There’s a fine line between “pushing yourself out of your comfort zone” and “pushing yourself into a mental breakdown” and we need to fucking find it and stop encouraging people to do the second in an attempt at making them do the first.
A German pedagogue named Tom Senninger developed this model called the “Learning Zone Model.” Senninger talks about three zones: comfort, learning (or growth), and panic.
I think that’s really important because some people do talk like anything “outside your comfort zone” is automatically good and brings growth. But Senninger knows that you can only stretch so far before you’ve stretched too far.
Experience, personal work, and therapy can help expand the first two zones and shrink the third, but we’ll always have that place where panic and/or pain sets in. Our goal should be to recognize and respect that in ourselves and others, rather than force ourselves or someone else to “push through it.” There is no “through it.” The only thing on the other side of the panic zone is more panic.
“Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe, a moment that will never be again. And what do we teach our children? We teach them that two and two make four, and that Paris is the capital of France. When will we also teach them what they are? We should say to each of them: Do you know what you are? You are a marvel. You are unique. In all the years that have passed, there has never been another child like you. Your legs, your arms, your clever fingers, the way you move. You may become a Shakespeare, a Michaelangelo, a Beethoven. You have the capacity for anything. Yes, you are a marvel.”
ever wanted to know what your epithet would be if you were a character in greek mythology? now you can! you could be the next wine-dark sea, or maybe you’ll be unlucky and end up as the phallic gecko, because everything is possible in greek mythology
Teen Wolf. G. 5.6k. Stiles/Derek. Fluff. Domestic. Assumed dating. Fake relationship.
Two idiots in love who think having a fake relationship and a fake breakup is the way to handle clearing the air when some people assume they’re dating… because that’s what they told them.
“I know you can hear me right now, so please come help me carry up these bags,” Stiles mutters. He waits a moment before getting out of Derek’s Camaro and popping the trunk. Stiles leans back on the heels of his feet and frowns. He may have gone overboard.
“Jesus, did you buy one of everything?”
Stiles does not jump. He’s used to Derek sneaking up on him these days. But when their eyes meet, Stiles sees Derek’s smirk. He knows Stiles’ heart rate has spiked. Fucking bastard.
“I have big plans this week,” Stiles says, defensively. He watches as Derek starts to slide the handles of the bags onto his arm. Stupid fucking werewolf strength.
“I’m not doing this all by myself, you know,” Derek tells him over his shoulder. He steps back and damn. Derek’s wearing the black t-shirt that Stiles had accidentally shrunk in the wash. It’s so goddamn tight over his chest… his arms… and when Derek adjusts himself, it shows a little of his midriff.
Stiles knew that his Alpha, his lover, had to do this.
He let himself flop against Derek’s wide chest and relax into the feeling. Derek didn’t stop washing, touching, caressing, and Stiles didn’t stop whispering assurances.
They didn’t touch me, babe.
No one but you.
I’m all in one piece.
Thank you for coming for me.
I’m so fucking glad to be home.
The Otis pack took Stiles to teach the Hale-McCalls a lesson about consorting with the wrong type of beings, about having unnatural urges, and turning away from sinful relationships and bad pack structures.
They’d wanted to try out their own unnatural urges on Stiles though, that was certain.
Stiles wasn’t lying to Derek—none of the other pack had touched him after snatching him off the street—but that was only because for the eight nights he’d been trapped in their basement he’d stayed locked safely within a circle of ash. They were a pack that didn’t brook human members and were in between emissaries. With no one to break the line they’d had no choice but to leave him be.
They weren’t the smartest of cookies, either. They took his phone, but didn’t turn it off. They searched him for weapons, but didn’t take the ash-containing locket from around his throat. They took his backpack, but didn’t think to empty his winter coat pockets of snacks and other goodies.
Their basement was badly insulated and the pipework old, and the drip of water from their heating system tasted nasty, but it stopped Stiles dehydrating.
Not even the dripdripdrip stopped him from hearing what they were planning to do to him once they managed to get through the ash.
He shuddered at the memory and Derek whined and licked over Stiles’ cheek again. The drag of a fang against water-sodden skin was blunt and grounding. Stiles tipped his head to the side a little more and Derek took the invitation, pressing all of his teeth, mouth open wide, against Stiles’ throat and holding.
Stiles sighed, and let himself think a moment or two on the sound-memory of the Otis Alpha’s arms being ripped from his body for daring to touch Derek Hale’s mate…
Then he focused instead on the sound of the water flowing over their bodies, the slip-slick of the soap Derek was rubbing into their skin, the thrumming of Derek’s heart in his chest and the soft but ever present rumbling growl there, too.
The shower was starting to get cold, and soon Stiles would begin to shiver and that would have to end this phase of Derek’s fussing. They’d fed him in the car on the way back from the Otis pack’s property, passed him water and then juice and then bought burgers in drive through and now Stiles just wanted to sleep.
Derek would dress him and feed him a little more first, then the wolves and coyote and banshee and humans would surround them on the floor in the living room and Stiles would let Derek wrap him in arms that carried as much guilt as anger, and as much anger as love, and they’d sleep.
shealwaysreads 