a college au where derek is a professor living in a house next door to students stiles and scott.

a little ficlet for everyone, bc everyone seems so down and despondant about the fandom happenings as of late. i can’t draw, but i can write to a certain degree, so…this is my way of spreading positivity and happiness to y’all <3


The house would have to do. It was small and nice, but right on the edge of the university in a neighborhood of faculty, students, and staff. He could walk to work. The rent was cheap, and on his starting salary, it would have to do. Like hell if Derek was getting a roommate.

Derek is sitting in a rickety rocking chair on the front porch when a U-Haul pulls into the driveway next door. A beat up blue Jeep follows and then a dirt bike. “Great,” Derek mutters to himself. The universe must really hate him. Undergrads and a fucking dirtbike.

The one in the Jeep all but falls out of the driver’s side and waves at Derek when he sees him. “Howdy, neighbor! Dude, we have a neighbor,” he tells Dirtbike boy with a slap to the chest.

Derek goes inside without a wave or a word.


Derek is lacing up his shoes on the front porch a little after 6am. He wants to explore the neighborhood, map out a good training route, and maybe find an easy route for his lazy days. He’s starting up the running app on his phone when the door opens next door and someone steps onto the porch. Derek doesn’t look up.

“Morning, Professor Hale,” a chipper voice calls. Derek glances up, and it’s Jeep guy. Derek studies him, trying to figure out if he’s in one of his classes without him realizing it. “My friend Lydia is in your Medieval women, religion, and sexuality grad seminar.” Lydia, the petite redhead in the front who tries to argue with him about everything. At least it’s better than the busty blonde who sits beside him and eyefucks him.

“Ah, Lydia,” Derek replies with a smile. “She’s an interesting student.”

The guy snorts and takes a sip of his coffee. “Oh, she’s interesting all right. I’m Stiles, by the way. Masters in forensic science, so no chance I’ll show up in one of your classes.”

“Small miracles,” Derek deadpans, and Stiles throws his head back and laughs. Derek notices how smooth his skin looks, and when Stiles looks at him again, his amber eyes are shining. Derek shakes his head – what the fuck was he thinking?

“All your secrets are safe with me,” Stiles says. “I mean, I could make a fortune in blackmail to your students. How you go to bed at like 11, go running at 6 am, carry groceries in reusable cloth bags, drive a Camaro. Quality.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Have a good day, Stiles,” Derek says as he takes off running down the tree-covered street. He sprints, pushing himself harder to try and dispel the buzzing beneath his skin.


Derek’s asleep. Well, Derek was asleep before loud yelling and music woke him up. He tugs a pair gym shorts over his underwear and storms onto the back porch. Next door, Stiles and Scott are yelling and laughing with a group of guys.

“Can you keep it down?” Derek growls. “Some people are trying to sleep.”

“Dude, it’s 11 o’clock,” someone says. “Who goes to sleep this early?”

“Sorry,” Stiles says. “We’ll keep it down.” Derek hears him trying to get the others to turn down the music and be quiet.

“Stiles, you didn’t tell me next-door-professor was a total fucking hottie,” another guy says. Derek sighs and walks back into his house, slamming the door.


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Here is “Knot”, a short comic I drew to sell at Mocca and TCAF this year. The printed version is going to be SO PRETTY. I’m in love with the cover (which I will post later).

I just wanted to do something fairy-tale-like that talked about doubts and frustrations and how to deal with them. I’m really happy with how colorful and adorable the story turned out to be. 

If you enjoyed “Knot”, please consider reblogging it and/or checking out my ongoing webcomic Namesake! HUGS TO ALL OF YOU!

Isa’s been showing me wips of this for awhile, look how pretty this is finished, ahhh!!

Dear Neighbor


Based on this post

Stiles remembers distinctly the day someone finally moved into the condo next door to his.

Mainly because he’d just come out of a weekend long binge following the absolute worst breakup of his life and hadn’t showered for the better part of three days. He smelled like Cheetos, dressed in paint stained sweats and a moth-bitten t-shirt that was thin from overuse. His eyes were all bloodshot and so purple underneath that it probably looked like he’d had his nose broken. It wasn’t even from crying. It was from staring at his computer screen in the dark for twenty-four hours straight.

Also, the dude moving in was hot like burning.

When Stiles peeked out through the dusty, plastic blinds, the new guy was standing cross-armed, biceps rounding and flexing against the seam of his sleeves, as he talked to one of the movers. He scratched at his not-quite-beard in a way that was probably illegal in some states.

In a grand display of his own maturity, Stiles hid behind the couch for the remainder of the afternoon with only a bowl full of Trix cereal in his hands and his dog, Bear, trying to snuffle awkwardly into his lap.

Despite being a year old Great Dane whose size fully lived up to his name.

The next day, Stiles started calling his neighbor “Greenpeace” after seeing him haul groceries, all bagged up in bright blue, reusable totes, into the hidden confines of his new home. Stiles isn’t sure when being environmentally conscientious became so adorably attractive, but…here he is.

It’s been a month and Stiles has yet to introduce himself outside of a polite little wave on the rare occasion that the two of them are outside at the same time. Stiles always initiates. Greenpeace waves back, stiff but polite, and Stiles kind of figures that’s just his way. He seems sort of tight around the shoulders, stretched taut like elastic.

Honestly, he looks like he could use a good massage, and that is a thought Stiles avoids entertaining until he’s  alone in his room with only his own hand and a lovely down-comforter to keep him warm.

The real victim here, though, is Bear. Poor Bear who is immediately love struck. Practically sick with it really.

Over Greenpeace’s cat.

The little Persian sits on the windowsill every morning when Stiles walks his dog. Its squished, angry face stares out impassively at the Dane’s wet eyes and lolling tongue. Whether or not Greenpeace is on the treadmill holds no bearing over how long Stiles lets Bear stare longingly through the pane of glass and green, iron rails.

Except, yeah it does. 

He doesn’t…he doesn’t mean to to spy exactly. It’s just that he’s the son of the Sheriff, and he can’t help but observe a few things. Like that Greenpeace still hasn’t unpacked all his belongings, as though maybe he’s dragging his feet. 

And then there’s what looks like a framed family photo on the side table by the couch. It appears out of the blue one day and is laying picture-side down the next. 

And despite how he looks, Greenpeace isn’t exactly a Casanova, but Stiles does see a one-night-stand leave about a month after the move-in. The person who sneaked into a cab at three in the morning with ruffled hair and shirt buttons askew was definitely not a woman. So that’s on the table. 

And there’s a stack of intellectual books that go from piled on the floor behind the couch to neatly arranged on selves against the wall in a matter of weeks. Not all of them are in English, that much Stiles is certain of. 

Clearly, this is Stiles’ soul mate. He feels Bear’s pain, he really does. 


"Dad," Stiles whines pitifully into his phone’s receiver. "You promised no more Chinese. Melissa said she’d make you meals and everything. Do you realize how much I had to bribe her for that?”

"As an officer of the law," his father responds loftily, "I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear the word ‘bribe’ being spoken."

"Don’t play that game with me, Pops. I know your tricks. Don’t think I can be so easily distracted."

At the end of his leash, Bear lets out a long, distraught whimper. It’s unusual given that they’re in their regular spot in front of Greenpeace’s window. At this point, his dog normally proceeds to sit in silent adoration as he stares into the Persian’s half-lidded, amber eyes. 

Stiles’ dad continues talking in his ear, voice a low drawl as he retorts with what is, in all likelihood, a mortifying reminder of something his son did in his teenage years. Ironically though, Stiles is completely distracted by the object of Bear’s distress.

A neat little row of various leafy, potted plants is lined up against the base of the sill.

Right where the love of Bear’s life usually bathes in the sun. 

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A word on sociopathy


This is going to be a bit long, but it’s something that’s been on my mind for a while because there’s something of an upswing in the number of “trendy” sociopaths in fictional media of late.

I’m 99.9% certain that I’m a sociopath; in the absence of the full-blown PD, I am in any case highly sociopathic, so I thought I’d offer a perspective of what it’s like to be so in hopes that someone might find it useful or at least interesting.

As a general background: I’m AFAB, twenty-one years old next month, upper middle class, currently in college, white, conservative nondenom Christian family (I am agnostic or atheist, depending on the day), asexual and aromantic, no criminal record and the most severe crime I’ve ever committed involved swiping a candy bar from a gas station.

Broke things up into categories for ease of reading, though there’s a fair bit of overlap in some places.


• I experience emotional empathy extremely rarely, and when I do feel it, it’s little more than a twinge of an echoed emotion that fades almost instantly.

• I have really good cognitive empathy, though, meaning I’m really good at picking up on what the people around me are feeling—I just don’t care particularly.

• I can, however, manufacture emotional “empathy” by triggering appropriate emotions in myself after recognizing what the other person is feeling.

• This is because I have an extreme degree of control over what I feel at any given time: If I decide I’m going to be excited, I feel excitement. If I decide I want to be sad, I feel sad. If I decide I’m happy, I feel happiness, and so on. And, contrary to conventional wisdom, I can and do feel almost the full range of human emotion—the exceptions are empathy, guilt, and to a certain extent remorse and shame.

• Flip side: Naturally occurring emotions are quite weak (unless I decide they’re going to be otherwise) and transient, fading quickly. I can also stop them in their tracks if I so choose (not repression; if I notice an emotion and then choose not to focus on it, it vanishes almost immediately).

• This applies to pain as well: I have an extremely high tolerance for physical pain. Everyone can mitigate pain by ignoring it, to an extent, but for me I can compartmentalize even severe pain so thoroughly that it stops hurting completely.

• I’m not immune to anxiety; I’ve had very severe panic attacks in the past. I also experience intermittent bouts of social anxiety, although I can turn this off at will as with any other emotion. 

• Most of the time, I spend in a vaguely content state of neutrality (not numbness—i have felt numb and dissociated in the past, but where numbness is an engine that won’t start, this is more like an engine idling while waiting for application of the gas pedal). My most common emotion is happiness, I think, followed by annoyance, and then sadness. (I like feeling sad sometimes. It can be nice, as long as it doesn’t drop into despair.) I don’t actually get angry all that often, and then it comes in flashes—a few seconds of blinding, murderous rage, followed by a few minutes of cold fury, and then it generally fades into annoyance.

• I experience intellectual versions of emotions I don’t actually feel in the traditional sense. If I’m aware that I’ve hurt someone, even if I don’t care on a gut level, I can and do care on an intellectual level if I so choose.

• I don’t have a conscience in the traditional sense. I have a very firm ethical code based primarily on utilitarianism and an abhorrence of injustice, but there is no subconscious “voice” telling me that a thing is right or wrong.

• I DO feel love, and feel it very strongly, although I suspect that my experience of love is very different from that of an empath. There are no “warm fuzzies” or similar feelings associated with it; it’s more a feeling of extreme protectiveness and loyalty. It is not possessive or jealous (possibly because I’m aromantic; platonic love does not lend itself as well to possessiveness or jealousy as romantic love does). It’s also very rare—there is one person whom I love unconditionally. 


• I have, simultaneously, a very strong and very weak sense of self. I love myself (not in a narcissistic way [I’m well aware of my faults], but in a healthy self esteem way) and have a very clear grasp of my core values and desires; more superficial things like mannerisms, emotional responses, cadence of speech etc. are dependent on mirroring from whomever I happen to be around.

• I am not narcissistic. I do not require external validation to feel good about myself; I can and do readily admit when I am wrong and will attempt to make amends if asked; I do not feel compelled to make myself look good by comparison by tearing other people down; I am well aware that there are people who don’t like me and I’m content with this reality.

• I am very self aware in general. When I’m manipulative, I’m aware of what I’m doing. When I act in ways that I find ethically questionable, I’m aware of that, too. I’m highly aware of my own flaws, and I accept that they exist and take steps to minimize them as much as possible (because I don’t like having faults—who does?).

• I loathe not being in control. It’s physically painful to lose control. As a result, I seek types of jobs that allow me to have a degree of autonomy and control—theatre and arts, as well as library jobs, places in which the atmosphere is more of a collaborative effort rather than a strict chain of command. I suspect I would fare very poorly in a corporate atmosphere.

• I hate being bored, and have a plethora of tricks to ward off that eventuality. Chief among them is the cultivation of a very detailed imagination—in the absence of external stimulation, I retreat inward and craft stories, characters, sometimes entire fictional worlds. I’m also an excellent multi-tasker and often do three or four things at once.


• I have awful impulse control, though I think above-average for sociopaths. I focus mainly on not acting on passing destructive urges (which may be directed at other people or at myself and rarely come with emotion attached—there’s little rhyme or reason to it), to the detriment of my financial restraint and speech filter (I’m known for having a very dry, very dark sense of humor as a result).

• Though sociopaths are frequently promiscuous, I’m not because I’m nonlibidoist and asexual, meaning I have no sex drive and I’m not sexually attracted to anyone, so there’s little to be gained for me from sleeping around. I do have sex with my platonic partner, because that benefits me on an emotional level.

• When I was younger, I was quite violent. Throughout high school I learned to better curb these tendencies and in the past seven or so years, the only time I’ve physically attacked someone was in self defense while under extreme emotional distress (I was mid-panic attack and my mother pinned me on my bed while screaming and I was certain she was about to start beating me).

• The threat of punishment has no impact on my decision-making whatsoever—why should it? physical pain does not faze me in the slightest, I’m unhurt by isolation, and I’m charming and a good enough liar to worm my way out of most genuine punishments anyway. 

• Thus, I’m motivated primarily by reward, not punishment. The reason I’m as pro-social as I am is that my life is much, much easier if I am well-liked, law-abiding, and surrounded by happy, emotionally stable people.

• I’m better at learning from past mistakes than the average sociopath primarily because I’m motivated to be a decent person and not hurt people; I don’t want to harm people who don’t deserve it, so if I screw up and do hurt someone by accident, I have a large incentive to figure out what went wrong and avoid committing similar errors in the future.

Lying and Manipulation

• I am inclined toward pathological lying. I try not to act on this inclination with people I respect and care about; I do not lie to my platonic partner even by omission, and restrict myself to mild stretching of the truth with others. Those I  don’t trust or don’t respect or both, I lie to with impunity at the drop of a hat.

• I am also a very good liar. Even when I feel that I’m being outrageously, obviously untruthful, I am rarely suspected of being a liar. This is because I speak with confidence and don’t have any of the typical “tells” that an empath would.

• I’m extremely manipulative, and find people quite easy to manipulate. I use this talent for good rather than evil—I don’t gaslight or otherwise emotionally abuse people, I am not a backstabber, I do not gossip, I do not try to turn people against each other. I’m not interested in doing so. Instead, I use it to make things a bit easier for myself—things like getting generous classroom accommodations for a sleep disorder (undiagnosed and thus unprovable, but quite real), acquiring solid friendships with people on whom I can rely if necessary, charming my teachers and bosses, that manner of thing.

• I put a large amount of effort into encouraging people to trust me and confide in me. When people come to me for help, I am supportive, nonjudgemental, capable of finding them resources that they may be afraid or unable to look for, discrete, and moreover I encourage them to act as I would in the situation—which generally means I advise them to look out for themselves first and to be mindful of their personal safety as a top priority. I have never, ever broken anyone’s confidence (to do so would be to discourage them from returning to me for more help). 

• I do this because I like making people happy and I like providing support; I like being a safe person for other people to vent at. It helps them and it helps me, too, because (1) it’s a rush, (2) another person placing their trust in me is the ultimate compliment, and (3) it enables me to better understand and consciously empathize with empaths, which is important because I intend to be an actor and a writer and I need the ability to understand these kinds of things.

• People who are abusive are fair game for wrecking. For example, my mother is emotionally abusive towards myself and my sister (to the point that she has destroyed my sister’s self esteem and body image so thoroughly that I think anorexia is a very real possibility in the future, as well as causing her to severely repress her emotions and believe herself to be stupid) and I take every opportunity to bleed her dry of cash (which is easy, because she apologizes by offering material compensation and is easily guilt-tripped) and will continue to do so until I’m in a financially stable situation and can safely excise her from my life.

In terms of writing sociopaths, I think the key thing to remember is that we are people, too. It is very, very common for empaths to consider sociopaths as sub-human, animalistic, soulless evil monsters, etc., but that’s simply not the case. Lack of empathy does not cause cruelty—world views and beliefs that justify cruelty cause cruelty regardless of empathy. 

A virulently misogynistic empath is every bit as likely to abuse women as a virulently misogynistic sociopath, for example, although in the sociopath’s case the abuse is likely to escalate faster and be more severe because the sociopath is unhindered by a conscience while the empath must sear his conscience into silence first.

(I’m fairly certain that this is why sociopathic men are much more likely to be physically violent than sociopathic women; Western culture encourages men to be aggressive and views anger and violence as “masculine” traits while women are told to be passive, nurturing, and kind. Thus, sociopathic men are more likely to have attitudes that justify violent action on their part.) 

But we are not delusional, we are not crazy, in the absence of comorbid disorders we do not suffer psychosis. We are fully capable of self-control and fully aware of what we’re doing. We are not inherently evil. Those that are, are that way because they chose to be.

So: When you write sociopaths, remember to take socialization into consideration. Remember that we are people too, that we have individual needs and desires and preferences and beliefs that shape our actions just like empaths do.

"Wherever perfectionism is driving, shame is riding shotgun. Perfectionism is not about healthy striving, which you see all the time in successful leaders, it’s not about trying to set goals and being the best we can be, perfectionism is basically a cognitive behavioral process that says if I look perfect, work perfect, and do everything perfectly, I can avoid shame, ridicule, and criticism. It’s a defense mechanism."

"Why Doing Awesome Work Means Making Yourself Vulnerable"

So, I’ve been waiting for someone to explain this extremely simple concept to me my entire life.

(via kelsium)

Hooooly shit I needed to read this article.

(via rouxfully)

"When I interview leaders, artists, coaches, or athletes who are very successful, they never talk about perfectionism as being a vehicle for success. What they talk about is that perfectionism is a huge trigger, one they have to be aware of all the time, because it gets in the way of getting work done."


(via rumplestiltsqueer)


(welcome to my self-indulgence. excuse the mess.)
Being an only child and heir to the throne, Stiles had always known he may not have the luxury of marrying for love. When he’d realized he was an omega to boot, things had taken an even more uncomfortable turn for him.
Omegas are rare. An omega as the heir apparent is almost unheard of.
Which is why there is no wiggle room when it comes to the tournament.
"It’s tradition," his father says. "Any alpha, be they royal, noble, or commoner, may compete for your hand in marriage. It brings people together. After three years of droughts our people need something to celebrate."
Stiles makes a face. “Give the winner another prize then. I don’t want to marry some brute just because he won a couple of stupid fights.”
His father is not amused. “You don’t have to marry any of the winners. You can announce that you’re not ready for marriage. It’s within your rights. You will, however, respect the alphas and watch their games, or so help me god Stiles, I will eat all the bacon in this kingdom.”
"You wouldn’t." Stiles glares at him.
"Just watch me," his father says.
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(welcome to my self-indulgence. excuse the mess.)


Being an only child and heir to the throne, Stiles had always known he may not have the luxury of marrying for love. When he’d realized he was an omega to boot, things had taken an even more uncomfortable turn for him.

Omegas are rare. An omega as the heir apparent is almost unheard of.

Which is why there is no wiggle room when it comes to the tournament.

"It’s tradition," his father says. "Any alpha, be they royal, noble, or commoner, may compete for your hand in marriage. It brings people together. After three years of droughts our people need something to celebrate."

Stiles makes a face. “Give the winner another prize then. I don’t want to marry some brute just because he won a couple of stupid fights.”

His father is not amused. “You don’t have to marry any of the winners. You can announce that you’re not ready for marriage. It’s within your rights. You will, however, respect the alphas and watch their games, or so help me god Stiles, I will eat all the bacon in this kingdom.”

"You wouldn’t." Stiles glares at him.

"Just watch me," his father says.

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do you realize what that number means?
in the Book of Revelations, 144,000 is the number of people who are saved from the Apocalypse.



do you realize what that number means?

in the Book of Revelations, 144,000 is the number of people who are saved from the Apocalypse.

Anonymous sent: Sterek a/b/o where Derek is an Alpha trying to woo Stiles and Stiles is having none of it


"Now?" Derek heaves in a breath, punches the mermaid still writhing under his foot, and looks at Stiles expectantly.

"No!" Stiles snaps, binds the mermaid’s hands and glares up at Derek.

"I bought you out here for a romantic walk on the beach! You said you liked that shit on your facebook profile."

"I was being ironic!"

Derek snarls, steps on the mermaids tail until he stops writhing. “That’s just dumb.”

"Looking for ways to woo me is dumb, dude. I’m not dating you."

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In The Flesh AU

Four years after the dead rose in Beacon Hills, Scott and Stiles, two Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferers, return to a very different town than the one they died in.

The Argent family leads the resistance against human-zombie integration. Allison, their leader-in-training, struggles with PTSD as she’s lauded as a war hero. Her growing relationship with Scott tests the uneasy peace in town. When Derek Hale, a disciple of the Undead Liberation Army, returns to Beacon Hills, he amasses a small cult of undead teenagers. Scott and Stiles try to figure out what the holy hell he’s after and keep the town from descending into all-out war.

And sometimes they go to raves and get drunk on brains.

"You’re my BDFF. Best Dead Friend Forever. Forever. That’s non-negotiable."

Anonymous sent: hello! your 'in the flesh' meta is absolutely amazing, and you seem to really think things carefully when you answer questions. i was wondering what were your thoughts on how old simon is, and how that impacts his relationship with kieran? there's an obvious age-gap between the two of them, and i find that interesting. thanks!



Hello! Thank you!

Well, I think there’s a huge difference between the age of a body and the age of a person. This is especially evident in the undead, as if they remain undead, they will always have a body that is the age at which they died. For example, Kieren died when he was 18, but he has been “aware” as a treated PDSS for a bit over a year. Is he 19? Or is he 18?

I say this because I think that Life can damage a person’s mental age just as easily as the above dilemma. A person who has survived trauma may “grow up fast” or may regress to a younger state of mind.

Physically, I would put Simon as being not older than 30 when he died. If I were going to give a range, 30 would be the top of it, and I’d say anywhere in the 26-30 years range. We know he’s absolutely older than 21, as he talks about going to America when he was 21, and I suspect it is at least 5 years past that time due to the way he speaks of it. He makes it sound like ancient history for him, like it was a time where there was still a spot of brightness/hope in his life before he gave in to the depression and got lost to drugs.

Mentally, I would go so far as to say he’s younger than that. Whereas Kieren’s traumas have aged him, made him cautious, made him wary and likely to treat people with gentleness because he knows what harshness brings, Simon’s traumas seem to have set him back a degree. He has made decisions like a lot of teenagers make decisions; quickly and whole heartedly. When he loves, it is with his whole being, no reservations. When things go wrong, everything is over, no recovery (for example, telling Kieren they need to skip town at the end of S2). He deals (poorly, if I may say) with peer pressure (the ULA) and gets hoodwinked by an authority figure (the prophet) that Kieren sees right through from day one.

As for how it impacts their relationship, I think it’s not bad. I think that they both have strengths and weaknesses, and I think that they are enough different and the same in those things that they will help one another so that they can both heal and grow into “new” people. Simon is helping Kieren to be okay with who Kieren is, and Kieren is helping Simon open his eyes and think for himself. They are so good for each other in this respect.

I also don’t think that either of them are considering the age gap when interacting. Simon does not treat Kieren with gentleness and respect because Kieren is younger, he treats him that way because he is a person. He treats Amy with gentleness and respect, and he even manages to treat Gary civilly when he agrees to do so. In the bar that first night, Simon simply sits and lets the events unfold around him, and only interferes when Kieren might be hurt; even then, his only interference is to restrain Gary until the threat has passed. Simon is very careful in all of his interactions with people, and Kieren is a person as much as anyone else. Kieren, I think, is paying more attention to how Simon acts than what his age is. Given his history with Rick (who acted one way with Kieren and another in public or around his father) and his family (who are saying they are there for him now, but where were they when he needed them? What is Jem doing dating Gary when she KNOWS how Gary treats Kieren? His own father trying to send him to the treatment facility!), I think Kieren very much focuses on the actions of the people around him to judge how he’s going to treat and interact with them.

All of that being said, currently they are not aware of anyone “rehumanizing” and coming to real life, and so they are faced with the prospect of “gonna live forever unless killed” and in light of possibly hundreds of years to come, 5, 10, or even 15+ years difference doesn’t seem like much.

It got long again, I hope this is what you were looking for!

Ked and I discussed this in private but I’ll add this to the post, too.

I don’t think that Simon’s traumas have caused him to regress, necessarily.

The thing is…everyone needs to be needed and everyone needs to be loved. On some level, we need those two things. It might be a minor need or it might be an all-consuming notion in our minds but we all feel it.

When Simon’s father casts him out, it leaves a hole inside him. He thinks of himself as a monster at that point. A thing that killed his own mother, a thing that is neither living nor truly dead, because that’s what his father saw in him.
The ULA accepted him - celebrated him, even - for who he was. They change, like with the cover up, and they didn’t ask him to pretend, like eating dinner with your family when you don’t actually eat. They never asked him to be anyone than who he was and that was something Simon needed. It’s something we all need.
He was vulnerable when he went to the ULA and the Prophet exploited that, manipulated Simon for his own means.
So, no, I wouldn’t call his current state of mind a regression. He’s just a vulnerable man who was looking for somewhere to belong, for someone to be proud of him and love him for exactly who he is, and he recognizes that need in the other undead.
And I believe that Simon tries to be to them what he believes the Prophet and other disciples are to him.