like I'll hit that around 2000 hours.

If I solve for x, setting understanding y =0.90, then it would take ~1636 hours

And if I wanted to get as fluent as I possibly could? Which would be around 95%, assuming I have some ceiling like ab average learner, then 2600 hours will get me close to as much as I could hope to be fluent.

If I solve for x and set goal fluency y to 0.94, then it would take ~2530 hours.

This is significantly LESS TIME than FSI estimates - which would be 3520 hours of some form of Chinese study. I do have 1500 hours of prior study if we don't count comprehensible input. So 1500 hours prior study, plus the comprehemsible hours I currently have 913, would total to 2413 hours so far... so with FSI Estimate, I have to get ~1107 more hours of Chinese study (in some form) to reach B2/upper intermediate.

The ALG estimate assumes NO explicit study, and the Ceiling value in fact decreases with significant explicit study. So who fucking knows, maybe my true ceiling would be 88%. Or something.

I do find it interesting that ALG estimates it's going to take me 1448 hours to 2530 hours for "fluency" of 88% to 94%. I suppose wherever I stopped seeing progress, would indicate when I hit my true "ceiling."

These are both lower estimates than Dreaming Spanish gives. Dreaming Spanish predicts for English spealers they'll need 3000 hours of comprehensible input in Chinese to reach B2. Dreaming Spanish, like ALG, assumes the learner is only learning with comprehensible input and no explicit study. So I am curious why Dreaming Spanish's estimate is ~500 hours longer than ALG's.

And if 95% fluency is ONLY B2 that doesn't seem to make sense... Marvin Brown estimated his own fluency at 95% and guessed most people who explicitly study can never improve past 90% - so many C1 learners would be 90% at best, according to Brown. Brown taught Thai, so he had exceptionally good Thai, and he considered himself 95% fluent. So 95% being only B2 would seem... low.

B2 fluency I would consider like... 80-90% maximum. But 1500 hours for an English speaker learning Spanish is only going to get them to B2, based on all the results people have shared (C1 for English speakers learning Spanish through comprehensible input seems to take 2500 hours). And I imagine ALG's equation estimate would say less than 1500 hours for Spanish... hold on I'm going to plug in some more numbers.

Okay ALG estimates the L number, language similarity, to be 0.4 for European languages like English to Spanish. So plugging in the numbers for an English speaker with a average ceiling of 0.95 to achieve as high a fluency as they can (arouns 94%) would take: ~1011 hours

But we know, from all the progress updates people post on reddit.com/r/dreamingspanish, that at around 1000 hours most people are only a B1 level. Maybe B2 in comprehension, but not able to speak at a B2 level for another 500-800 hours (500 more hours of input, and 300 hours of some combination of reading and or speaking practice).

A blog post from ALG World may have answers for us. A Thai learner shared that he studied about 1150 hours at AUA Thai School, and his comprehension was good but he could barely speak, his grade for comprehension was 70% (this is for Thai not Spanish, and so 70% for 1000 hours is pretty average... Thai is expectee to take 1800 hours of comprehensible input to reach 88% comprehension of the language). He said after another 1.5 years living in Thailand, he finally felt he could speak about whatever he wanted, "My speaking ability followed along the same curve of development as my listening had, at a gap of about 800 or 900 hours." So lets give him a total of 1150+900=2050 hours to express himself however, with some writing practice with a tutor as part of those later 900 hours.

So perhaps it took him 2050 hours to reach B2 overall, including speaking skills, which is closer to what I might expect from Dreaming Spanish's results. However, this guy never mentions if his comprehension improved from 70% to something better/higher... and I have to guess 70% isn't B2 in passive comprehension yet. Since he had around 1000 hours as an English speaker learning Thai, and 1000 hours for English Speakers learning Spanish only gets them to B1....

Unless we make the guess that 1000 hours in Dreaming Spanish actually makes listening skills B2, and 1500 makes their listening skills higher than B2. So that assumption would mean 1000 hours of an English speaker learning Spanish through comprehensible input results in passive B2 skills, active A2-B1 skills.

But then... does Thai even take much longer? 1000 hours perhaps got that guy to B1 skills in listening, and A2 skills in speaking, and then his 900 hours later got him to B2 listening skills and B1+ speaking skills? Resulting in more hours needed for Thai, which is what we expect.

Perhaps, making a guess, if he had done 1800 hours as recommended by ALG to achieve 88% fluency, then 900 (or double so 1800 hours) continuing to engage with Thai in his life, so 2700-3600, he would achieve C1 listening skills and B2 speaking skills. Which is closer to what Dreaming Spanish predicts for English speakers learning a language like Thai or Chinese. And perhaps its where Pablo got the estimate of 3000 hours, double the roadmap. He learned Thai through ALG, and that influenced his estimates I'm sure.

I think the real answer is... the ALG formula probably underestimates, or it's percent fluency value needs more work. I think the formula needs to more clearly define what percent fluency values match up to A2, B1, B2, C1. But I know they're not going to care what I think lol ToT

For fun:

Lets calculate using the ALG formula, and Dreaming Spanish values, and figure out what percent fluency actually matches B1 and B2 and C1. Which in Dreaming Spanish is 1000 hours, 1500 hours, and 2500 hours, from users mentioning in progress updates the tests they could pass at different hours of comprensible input.

I'm going to set L to 1 just because it may help me get the percent fluency levels to something more realistic for B1, B2 and C1.

I feel like I'm reverse engineering whatever Pablo did to give his roadmap estimated hours.

Okay so for 1000 hours for Dreaming Spanish, we get a fluency percent of 79%. This seems like a value that might be realistic for B1. B1 is what a DS learner can pass after 1000 hours (although for some people their passive understanding is B2 and their speaking is A2)

For 1500 hours Dreaming Spanish, we get a fluency percent of 89%, which is somewhere in the 80s range, we know 1500-1800 hours for many Dreaming Spanish learners (if they read and speak a bit) is enough to pass a B2 test. (With some people's passive comprehension higher and closer to C1, and some people's speaking closer to B1)

For 2500 hours of Dreaming Spanish, we get a fluency percent of 94%. People pass C1 level around 2500-3000 hours into Spanish comprehensible input.

So for Spanish:

B1 is 1000 hours, is lets say 75-79% fluency

B2 is 1500 hours, is lets say 85-89% fluency

C1 is 2500 hours, is lets say 91-94% fluency

What would it be for a language unlike one you know already? Well fuck. I would need to start messing with the L number. I tried 3 instead of 1, and the hour estimates are way too high.

My guess is that if Pablo used this formula, he used L=2 for languages very unlike ones you know. Because L has to be 2 when I plug in the hour estimates on the roadmap doubled. (Which makes sense lol - double the time, double the L number)

[saetiate]

a shooting star in his hand - sae x f!reader fluff, first meeting, cafe meet cute

He's been in line for 15 minutes.

Granted, it's not really anyone's fault. You, standing in front of him, have said your order with polite clarity, a gentle smile on your face directed to the barista in front of you that has "TRAINEE" on a metal plate. There's a woman behind her showing her how to steam the milk, telling her to put the bagel in the oven.

Learning takes time. Sae, too, knows this. Most people don't wake up with abilities built into them, not like his brother did the first time they played football together. Sae didn't. He held the ball at his feet almost as soon as he could walk. He let it eclipse his life, rotated around it like the earth does to the sun, until he knew it to perfection, to both creation and destruction.

But he'd appreciate if learning didn't happen when he was the only other person in line on his way to the stadium.

"Sorry about that." You're looking at him. Talking to him, he processes a little too slowly this morning.

He takes in your body language clinically, the way you're tapping your fingertips over the back of your phone case, your tilted head and nervous smile.

The fireburn of irritation behind his eyes falls immediately, like a weight dropped, and the calm lake of his usual demeanor returns. "It's fine."

That's the reassurance he's supposed to give, right? You turn to peer over the counter, and a keychain dangles from the zipper of your bag.

"Blue Lock?" He says it before he can stop himself, more shock than anything else.

"Hm? Oh!" You hold the keychain delicately in your palm, the glean of it catching the light the same way your smile does. "Yeah! One of the guys who was in it lives in my building. He was holding this whole box of merch for the anniversary a couple months ago? He handed me one in the elevator."

"You watch?" You're beaming up at him, but you seem more nervous about your food than you do talking to him. He's trying to see if…

"Oh, nah. I don't really watch sports. Do you?"

So that explains the lack of recognition. "I play."

"Oh! Football? Oh, that's hella cool." Words flow casually for you, an easygoing melody. "I always wanted to get into sports when I was a kid."

The cashier hands you your order with a bow of her head and an apology, and the payment barcode flashes on the screen. Before your bank app can even load up —

There's a beep, and you look up at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw. "Wha- That was my order!"

"I know." He doesn't even spare you a glance, looking directly at the cashier to list off his drink with a monotone cadence.

"Okay, wait, at least let me-" Your bag slides open over your shoulder, a shuffling that he inevitably interrupts.

"No need." It's tart, said with a finality that has you giving a resigned sigh.

"Well, thank you. Genuinely." There's a shift to your bag again in the corner of his eye that he refuses to acknowledge. "If you're not going to take my money, at least take this."

Maybe it's confusion or curiosity that has him finally turning to you, a closing distance that you cross between you both that he has every opportunity to move away from. He doesn't. Instead, he looks down to find there's a card in his hand, a sticky note on top with a number and a name.

"My personal number, if you're single. And my business card, in case you'd like that kind of favor instead." There's that sing-song voice of yours, gentle as the wind, more pleasant than he'd like to admit. "A nice gesture deserves one in return, no? Not sure if it'll come up, but if you ever need someone in this industry, I can be your girl."

Your voice wavers, he notices. Shakes but doesn't stutter. He meets your eyes, gazing up at him with something between both nervousness and surety, or maybe more like bravery despite fear. A vulnerability he never dares to share himself. But on you, somehow, he admires it. Finds it daring — to stand in a moment on shaky legs without a pre-calculated estimation of how it would go.

His girl. Something about it feels like a flicker of fire in his gut, the lap of a flame brushing against the bottom of his heart.

He pockets the note with a nod, grabbing his drink with one hand and rushing out the door with another.

(He calls, that night. With a restaurant in mind and a reservation in place. Sae doesn't believe in serendipity, in fate, in the idea that the universe would grant a prize to him in particular.

Maybe it's just pure luck, falling into place in his life. A shooting star he manages to catch in his hand.)

author's note: thank you for reading and supporting me as always :)) a lil secret message here that i'll be opening requests via a valentines event tomorrow!! in precisely 16 hours from this being posted ahaha so if u like my writing please keep a look out for that!!

[loganficsonly]

an independent woman

˚₊‧⁺˖✮ ch 2: cleaning up ✮ ˖⁺‧₊˚

worst!logan x fem!reader, 4.3k

SUMMARY: As Logan learns to live instead of survive, he finds himself in the extremely dangerous position of sharing an apartment with you—Wade's friend. Extremely dangerous because Lord knows he can't keep his feelings a secret forever... not when your room is five steps away from his.

SERIES WARNINGS/TAGS: english is not my native language, no use of y/n, reader is a working adult (mid-late 20s) with a slightly written out personality, friends to roommates to lovers, slow burn, secret crushes

CHAPTER WARNINGS/TAGS: 1 SUGGESTIVE LINE, angst, mentions of alcoholism, many inner thoughts, descriptions of somatic release, laura <3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: very nervous about what you think, please let me know how i did

Logan wakes up with bleary eyes.

There is an uncharacteristic softness underneath him. Things smell different, too: a refreshing combination of musk and cedarwood, a whiff of pulp. They all betray a sense of gentleness that he most certainly isn’t accustomed to. Wade’s couch usually smells like burnt bacon and worn blankets—

Wade’s couch?

He blinks, focusing his hazel gaze on the unfamiliar plaster ceiling above him. Then he looks at the rest of the room.

Bare, save for an opened cardboard box the size of one and a half dishwashers sitting in a corner. Big enough for what little items he’s accumulated in the three months he’s been here.

Right. He officially moved in with you yesterday.

Spent the afternoon getting the place clean enough to live in. Ate pizza for dinner—his first meal with just you. Helped you unpack and move things around before deciding to call it a day. He lets out a soft grunt, slowly shaking off the sleep.

Everything smells… comfortable. You must’ve sprayed some kind of air freshener when you cleaned the bedrooms.

He knows the apartment is empty before he walks out into the short hallway. Your heartbeat isn’t home. No sounds from within the space, though there are plenty of them outside. Unlike him, the city has been awake for a while. 

There’s no clock on the wall yet, but by his estimates, it’s sometime around nine. You must’ve left for work.  

A rumbling hunger beckons him to the kitchen, his bare feet pattering on the hardwood flooring. He squints at the refrigerator light when opening the door. The only thing there is a box of leftover pizza from last night. You had the foresight to order more, something he’s endlessly thankful for right now. 

He places the pizza on a big plate—porcelain white with a bunch of flowers on its edges, one of yours—and into the microwave. The box buzzes alive at a press of a button. His mind turns slowly, just as the plate does. 

He doesn’t have work today, so he can go straight to the grocery store. Buy coffee. He grunts, feeling a little grumpier at the fact that there’s none around, putting in a mental note to text you about it later. He has no idea how you like your coffee.

That’s something he plans to fix quickly.

Because that’s what good roommates do, he quickly convinces himself.

You’ve been nothing but kind to him, so if he’s going to stock up the pantry, might as well pick stuff that you like. Right? No other reason to know your preferences. 

He abandons the thought process as he feels his heart rate hitch up slightly. Instead, he resorts to making a list in his head. He’s good at that.

Unpack. That’ll take fifteen minutes tops.

Take a shower, then go out to the grocery store. If the one he saw around the block is open, that’ll also be less than an hour.

Get a clock. 

That will leave him about six hours to kill until you come home. He can probably do some errands for you—he’ll have to ask. He frowns, thinking about what he should get exactly. You cook, so you’ll need spices, seasoning, oil… 

His brain mentally scans the imaginary aisles of the grocery store, window-shopping before he sets foot in it—a habit, so that he can be in and out of that overwhelming place as quickly as possible. He recalls the rows of soup, canned tuna, dried tomatoes, turning to a different aisle to beverages. Soft drinks, milk…     

He opens his eyes, as if broken away from his browsing, the space between his brows deeply creased. A jolt out of his musings, interrupted by a memory. Memories, rather.

Blurry flashes of his past, hazy blues and yellows and what looks like black but smears to bright red. Glimpses of faces he’ll never see again, people he’ll never be able to apologize to. Then the aftermath—nothingness and desperation, too gone to mind the jeers of heads turned towards him, scowling. The sounds of a glass bottle knocking against a wooden counter. One, then another, then another…

Until he doesn’t remember anything.

How this caustic string of thoughts surface while picturing grocery store aisles is beyond him. They were once tucked under the metaphorical rug of his consciousness, buried under busyness.

Always bigger fish to fry when it comes to making this universe a home. Had to earn money so he’s no longer squatting at Wade’s. Try to be in Laura’s life and help her adjust, though it seems like she’s taken to it like a duck to water, compared to himself.

But now, three months in? Now he hears what sounds like a small dog barking in the distance. Street chatter. Bicycle bells. 

Peace. He barely recognizes it. It’s disfigured, distorted. Maybe because he punches it in the face every time he sees a mere glimpse of it—mostly by getting himself hammered.

For the first time in a long time, he feels like there are no more bigger fish. No more excuses. Nowhere to run.

A lump in his throat at the thought of facing it, the thing he’s never allowed himself.

It’s intimidating. For a man who’s faced horrors like him, that means something. His jaw tightens.

He decides he’ll do it tonight, anyway.

As if on cue, the microwave dings.

It’s about 11am. You’re in the middle of reading a document when your phone pings with a text.

It’s from Logan.

Hey. Got a minute?

You realize it’s only, like, the fifth text in your conversation thread with him. The ones above it were ‘thanks for helping me carry the groceries’ from you and a simple ‘no problem’ from him.

Real life interactions with Logan are pretty limited. Group hangouts at Wade’s are one of the ways you’d see him, but you had to share him with other people—that sounded weird even in your head. And if you drop by at Wade’s, Logan’s not always there.

That, along with the fact that he was probably already a century old when the first iPhone came out, meant that he barely uses his phone, and therefore you don’t text often.

A warm feeling blooms in your chest. Now that you’re roommates, it’s safe to assume that you’ll be talking to each other more…

Fuck, woman, can you be normal about this? your brain scolds itself.

Of course you and Logan are going to communicate more often—you live under the same roof. Frequency does not equal intimacy. Especially if you’re most likely going to be talking about mundane things like ‘the detergent is running out’ or ‘can you help me get a bunch of triple-A batteries?’. 

Yeah, maybe living with your crush was not such a good idea.

Taking in a deep breath, you dial his number and put your phone up against your ear. Yes, you can talk, if it spares you from working even just a minute.

He picks up after the first tone.

A ‘hello’ grunted from the other end of the line. You realize this is the first time you’ve heard his voice over the phone.

“Hope I’m not botherin’ you at work,” he continues. It sounds like he’s outside—an overly cheerful piece of stock music is playing in the background. 

“Hey, not at all,” you reply, eyes glued to your screen but registering none of its contents. “What’s up?”

“I’m at the grocery store. Want anything?” 

You blink. He could have texted you that, but you’re not complaining about getting to talk to him. He’s probably just bad at it, his large hand cramping against the little touchscreen keyboard. Laura joked about that before. 

“What are you getting?”

A beat. “Coffee. Milk. Apples. You like apples?” 

“Yeah, I like ‘em.”

“What kind of coffee do you drink?” he asks, the question quickly following up your answer as if he had it locked and loaded.

“Any kind,” you answer easily. “I take mine with a bit of milk.”

“What about pasta shapes?”

There are static crinkles of plastic through the phone. You find yourself smiling, imagining Logan with a hand holding his phone, the other hovering a bag of linguine next to the spaghetti to see what the fuck the difference is.

“Honestly, Logan, I don’t mind most of them, you can get whatever you want,” you laugh lightly. 

“Which ones do you mind, then?” 

You feel a pleasant twinge in your chest. His voice sounded so low and warm and gentle just then, like he really cares. Swallowing, you find your voice again. 

“Angel hair. They’ve got no bite.” You murmur.

There’s a short chuckle that provokes butterflies to flutter around in your stomach, unbidden.

“What else d’ya need?”

For a good two minutes or so, the two of you ping-pong items back and forth. You list down some seasonings and condiments. He asks for your thoughts on brands. You smile at the way he pronounces some of them—“Graze-a? Grah-za. Whatever.”—and at the fact that he’s thoughtful enough to check with you on your preferences.

Quietly giving you a choice. You bite your inner cheek. How can something so simple make someone feel so special? 

By the end of going through the shopping list, it feels like you don’t want to hang up, and neither does he. There are beeps now, audible from the phone. He’s probably queueing at the checkout.

“Can I get a wall clock to hang in the living room?”

“Sure,” you reply softly.

Another silent beat. 

“I’m up. Talk to you later, sweetheart.” 

“See you later.”

The line is cut. You stare into your phone, slowly placing it facedown on your desk.

Did he just call you sweetheart? 

You blink, focusing back on your monitor, failing miserably. 

That nickname has to be a side effect of being alive for so long. He lived through, what, all the wars since the Civil War. It doesn’t mean anything, just a thing they called the ladies back then. Don’t read into it.

The echo of his voice remains, nevertheless. It takes you five minutes to lock back into the document you were reading.

There is an off-white wall clock hanging in the living room when you arrive home. Logan works fast.

You are in the midst of eating some apples—the ones in the fridge, no doubt the spoils from his grocery shopping trip earlier—when you hear the keys turn. The man in question walks through the threshold.

His simple presence made the space feel so much more comfortable, it’s almost scary.

“Hey,” you smile from your seat on the island, wondering what he did on his day off. “Did you go out for dinner?” 

The first concerning sign is that there is no sliver of acknowledgement: not a nod, a grunt, and certainly not the rare small smile. He doesn’t immediately reply to you, closing the door and just standing there. Gaze taking in the bare walnut floor, before it sweeps onto you.

The second sign is his eyes. There’s something unrecognizable in them, like he got hurt but he let it happen.

“Logan?” you call out softly, unease woven in your expression. You stand up from your seat.

He takes off his boots at the entryway before moving closer to you, though not quite close. His lips part, and you can tell he’s deliberating whether or not to speak. 

“I… went to AA,” he says, voice low. The words are hushed, void of his usual belligerence, a little scratchy from a dry throat. 

You look at him, surprise taking over your face.

Wade has made references to the monumental drinking problem he found Logan in when they first met, but from what you can tell, Logan’s been doing much better lately. In gatherings he mostly steers clear from wherever the bottle is. Asks if dessert’s gonna be boozy. Even declines offers for beer.

His relationship with alcohol is clearly a complicated one. And it’s Logan. The fact that he not only reached out for help but also told you about it…

There’s a moment of silence, and then your feet closes the distance, walking towards him until he’s an arm’s length away.  

You look up at him, almost timid. “Can I hug you?” 

The hard expression on his face melts. You wonder if he thought your reaction was going to be something else other than acceptance.

All it takes is a short nod for you to gently wrap your arms around him, hands settling at the center of his back. For a moment, he’s all you perceive: the warmth of his body, his breathing, his scent.

And then there’s a gentle sensation of his own arms reciprocating the gesture, his movements slow, as if wanting for you to stop him if you’re uncomfortable. You allow yourself to lean in, a signal that it’s okay.

His chin lands softly near the top of your head, arms tightening just the slightest, and your heart just about burst.

“I’m so proud of you,” you say, muffled by his flannel shirt.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he replies.

There it is again. The second time he’s called you that today, and this time, you can feel the rumble of those two syllables from deep within his chest. It shouldn’t intoxicate you the way it does, not when this moment is about him. 

You force yourself to pull away. 

“We should celebrate,” you suggest, smiling.

His face morphs into an amused look—a little kink in one eyebrow and the lightest lopsided pull of his lip. At least it doesn’t seem like he’s despondent.

“Save it for the coin,” he counters.

“You know people don’t just celebrate achievements, right?” you grin, letting go of the hug. “Come on. A nice meal. We can celebrate moving in, too, just… let me treat you to something.”

His jaw clenches playfully at your insistence, biting back his own smile.

“You’re a stubborn one.”

You take that as a win. Pleased with yourself, you saunter to the kitchen, looking for something to ingest as a commemorative treat. Perhaps a bag of potato chips will do for now.  

“There’s this Mexican place down the street, it looks nice—”

He calls your name, and you look over your shoulder. 

“Hm?”

There’s that deliberating look on his face again that makes you stop rummaging the cabinet. When he speaks this time, he sounds almost… bashful?

“Could you, uh, cook instead?” 

Your eyes widen. He wants you to cook?

“Are you sure you’d like that?” you stammer. 

He places a hand in one pocket, eyes still looking into yours. “The fried rice you brought to the potluck was good.”

The potluck last month for Al’s birthday. True, the container was cleaned out by the end of the night, but you didn’t think Logan particularly enjoyed it enough to remember it.

He shakes his head, looking away, voice tight. “Forget I asked, don’t wanna bother—”

Crap, you must’ve stayed stunned for a second too long.

“No please, it’s no bother! I just… I didn’t realize you liked it.” 

He looks at you sternly, pausing for a moment. “It was good.” 

You nod, convincing yourself that this is real and happening. “Okay. I’ll cook, then. We should invite Laura. Wade too—”

He looks away. You examine his face, registering a change.

“Have you told anyone else?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

You feel a dangerous warmth seep into your bloodstream, travelling to your hands and feet and god forbid your cheeks. How did you end up becoming the first person to know about this, this, this exceedingly vulnerable thing that he did? 

“I’ll tell Laura in a bit. Wade…” he falls silent for a moment. He hasn’t been vocal about his gratitude to the merc. It’s for a good reason, or at least that’s his excuse—a simple ‘thanks for everything’ would probably make Wade combust and blabber a series of orgasm-related jokes. 

Despite that, though, he really does owe everything to the damn motor mouth. Including the fact that he’s standing in your living room right now, as your roommate, asking you to cook for him—fuck, did he really ask you that?

“I’ll tell Wade when I get the coin,” he decides firmly. The last thing he wants to do is let down yet another important person in his life.

He puts his hand back in his pocket, clenching a fist. That being said, he doesn’t want to disappoint Laura either… and certainly not you. Funny how he finds himself caring about your opinion—the person he’s known for the least amount of time.

You nod, feeling a little overwhelmed from the conversation—the good kind of overwhelm.   

“Just Laura then. Can you ask her what food she’d like?” you say. “Something to go with your fried rice?”

He nods. 

“How’s Friday for dinner?” 

He nods again, pulling out his phone. Probably texting Laura.

“I’ll prep the stuff on Thursday then.”

“I’ll help,” he replies quickly, eyes meeting yours. When he speaks again, it’s a little softer. “I’ll buy the ingredients. And I ain’t a chef, but I can chop.”

“Please, there’s nothing much to do.”

“Then I’ll clean up,” he adds. 

You frown. “Logan, the dinner’s for you, remember?”

“Just let me clean up. Least I can do.”

You put a hand on your hip, shrugging. “Fine. Leave the food to me.”

A roguish smile on that handsome face almost makes you so weak, you have to steel your legs for a second. His voice is once again that smooth, guttural baritone.

“’preciate it, sweetheart.”

Third time’s the charm. You huff, trying to appear relaxed.

“I’m going to shower,” you announce, escaping the room.

It’s a little past ten.

Logan lies in bed. His hands are holding up his phone that looks too small for him. The light from the device is almost blinding, but he doesn’t bother—not like his eyesight can get ruined or anything.  

He has a text typed out. Staring at it for a few more seconds, he presses send.

Went to AA today.

There’s no immediate response, not that he expects one.

It’s really no surprise if Laura is busy.

She’s probably got it harder than him: young with a hunger to find her place in the world, mature beyond her years but still having so much to learn.

This new universe might not be that different from hers, but the struggles aren’t the same—because it’s her first time in community college. He doesn’t remember what it feels like being a student, but working and studying at the same time sure sounds like a hell of a life.

He blinks. A series of three animated dots appear on the screen as she types a response.

Just like that, they’re gone. He frowns. 

And then the dots are there again, only for a second, replaced by Laura’s reply.

i’m really proud of you

Another message.

seriously, i mean it

congratulations

He allows himself a smile in the privacy of his room, before resuming to text Laura about the celebratory dinner you insisted on having. When she’s free, what she wants to eat…

She turns out to be good with Friday—less resident assistant work and assignments for her to worry about.

The answer to the second question is pulled pork. Haven’t tasted a good one in a while.

i can bring the salsa

it’ll be like a deconstructed burrito but with fried rice

Your fried rice was not just good, it was excellent. God, he hopes he didn’t cross a line, blurting the request out of the blue like that.

It was instinctive. Completely unplanned. Why did he do that, anyway? The Mexican restaurant would’ve been nice, something Laura would like.

But it’s outside, it’ll be crowded and loud… He’d rather have a conversation without the background noise. Plus, you just moved into an apartment of your own. Wouldn’t dining outside be a waste of space? 

Maybe he should’ve suggested takeout instead of inconveniencing you. But you said it was your treat, and his stupid old heart betrayed himself by saying what it wanted without running it by his brain. 

And what a selfish thing to want, too. A kind of gluttony that torturously gnaws at him. It’s getting harder to ignore despite his special brand of stubbornness, honed by the long, long decades. He has a feeling it’s exactly the stubborn part of him that is making this feeling grow, too.

It wants more of you.

For now it’s content with little scraps: the glimpse of your shoes at the entrance, the sight of your toiletries in the bathroom, your scent lingering around the house…  

But who knows what it’ll demand next. A little more.

You, smiling at him, laughing at something he said.

Your thighs pressed against his on a crowded couch.

Your plush bottom lip between his teeth as he bites it, drinking in a small sound of pleasure that bubbles out your throat when his hand runs up your inner thigh— 

He locks his phone as the conversation with Laura concludes, a cue for him to snap out of it. His mind turns elsewhere, and decides to mull over the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting he attended earlier.

That meeting was about as difficult as a thousand and one sleepless nights. At least, it felt like that when he had to walk up to the library. Adamantium bones never felt heavier.

There were about seven of them when he finally walked in, and another seven arrived after. A mixed group. Reminded him of the family he used to know. There were almost a handful who were older than him—though he’s undoubtedly the oldest despite his looks—and others who looked like they barely hit twenty.

Amidst the chatter, they were polite, asking if it was his first time and giving him a rundown of what would happen. He wasn’t the only new face, which brought him slight relief, and they assured him he didn’t have to share if he didn’t want to.

Then they sat in a circle. The chair spoke the preamble smoothly from memory—just how many meetings has he been in?—and people began introducing themselves.

His eyes are half-lidded, recounting the memory with his head on a soft pillow, but the reality felt like hard concrete.

He remembers how dry his throat felt when the room looked at him, how clammy his palms were against the roughness of his jeans.

Tension.

And yet it was a kind that he wasn’t accustomed to. Instead of one that threatens to spring violence loose, it demands a calm release.

Above comfortable sheets, he can still hear his own voice battling shakiness as he spoke.

I’m Logan… and I’m an alcoholic.

Those few words were cathartic then, but somehow he felt it more intensely as he relives the moment through memory. Pressure builds behind his eyes and in his jaw.

He knows this feeling. Why now?  

Emotions wash over him in waves that build, growing stronger and taller—shame, guilt, rage, fatigue, hopelessness, the most damning anguish any man has ever experienced. Each of them sits heavy in his bloodstream, overcoming his body as his heart paces. It reminds him of that time he went back to the school, too late to save anyone.

Thump. Anger. Thump. Agony. His chest heaves.

And then, for the first time in a long time, Logan cries.

Did he cry for his friends when he saw their bodies in the mud?

Scott, Jean, Storm, Charles, Rogue, fuck, Rogue—

Or did he dive straight into the massacre, letting hatred blind him?

It’s patchy, his recollection, but the tears fall quietly into the sheets, and he allows them. He’s past the point of stopping himself.

There is no sound. Just a broken dam as he quietly shakes, tremors rushing through his body as the tears wet his cheeks and nose. He looks up at the ceiling.

Amidst the violent purge, there’s a heaviness deep in his gut, a sense of stability. The same feeling that prompted him in the morning, the little whisper of a disfigured sensation he’s long discarded. Maybe this time he’ll let peace take its place. 

The same feeling when he felt the matter and antimatter currents surged through his body, each cell in him screaming as they are killed and reborn over and over again, before it stops.

The same feeling when saving Wade’s little world.

The pillow is damp now, but he doesn’t mind, because the more he lets go, the lighter he feels. A knot unravelled slowly in his chest. The memories grow kinder. Dinners with Wade’s friends. Trading stories with Laura.

Ororo laughing at something Jean said. Scott looking at the redhead—even with the vizor, you can tell he’s in love.

Meeting you. Sharing that pizza together. 

He falls asleep at the memory of the hug you gave him earlier.    

When he comes home from work the next day, dust all over his heavyweight t-shirt, he notices something hanging on the back of the door.

A small whiteboard. To its side is a marker, affixed to the board with a magnet.

“Hey,” you greet from the kitchen. 

“What’s that?” he gestures with his chin.

“Oh.” You turn to the entryway to look at the whiteboard. You hung it up not ten minutes ago. “I thought we’d need it to write notes. Things to buy, chores to do, stuff like that.”

Heading towards the door, you grab the marker. “But I guess you can write whatever you want.”

He watches as you stand in front of him, the marker squeaking under your strokes.

You turn to him, smiling before walking away.

Logan’s heart clenches painfully—an occurrence far too often for his health, seeing that it’s barely three days since moving in with you.

He stares at your handwriting for the first time.

Have a great day ahead :)

taglist: @squishyfruitloop @britttzy267 @tezooks @ddwnghead @dear-detested @duckyyyx

[mantisgodsdomain]

The part that you haven't heard about in more detail here, for reference, is our miscellaneous research on typography, calliography, and type design, because we haven't done it in anywhere near as much detail and still arguably know nothing. In this case, you get to hear "oh yeah we're relearning cursive" as part of an unrelated ramble. This is because if we don't have at least one thing to chew on throughout the day, we wind up in a dull, grinding state of mind where we start losing chunks of important things, such as our ability to not be a huge asshole and/or hit people with sticks.

Sometimes, this means gnawing on plots, either ours or others'. Sometimes, this means learning new things. If we're operating on any subject in particular, we prefer to keep a level of basic competence high enough to let us feel like we have reasonable authority in saying something. If we are expressing an opinion, we want it to be one that is informed, because seeing people say things where they obviously don't know what a single word in that sentence actually means makes us want to chew through glass and people spreading blatant misinformation and unexamined, unbelievably blatant bias makes for our absolute least favorite dish. If we don't know something, and it's worth knowing, then we should bother to learn, because it is worth it to know at least enough to know when someone's bullshitting you, and be able to apply the knowledge you have acquired in one field to other ones over time. Many things work along the same basic lines - if you look at enough of them, then eventually, you'll learn the intersections, and the way one thing interacts with another.

In unrelated news, now that we are officially in formal education again and thus interacting with people who feel very confident in the idea that they are bringing an objectively correct perspective to the room, we are learning that apparently our "basic level of knowledge that we feel like we need to possess to feel even vaguely confident talking about the subject in any context" is most other people's "at least bachelor degree level knowledge". We are unclear on if this is a new discovery or not, as last time we were in an actual physical school it went badly enough that our memory of the year it occurred in is functionally irretrievable. This is not good for the superiority complex, probably.

is the fountain pen thing why your broskis been rbing the occasional fountain pen post or was that shared brainrot

It depends which broski you're talking about but probably. We have been exploring the ins and outs of the fountain pen since, like, the start of this month and we have already regaled our MOTW group with "hey did you know that you can buy a fountain pen that looks like a shark for three dollars" and similar such thoughts.

Though not all of our miscellaneous interests make it onto this blog, as we try not to post on things until we are reasonably informed on them, our close friends get to be regaled with the lovely story of whatever niche subject that we have dedicated our time and energy to learning things about every week or so, and we've been talking about pens for slightly longer as we learn more thoroughly how to work with them, and being told about things by an enthusiastic insect tends to get you looking at things (whether you like it or not)

[fushiglow]

[Exclusive] Getō Suguru is this week's cover star!

Here's a preview of his interview where he discusses his collaboration with Satoru and much anticipated album, Your Blue. Read the full story in chapter 14 of Over the Threshold!

“I’ll never return to Blue Spring again”

The quiet resurrection of Getō Suguru

This year marked Getō Suguru’s long-awaited return to the radio waves, but this time, his voice is nowhere to be heard. The singer-turned-producer discusses raising the next generation of musical artists and forging fast friendships in unlikely places. Read the full story below the cut.

Once upon a summer, Getō Suguru’s sunny smile lit up every street in Tokyo. You couldn’t round the corner without seeing his billboard, bold and bright and brazenly blue. The man I meet at a quiet café in Kagurazaka is a far cry from the fresh-faced youth Japan remembers. Crowded behind a tiny bistro table, he seems almost too big for his surroundings, both in presence and in stature. It’s a quality he shares with his collaborator, Gojō Satoru (known mononymously as Satoru), with whom the producer made his emphatic return to music this year. But over the course of forty five minutes and an English breakfast tea (milk, one sugar), I learn they share little else. “Satoru is the most honest person I’ve ever met,” Getō says of the story behind their implausible partnership. With his all black attire and neatly crossed legs, he’s the picture of understated elegance, despite the tattoos and piercings. Though he lacks the otherworldly looks of the singer he’s talking about, Getō is just as striking to behold. He’s beautiful for a man, with soulful eyes that bely how terribly young he is, even after all these years away from the industry. Unlike his counterpart, there’s a certain warmth to him, evident when he says, “It’s the reason he’ll go down as the greatest artist of our generation.” A bold claim, especially considering the as of yet unreleased album marks the K-pop idol’s first foray into the Japanese language market. Satoru’s individuality has won him hearts overseas but, despite his staggering talent, his aversion to discretion risks alienating him on home turf. Only this week, he caused a stir when he described the “old geezers running the music industry” as “a collective erectile dysfunction flopping around in a poorly fitted designer suit”. Indeed, “honest” is putting it generously. But perhaps you’d expect nothing less from Getō, whose brand of charm is suave and sophisticated where Satoru’s is cheeky — to put it generously. “There’s a heart of gold beneath that rough exterior,” he insists, surprisingly serious. “You can hear it in his songwriting.”

Maybe he’s right, or maybe Getō simply brings out the best in Satoru. In music and in conversation, Getō has a way of polishing Satoru’s harsh edges to reveal the hidden jewel within. It’s a marvellous gift he possesses, and Satoru has undoubtedly reaped the benefits of his proximity to Getō. The reverse, surely, cannot be said to be true. From stampedes at Shibuya station to speculation about his sexuality, this year has seen the producer catapulted into the public eye in new and uncomfortable ways. Is Getō bothered by the seemingly relentless scrutiny the superstar invites, inevitably bouncing off Satoru and onto him? “Not at all.” Getō’s smile is warm, fond even. His effortless charisma makes it easy to trust his word, but if Satoru is honest in his estimations, then Getō’s admission that the pair of them are “opposites in lots of ways” raises question marks. Unrelated, I was instructed not to ask any questions about the mysterious reasons behind his lengthy hiatus from music. There’s a common English proverb that says ‘opposites attract’, often used to suggest that ideal partnerships are built on contrasts. Research proves otherwise, and in Japan, we tend to prefer the notion that ‘birds of a feather flock together’, but perhaps Gojō Satoru and Getō Suguru buck the trend, because the art they’ve created together (and it is art, despite what their naysayers declare) is undeniably impressive. Ahead of its release on December 24, Your Blue has already garnered a number of wins at the prestigious Japan Record Awards. Though there was no prize on offer for best producer (a title that would surely go to Getō), all three singles due to be announced during the ceremony on New Year’s Eve. It marks the first time in history that multiple works by a single artist have been nominated in the category in a given year. But is he worried that Satoru’s untimely comments have dashed their chances with the voting committee? “That would suggest I think the awards aren’t really about the music.” Ever the diplomat, Getō neither confirms nor denies that’s the case, though it’s perhaps of note that Getō will not be attending the awards with Satoru on December 31. “For me,” he says with a shrug, “New Year’s Eve is a night for family.” One might imagine Getō is rooting for Sugar, a masterclass in pop production on his part, or Limitless, which earned him his first lead songwriting credit on a professionally released record since his debut. His favourite for the win? “Blue.” A predictably magnanimous choice by the producer, considering it’s the only song on the album he didn’t have a hand in creating. In the face of such humility, it’s not hard to remember why the Prince of J-pop was once touted as the ideal role model for Japanese youth. In recent years, Okkotsu Yūta took that title for himself, though one could argue that Getō Suguru paved the way for a great many of the young artists climbing the charts today. Prior to his collaboration with Satoru, the producer worked with up and coming group, Resonance, on their debut album. The trio are overwhelmingly tipped to win Best New Artist at the Japan Record Awards, less than a year after they burst onto the scene. With his tracks widely lauded as the standouts on their album, is Getō Suguru the key to unlocking an artist’s potential? He thinks not, at least when it comes to Satoru. “Satoru is perfectly capable of unlocking his potential by himself. He doesn’t need Getō Suguru—

I actually lied. This is the full story. This is all you're getting, here and in the chapter itself. So, what do we think? How's that for a WIP Wednesday, huh? Please please please scream at me to help me get this thing over the finish line at last! ♥

[skywalkoverme]

"𝐂𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧" 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 3

Series Masterlist

𐙚 Anakin Skywalker x Fem! Reader 𐙚 18+ MDNI

Summary: You assist the Jedi with their mission.

Warnings/contains: dom! male, dom! fem, Enemies to lovers, sexual tension, forced proximity, anakin does not like you, more to come as the series goes on etc, not proof read-- english is not my first language!

Word Count: 1.8k // More on my Master list! + follow & reblog pls

Obi-wan’s eyebrows furrowed upon seeing Anakin. A drunken smile on his lips, white- and cream-colored robes draped across his body. “Obi-wan!” Anakin opened his arms out as he followed you into the meeting room. You sat at the head of the table, two advisors by your side. The padawan pats the shoulder of his confused Master. “This trip has already been…a unique experience.” He smirked and sat beside Obi-wan.

“Ahem,” Obi-wan turned his gaze to you and your advisors as well as the generals to his right. “Should we start?” You waved a graceful hand in his direction. On the table rests a large map of Erden. His focus was on the Eastern Hemisphere. “Here is the confirmed sighting of the droid base.” He pressed a bolt down on the location. “We are here.” A single clear crystal on the palace. “They were smart enough to hide in the thick rainforest. Here,” He turned to Anakin, “the terrain is thick, so thick, sunlight cannot come through overhead.” He grumbled.

“We’re going in blind. They’ll have traps for sure.” Anakin muttered.

“We are guessing mines. They won’t want to waste droids by having large patrols.”

“Now that we know they are on our planet, it’ll be impossible for them to get a ship passed our atmosphere.” You added and slid a few more crystals over the map. “We have bases across this terrain: here, there, there and there.” You showed Anakin. “But not nearly enough men to fight the droids. It’s for scouting mostly, training facilities. Most of them don’t know how to work a canon, let alone a rifle.” Anakin wiped his face with his palm and held it over his mouth. “Most of my men are here.” You circled a finger around the palace and its nearby woods.

“We can’t go in there in two days.” Anakin stood. Obi-wan folded his arms.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Why not?”

“Because we need a better estimate on what we are dealing with. Regular droids can’t handle a rainforest like this, it must be different than what we first saw.” Anakin brought forth the hologram token, “That, and you need more men sent to these bases in the rainforest.” Anakin huffed and showed the original proof of the droids.

You stood with the men and pointed to the map. “No. I cannot wait beyond two days.”

Obi-wan looked to his Padawan, “Two villages have been wiped out.”

“They now have our weapons. It won’t take long before they learn the components and develop a strategy to wipe us out!”

“You need to be patient! A gun is a gun. A sword is a sword. It kills a droid.” Anakin’s expression screwed as you cleared the map. “You worry about protecting your atmosphere and we can handle what’s happening on the surface.”

“Need I remind you for the third time, you don’t give orders here, General.” He leaned closer to your face, a scowl rid his expression. “My word is law and you sure as hell will follow it!”

“Your people will die.” He said darkly, his stark blue eyes were all you could see for the moment. Anakin simply folded his arms and stood back from the table.

“…I’m not new to war. We will lose some, but I refuse to let more die in vain.” You turned to your generals. “I need a sniper, and a bomb tech to come with me tomorrow at 0600. The Jedi and us are going into the rainforest. We will make the enemy vulnerable, take out their ships and such near the bases. If we don’t meet our checkpoints within the set 30 hours, send in the first wave of soldiers to the bases, corner the droids in.” Obi-wan nodded as well as the generals.

Anakin swallowed his spit and exhaled deeply. You turned to him and pressed a crystal to his chest, “Rest.” You said before leaving to your quarters. He held the blue crystal in his hands, turning it over before rolling his eyes.

He turned on his heel and followed Obi-wan to their guest rooms. “Anakin?”

“Yes, Master?”

“Do you trust the Queen?”

“No.” he replied quickly. “I still believe she is hiding something.” He said, still twisting the crystal over in his clutch.

“I don’t sense what you do. Are you sure your judgment isn’t clouded?”

Anakin sneered and leaned on the doorway to his bedroom, “I know what I feel, Master. You always tell me to trust myself. I’m doing that now.”

“Anakin, clear your head. Let us follow her lead, we need her as much as she needs us. She has a planet to protect, have grace.” Anakin dropped his head and sighed deeply. Obi-wan pats his shoulder, “I’d stop arguing with women if I were you. Good night, Anakin.” Anakin watched his Master as he tucked into his bedroom for the night and shut the door.

“Good night, Master…” He lay nude over the sheets, the cool air from the crisp sea chilled his warm skin. It was a nice change of pace from Coruscant but still uncomfortable. He couldn’t shake the distrust he felt for you…commanding him around like some higher power, putting him in his place like a common street rat, like scum.

However, the thought of bickering with you, watching your already tense face tighten, feeling his own chest heave and his glare harden, it made his blood rush. When you yelled in his face, pointing fingers in his direction and calling him all sort of names, trashing his skills or walked away from him--- all of it riled him up to a point of animalistic hunger. He wanted to pull you back each time, to keep you perfectly tight and annoyed, frustrated and livid.

He could feel your anger as you did his; it wasn’t obvious on you but just beneath that layer of divine femininity, there was a passionate disgust and lately, Anakin has been the cause of it.

You had to admit as you rest on your side, it excited you to have someone challenge you. On Erden, there’s no one above you, no one to match your rank either. Just the pure audacity from Anakin is foreign to you; his words, his body language, all of it is so intense. Standing against him made your heartbeat race, your blood boil.

But every time you two saw each other, in those short seconds before one could talk, a silent exchange occurs. When his eyes roam your exposed skin and yours followed the contours of his muscles. Not that you ever thought of fucking him or vice versa but seeing him vulnerable, nude…seeing you naked and exposed…he wanted to have it that way. To listen to you scream in his face with your perky breasts out. You wanted to listen to him yell at you, your attention on his fat cock.

He dressed early the next cycle, concealing his metal arm in the glove after dressing. He combed through his hair with a mix of water and oils from the sink area, twirling his curls just right around his head. Anakin placed his lightsaber on his belt and walked to the palace hangar on the ground floor.

You spoke with Obi wan by the ship, short, pale blue and green robes adorned your body. Two braids went down by your ears and over your breasts; your arms folded under. On your thighs, two electric shockers strapped to you and a crystal sword on your hip. The hilt was carefully wrapped with a cluster of gems where the blade meets the handle and at a single aquamarine at its tip. Anakin joined you two onboard and gave a short bow to you before turning away. “Let us go, Pilot.”

“I thought we were going in discreetly!” Anakin said over the loud engine and jets.

You hummed, “You may but I am not going to walk the whole way there!” Anakin mocked your folded arms and did the same. “We are going to be dropped off at the edge of the rainforest!”

“My Queen?” You turned to Obi-wan. “Is there a significance attached to crystals? The jewels? I mean, why use them in weapons?”

“Crystals come the way they are.  They don’t break into smaller pieces here, so, every size you see, is what fate made.” You shrugged. “That and it cuts metal like no other. Well, other than that.” You pointed to the lightsaber on his hip. Obi-wan smirked.

“What about the silver?”

“Just another metal.” He nodded. “General?”

“Yes?” Obi-wan asked. Anakin eavesdropped over his shoulder as he looked out the window at the view of the city.

“I meant, Anakin.” Anakin looked at you, he faked annoyance however it excited him to be a part of your conversation. “Do you have faith in me?”

“That’s too broad for me to answer!”

“Do you trust me?” You spoke over the loud sounds or rushing wind.

He held his biceps, “I trust you as much as you trust me!” He said with a reassuring nod and a fake smile.

“We might run into some problems then!” He looked at your braids and nodded.

“My Queen? We have arrived!” The pilot said from over the headsets.

He lands the aircraft, your bomb technician and sniper filed out of the aircraft first and the Jedi followed. You walked between the four, and double-checked comms. “Head back, Unit.” You said and the aircraft was out of sight in seconds. Your boots on the ground of the muddy and thick forest, hands by your side as you all surveyed the dark area. The loud sounds of croaking amphibians and buzzing creatures surrounded you.

You raised your hand to swat at insects as the team moved forward, your eyes on the bomb tech as he took a discreet scan of the area. Anakin knew it was probably inappropriate to ask but he couldn’t resist, “Why did you come?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Why did you come along? We could’ve done this without you.”

You began to feel it in your core. Anakin could feel it begin to come from you, that heat you tried so hard to push down. He enjoyed this teasing, as long as you kept rewarding him with your reactions. “I don’t believe you could have.”

“I must disagree.”

“There are more than droids in this rainforest.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” You felt his finger brush your shoulder. You didn’t need to look over your shoulder to know that he was more than happy while teasing you.

“There is much you cannot handle. Not everything can be cut with a lightsaber.” Anakin stood by you, an annoying fly continued to buzz by your face, hitting your skin. He ignited his lightsaber, disintegrating the bug and a stand of your hair in half a second. He smirked in the blue light of his saber before extinguishing it.

“The first checkpoint is up ahead. Let’s move.” Anakin said before walking ahead of you.

Series Masterlist