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[originallutece]

is that a motherfucking homestuck reference in the year of our lord 2018

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[overshirts]

[ stiles listens. he considers. he understands, for the most part, where she's coming from when it comes to her experience, and he's not looking to discredit that, or her, in any way.

but he doesn't necessarily agree that holding herself up to some ridiculous standard was the only move she could have made to get herself the respect she so obviously deserves, but he doesn't have to agree, and he knows that too. his approval or disapproval of the way women were regarded back in her day (and even now, in stiles' time) does not and will not change the past.

it's not that surprising that she's reminded him of lydia again, even if the parallel is somewhat opposite. lydia used to be so caught up in being the perfect girl that she hid her intelligence, played the part of the glamorous, ditzy, team-captain's girlfriend. but stiles saw through it, recognized her mask and pulled it away.

stiles tilts his head a little, drums his fingers against his ribs, and ignores a minor wave of nausea that ebbs away just as quickly as it comes. ]

... You remind me of this girl I know. Back home. Like, sometimes it's like looking at future-Lydia, and it's — weird. Kinda cool, too. She's really smart, too, only she pretended not to be for a while, because she was — I don't know, afraid people might look at her differently, I guess. [ he sits up a little, turns slightly to face rosalind more directly. ] There's this... belief, or. Or, just, this dumb assumption that beautiful girls can't also be smart, or smart girls can't also be beautiful, so she picked the option she thought —, well, I don't really know what she thought.

My point is, once she realized that being herself was more important than worrying about what people might think about her, she stopped caring. And nothing changed. She's still Lydia. She's still smart. She's still beautiful. She's still going to win a — [ shit, what was it? ] — a fields metal, because nothing anyone can say about her makes her any less qualified.

[ he may have lost his actual point there in all that, but he tries to bring it back around, at least. ]

Why did it matter what people could have said about you? [ he leans into the back of the couch, props his head in his hand. ] You do know I'd have to change a whole lot more than my clothes to avoid judgement, right? Like, flannel shirts are the least of my worries.

[originallutece]

[God, but that sounds . . . it sounds ideal, honestly. A world in which she could be whatever she wanted, say whatever she wanted to say and wear what she'd like, and yet still succeed? It sounds almost impossible, frankly, and she has her private doubts as to whether Stiles has really grasped the whole truth, but that's a debate that will go nowhere. At least his Lydia had succeeded enough that he hadn't noticed any significant drawbacks.]

It mattered a great deal.

[She says it simply. She'll elaborate if he asks, but--]

You can dress as you like. But I suppose my other point is that . . . it helps to control your reputation, molding it as you like.

[She tips her head, watching him for a few seconds, and then:]

What is it you're alluding at, that sets you apart.

[overshirts]

[ stiles considers his reputation. does he even have one? he's known for being sarcastic, he's known for being smart, a little bit of a mess. distracted, sometimes. logical, practical, as realistic as one can be when your town is a literal supernatural beacon (it's in the name). his reputation is different, depending on who you speak to. jackson would probably say he's an idiot, a nerd, a loser. isaac might say he's weak and annoying. scott might say he's the smartest, funniest guy he knows. his dad might say he's a nuisance, but with a fondness that suggests he loves him for it.

it's all a matter of perspective, and how much he takes to heart.

stiles shrugs. there's no point in arguing this anymore right now. he likes his plaid and his print screen tees and a little judgement from people he likely doesn't know very well isn't really on his radar. ]

Uh, nothing that... spectacular? I mean, like — I have ADHD, for one, so people just assume I'm a - spazz, or whatever. My dad's the sheriff back home, so that automatically makes me a snitch, right? When in reality I've lied to my dad more times than I've probably told him the truth. [ he pauses, doesn't seem particularly proud of that, but then keeps going ] I have anxiety, and sometimes it gets really bad to the point that it interferes with—

[ stiles stops, waves his hand dismissively, leans back into the couch. ]

It's just, lots of stuff. Lots of stigmas, but I know what I'm capable of.