Diagnostic criteria for autism are always so badly written.
Like, the trains thing.
I’m going to keep coming back to the trains thing because it baffles me.
So, the example used for special interests in a lot of diagnostic criteria is trains.
“Has an unusually strong interest in something - for example, trains”
And, like, sure. Okay. Special interests can be anything. Trains are a possibility.
But, like, special interests don’t appear out of nowhere. You generally have to be exposed to something first to get a special interest in it.
So, like, I know a lot of autistic people, and I know no one with a special interest in trains.
You know what the most common special interest is, in my experience?
Yeah, go fucking figure, the ubiquitous movie franchise that almost everyone has seen at least one movie of is the most common special interest, in my experience.
Now, I do kind of understand the trains thing. The line between special interest and regular interest isn’t always super obvious.
Like, collecting Star Wars toys, or writing Star Wars fanfic, or marathoning the movies a bunch of times doesn’t necessarily make it a special interest.
And since it’s socially acceptable (especially in modern day nerd culture) to do all of those things, it’s not a glaring indicator of autism to outsiders.
If someone’s really into something obscure - like trains - however, it can make the fact that it’s a special interest super obvious.
But it’s still bad to have it be the go-to special interest example because it’s just not that common.
Plenty of autistic people don’t have obscure special interests. Their SIs are in the Marvel movies or Star Wars or Star Trek or Five Nights at Freddy’s.
Hell, part of the problem with women and girls not getting diagnosed is because no one notices their special interests in, like, makeup or boy bands.
When you use “trains” as the example, you’re sending the implicit message that special interests have to be obscure and out of the social norm, and that’s just not the case for most people - especially now that a lot of geek culture has gone mainstream and there’s a huge nostalgia cash-in.
Having a special interest in Power Rangers was weird for me when I was 14. It’s not now that it’s a big blockbuster movie and most people exposed to the internet review-sphere are at least aware of Linkara’s History of Power Rangers.
Special interests don’t have to be outside the social norm to be special interests. It’s how the autistic person feels about them and engages with them that defines it.
-A woman’s total came out to $6.32. She handed me $5.07 and waited patiently for her change. I let her know that there was $1.25 left, to which she let me know that this was the correct amount for her to receive back. Upon getting my point across, she handed me $1.00 more. Hesitantly, I pointed out the discrepancy, at which point she took the balance out of my hand and passed me a crisp ten.
-A bouncing baby with, what I suspected to be, a full diaper, showed me his talent of fitting his entire fist inside his mouth. Already, he has accomplished more in life than I could ever dream of achieving.
-When asked how she was today, a woman replied with only silence and a single thumb raised to the sky. This fleeting moment spoke volumes more than any mere words could.
-In one of the most tragic moments I have yet to witness, a jar of salsa slid out of a man’s cart and shattered into thousands of spicy shards, spraying all over his sandal-clad feet. This was not a tragedy for his loss of mild picante pleasure, nor did the sadness lie in the hot mess left for me to clean. The deeply troubling nature of the situation stemmed entirely from the squelches that accompanied each of his steps after.
-A man asked me not to bag any of his items, as he had, instead, brought along with him a large bucket.
-A five year-old girl approached my register, got up on her toes to rest her arm along the bar, and, holding up five of her little fingers, ordered as many stickers, to go. With a flick of my wrist and a wink of my eye, I served up this order, receiving only a blank expression in return. True artistes are never appreciated in their time, but I will never give up the Craft of Flair.
-I handed a child a sticker. His mother prompted him to thank me. When he did not, his mother revoked his sticker privilege and insisted that he say his thanks. Instead, he turned to me, looked directly into my eyes, and said, “Voodoo.” I deeply wish she had just let him keep the sticker. Another curse is the last thing I need right now.
-I saw a man in his eighties walk into the airlock at the store’s entrance, perch himself upon a motorized cart, and drift swiftly to sleep. I want this man to take me under his wing and teach me, as I could never achieve such sound slumber so speedily in such a trafficked place, but I know that I can never ask him as much. That would involve waking him up, and that simply will not do.
-I watched a young boy walk up to my lane, brandishing a pixelated sword from Minecraft and a Peter Quill mask from Guardians of the Galaxy. He asked me if I could ring up his aforementioned “Star Wars toys”, and after a brief pause, if I had heard of that new movie about the galaxy guards. When I told him that I had, he informed me that he was, in fact, the guy from that. Naturally, I was starstruck and asked him for more details. This rare celeb sighting was sadly cut short, as Star-Lord’s dad leaned over my counter, stole my hand sanitizer, and demanded to know what exactly was with these credit card chips he kept hearing about everywhere.
-A newborn child, scarcely two months-old, rolled through my lane and, in the moments that followed, changed my life. I smiled. She giggled. I waved my hand. She waved her foot. I stuck my tongue out. She waved both her feet. This is now, and will forever be, our secret handshake.
Percy is the kind of guy to smile at a baby and they will always smile back and giggle.
Annabeth is the kind of girl who stares at babies thoughtfully, imagining a future with Percy and children of their own where they are safe and happy.
Grover is the kind of satyr to see a wailing baby and an exhausted mother in the park and play a sweet melody on his reed pipes to calm the baby and relax the mother.
Piper is the kind of girl to offer to help change the diaper of the baby of a confused first-time mother.
Jason is the kind of guy to see a baby drooling on a teething toy and have a war flashback about staplers.
Hazel is the kind of girl to coo at babies and let them hold her finger and play with their wittle feetsies.
Frank is the kind of guy to see a baby staring at him and smile shyly and wave, mouthing “hi” at them.
Leo is the kind of guy to make faces at a baby til they laugh or leave.
Nico is the kind of guy to be annoyed if a baby is crying loudly in public, but stare longingly and wistfully at a happy family with doting parents playing together. But then he feels the stare of Will on the back of his head and quickly turns his head away, blushing.
Will is the kind of guy to offer to help a stressed mother with a crying child and hold and calm them while the mother relaxes for a few moments.
Magnus is the kind of guy to be stuck on a subway with a crying baby and try to awkwardly avoid eye contact with the mother as she tries to calm them down.
Alex is the kind of person to catch a baby staring at her and stare them down (not to intimidate, mostly out of stubbornness).
Description: You, an American patriot from a loyalist family, catch the eye of the Marquis De Lafayette one night at a tavern. After your first night with the enigmatic frenchman, you realize how turbulent life can really get in a time as turbulent as this.
Warnings For This Chapter: Smut, alcohol, mild swearing, and mild Lams, where I could slip it in ;)
Notes: So, there will be five parts to this story. It will, if we’re being honest here, be updated probably once or twice a week until it is finished. This story is a mix of Hamilton’s characters and actual historical stuff, and there will also be lots of appearances from the rev set in this fic, so brrrah, brrrah!! Enjoy.
It’s a beautiful night
in the colony of New York, the moon full and the usual chill in the air slightly
warmed. Besides it being a lovely night, it was also quite rowdy- but during
these turbulent times, you couldn’t expect less from the Northern colonies.
You pull your cloak tighter around your shoulders… it’s
really not a night to be out for a lady, but you couldn’t care less. Your
family still clings to the proverbial olive branch, one of the less popular
voices of loyalist reconciliation. You’re a patriot, through and through, and
any chance you have to escape your frankly shameful homestead under an
anonymous family name at night to “cavort” with those who share your
views on freedom, you take.
Slipping down a dark alley with the hood of your cloak pulled
up, you find your way into the even rowdier Fraunces Tavern. Looking around,
you smile. Men clinking their sloshing drinks together, shouts and jeers at the
king tossed around liberally- this was the beginning of a revolution, and you’d
be damned if you missed it.
“You lookin’ for a good time, honey?” some guy with
a heavy Boston accent asks you from the table next to the door, and you turn to
“I’m looking for a drink, and whatever good time I can
derive from that.” The guy still stares at you, waiting for a follow up, so
you decide to win even more favour by voicing your views. “Fuck the
The entire table bursts out in cheers and pounds their fists
and mugs down repeatedly as you smirk and saunter past them. You get to the
bar, and ask for a Sam Adams, before turning around and surveying. To answer the
drunk man’s question, you aren’t actively seeking that sort of good time, really… but, nights like these were full of
“Here you are, miss,” the friendly bartender nods
to you, then pauses, “I’ve seen you in here a couple times now, and I
don’t recall your name.” He looks genuinely confused. “Who’s your
“I’ll let you know once I find one,” you wink, and
cross the tavern to occupy a booth. Just as you’re lifting up your skirts to sit,
the door crashes open, and in come four very loud young men.
“What time is it?!” one yells, and the other three
yell back, “Showtime!” while
cackling and slapping each other on the back.
You roll your eyes again, imagining all the fights they were
sure to start tonight. The bartender seems to know them, and pours four ales
for them as well. Snatching up his drink, the short one with the ponytail and
goatee marches right up to the table in the middle, getting up on it and
chugging half his mug.
“To the revolution!” he finally bursts out with,
and almost trips off the table. The large one with the beanie catches him,
shaking his head with a grin, and the second shortest one with curly hair and
freckles joins the talker with a close arm around his shoulder.
“Now this is
the place to be, amiright boys?!” freckles shouts, taking a long drink.
“Oui oui, mon ami,” another voice chuckles, and
your interest is immediately peaked. A frenchman in the colonies? The
excitement of these taverns is incomparable, and it is exciting to say the
least to hear someone from so far away- you know a little of the language, or
what you had learned as a girl.
You watch in quiet admiration as a tall, athletically built
man with dark hair tied up in a bun and a close trimmed beard steps out,
carrying two mugs of ale. He hands one to beanie man, and plops his own down on
the table. “We must tell the king casse
toi with our war effort!”
“What?” freckles and goatee both say at the same
“Corsets,” beanie laughs, rubbing the back of his
neck, “I meant corsets.”
“Hercules, you are an idiot,” Laf deadpans.
“I’m the most mature one here,” Hercules shoots
“Easy, when tes amis are Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens.”
Hercules lets out a booming laugh, and is soon joined by
Laf’s own charming snicker. Alex and John are too enamoured with their own
private conversation to notice much.
Your eyes train on Laf. If he was french, he must have a
longer name than that… you’re determined to know it. He was undeniably a
charmer- he was handsome, dashing as a prince, and very stylish. With the words
he had uttered earlier, you found it safe to assume he’s as passionate about
American independence as you are.
You make an excuse to walk by.
there,” goatee (Alexander)? calls, swivelling his head to look at you.
Hercules lets out a low whistle as you turn to face them.
“I don’t mean to be too forward, but madamn.”
"What the ever loving merde is that supposed to mean, Hercules?” Laf’s face
scrunches up, and Herc just shrugs.
“Works on most of ‘em.”
“I’m Alexander Hamilton, bastard, orphan, son of a
whore,” Alex jumps up, grasping your hands, and you can see the gears in
his slightly drunk mind turning. “So I’d love to flirt for like, a really
long time because you’re pretty and everything, but there’s a revolution to
“-And drink to!” John adds.
“-And drink to, as my beautiful lover Jackie just piped
in and waaait, I’m probably not
supposed to say shit like that in a tavern full of guys who will probably have
me castrated for it, but hey, we die like men, right?”
“Yo, um, sorry 'bout him,” John blushes with a
slight slur, coming over to guide Alex back to his seat. “He gets- *hic*- chatty when he’s tipsy.” You
just laugh, letting them know it’s no big deal. John doesn’t seem very
interested in you romantically or
sexually, only greets with a good natured- albeit tipsy as well- smile. Hercules
gets up to introduce himself.
“Hercules Mulligan. I’m Irish.” He drops his voice
down to a whisper. “That’s kind of my thing.”
Laf gets up to hip bump Hercules out of the way, take your hand, and press a
kiss to it. You blush deeply.
“Bon soir, belle mademoiselle. I am Paul Yves
go,” Alex slurs.
“-Gilbert de Motier de Marquis de Lafayette,” Laf
finishes with a glare to his friends, then turns back to you with a gaze that
could only be described as… lust ridden?
“Plaisir,” you reply in french, and his eyes widen,
his entire body straightening like an arrow in excitement.
“You speak my mother tongue, cherie?!”
“Only a little,” you confess with a timid giggle,
“I’m not French, monsieur Lafayette, only acquired some words from my
intelligent,” he flirts, “A lady after my heart.”
“Handsome and bold,” you volley back, “A man
“OHHHH SHIT!” John shouts, and Alex begins to
“GUESS WHO’S GETTING IT IN TONIGHT?!”
“Not you two,” Laf growls, and John and Alex tumble
over each other watching you both. Hercules just rolls his eyes, and downs his
“Care to drink with us?” Lafayette offers,
outstretching his hand, and you happily accept. Hercules gets up to grab you
another beer, and slides it over to you. John begins to chug his second, and
you smirk, taking it as a challenge. Downing yours to the last drop, you’ve
finally earned the respect of Hercules Mulligan as he bangs on the table and shakes
“You are getting better and better as the night goes
on,” Laf whispers, and you laugh.
“Is that the alcohol talking?”
“On the contrary, cherie, I am still on my first…
though I may be thinking with something other than my mind,” he alludes,
and you feel a shiver run through you.
He is very
“What brings you to the colonies?” you ask
Lafayette conversationally, and he takes a sip of his ale.
“You’re here for congressional duties?” you feign
ignorance, though you know how to identify a congressman- powdered wigs,
brightly coloured jackets, and stuffy mannerisms. Nothing Laf possessed.
“Ah no, mademoiselle. War is imminent- that is the talk
here and overseas. I will fight as one of you for your glorious country!”
“Ayyy, to our fighting frenchman!” Alex lifts his
mug, and John raises his as well.
“Very brave,” you murmur, “I wish I could serve
in the continental army.”
“You can still do your part at home,” Laf assures,
taking your hands excitedly, “You can make gunpowder, you can sew
uniforms, you can…” he suddenly hesitates, lowering his eyes, “Pray
for and write letters to your husband.”
“Why does everyone in this tavern assume I have a
husband?” you tease, and he looks back up.
“Forgive me. No one has, eh… courted you yet?”
“Courted me? Oh, quite a few. I have yet to
accept,” you giggle, “I suppose I’m just as hard to please as the next
“I, too, have very specific tastes,” he nods, and
bites his lip, “Mais, it would be very nice to have a woman to boost my
morale on the battlefield.”
“Wait… hey, what’s your name?” John laughs,
“We didn’t even ask!”
“Oh,” you blush, eye contact with Lafayette broken,
“Um…” You sigh. It shouldn’t be any trouble to give them your real
name. “(y/n) (y/l/n).”
Everyone repeats your name, raises a glass, and drinks.
Lafayette smirks at you a moment longer, then drinks as well.
As the night wears on, you start to become even closer with the
group. Stories are passed around, drinking games are played, and talk that
would’ve sounded like treason in many other colonies flowed freely from your
mouth with the boys. As the night begins to dwindle with the candles burning
down close by, hands begin to wander, skirts began to lift a few inches, and
blood begins to rise.
“Raise one last glass to freedom,” John finally
says, somewhat soberly, as everyone stands up, “Something they can never
“No matter what they tell you,” Herc adds, placing
a hand over his heart.
“Raise a glass to the… five of us, here tonight,”
Alex nods, looking to you, “Our cause is a great one.”
“King George will never stand a chance,” you finish,
and everyone downs their last sip and sits back down. With that, Laf takes your
hand, rubbing a thumb over your knuckle. You turn to him, and take note of how
he’s staring at your lips. Danger and adrenaline course through your veins,
imagining just what he could be picturing right now. Practically in his lap by
now, you shift your hips a little, and he sucks in a sharp breath.
“It is getting late, ma cherie,” he murmurs,
obviously holding back, and begins to stand.
“It is,” you nod, moving to brush your fingers
along the hem of his blue coat, and grasp your fingers firmly in his lapel. His
eyes dart to meet yours, dark and warning, and his fingers find yours as he
lets out a wistful sigh.
“(y/n)… I am a gentleman, and you have had too much to
“I assure you,” you grin, turning the tables and
ghosting a kiss over his knuckles, “I have not.”
He spends a long time staring at you, debating mentally. You
can feel him hardening in his breeches under you, but despite his uncomfortable
expression and beading sweat, he doesn’t make even the slightest nudge to meet
your grinding movements.
“Are you quite certain?” he finally asks, interest
beginning to spark again in his eyes as he realizes that maybe you do want him like this.
“All I want is to feel your lips on my neck,” you confirm
with a whisper in his ear, and he slots his large hand around your wrist,
standing you up. The three others don’t even question it as Laf leads you out
the back door, and the once the heavy wooden door closes, you’re both free. He
immediately presses the front of you right up against the brick, pulling your
hair aside and grazing his teeth over the back of your neck.
“Then, if there are no reservations on either of our
parts, I will give you everything you need,” he growls, and continues his
attack on your neck, showering kisses up and down. You flip around so that you
can face him, and he pins you back again, opening up the neck of your dress
just a little more for better access.
Lafayette’s gaze is hungry. Your excitement is known to him
as he reaches under your dress, unbuttons your underclothes and realizes you’re
already wet for him.
“So eager,” he groans, “Such an eager little
kitten, desperate for her papa, hm?”
“Oh,” you sigh, his words sending pulses down to
your core. He pulls your underclothes off, but as his long fingers are about to
breach you, he pauses.
“You… have been touched or taken before, yes?”
You bite your lip, look around, and nod shyly. If word of
that got out around here, you’d be off the market, as it were…. not that you particularly
desired to on the market, but that
was a different matter entirely. His face blossoms into a grin, and he lifts
your legs up to wrap around him.
“Hold onto me, cherie, do not let go,” he murmurs,
and once your arms are secure around his neck as well, he uses one hand to
unbutton his breeches. You can already see the outline of his large cock, and
once he has everything undone, he pulls it out.
“Monsieur, you’re so big,” you whine, and he gazes
at you, licking his lips.
“We can make it fit, ma cherie,” he whispers,
“Spread your legs a little wider for me… that is it, kitten… like
You keen under the pet name, and he positions himself at your
entrance before finally pushing in, groaning together with you as you tighten
“Oui, oui, yes…” he breathes, “That is good…
so good for me…” He sucks his lip between his teeth, and after a few
seconds, begins to move, nudging you back against the wall with each deep
thrust. He’s very large, so he has no trouble hitting that spot that drives you
crazy, but he makes it even better when his fingers find your clit; Laf has a
different approach than most men do, though- the select few you’d been with (if
they make the effort to find it at all) rub with harsh, rough pushes…
Lafayette massages you in slow circles, making you moan for him.
Leaning forward, the intensity between you increases as your
foreheads meet, lips drifting close to each other and parting, almost kissing
but not for minutes at a time. The teasing was getting to him, and he finally
surges forward, breathing in your breath. You give his bottom lip a feisty
bite, and he smiles, drawing away.
“You are a true northern belle, mademoiselle (y/n),” he
mumbles, panting, “You are not like other ladies.”
“Oh, on the contrary sir,” you reply, “I simply don’t bother
with the false customs. I say, fuck tradition, and fuck anybody who wishes to
advise me otherwise.”
“There is a revolution on because of Americans who share your
general mindset, ma chou,” he grins, and kisses you again.
As you both begin to race toward your climax, his thrusts
increase, and you’re soon being pounded into the wall, legs tight around his
ass and cries being muffled in his blue coat.
“Please… ah, Laf….”
“(y/n), so perfect, j’aime votre parfum…”
As he whispers your name, you hear voices, and turn to see
two men walking by the alley on the road, in hats and coats. They sound
“What if th…th-” you gasp, and Laf strokes your
“They will not see us, it is too dark. Besides, why
would anybody pay attention to a stray kitten, begging in an alley, like you?”
“Ah,” you throb again at his dark laugh, and he
“Also, the alleyway behind a tavern is where all the
drunkards stumble out to vomit. No respectable man or woman wants to see that.”
“What an arousing image,” you scowl, and lean in
for another kiss.
“You are so beautiful,” he mumbles against your
lips once you part, and licks a line up your neck to just below your ear; you’re
losing yourself to the pleasure. “Do you think you can come for me, ma
(y/n)?” Laf rasps in your ear, stroking over your clit fondly, and you nod
with a little whine, crying out his name softly as he slams in particularly
hard. Circling his hips to guide you through a long orgasm, he lets out a
little gasp of his own after you’ve finished. As you shake and pant his name,
he sets you down carefully before quickly pulling out and taking himself in
hand, jerking frantically a couple times and coming like a shot against the
brick wall. Your name falls from his lips a few times like a prayer, and soon,
you’re both sated and exchanging lazy tongue kisses, tasting each other’s
mouths in the night air.
It’s chillier than it was earlier. You should get home before
your one of your sisters or father notices you’re gone.
“When do you leave to join the ranks?” you ask,
staring into his eyes. He does up his buttons precisely, patiently and one at a
“Very soon, I assume, cherie.”
“How very childish of me, but… what you said, about
having someone to look out for you…”
“Will you…” you look down, embarrassed, and take
off a ring on your pinky finger. “Remember me over a couple beers with
His eyes light up, and he presses a long kiss to your cheek.
“When I wake up and when I fall asleep, (y/n).”
You smile a little. “Thank you for your service.”
He kisses your hand one last time. “If it takes fighting
a war and, eh…” he leans in to your ear, brushing your hair back, “getting
better acquainted behind a tavern to
meet, it will, most certainly, have been worth it, ma chou,” he smiles
You dance and sigh your way home, ignorant of every redcoat
who gives you a second dirty look. With men like the Marquis de Lafayette and
his friends leading the troops, those bastards’ll be back home where they
belong in no time.
Jesús Barrero, remarkable Latin american voice actor dies at 58.
This is a very sad day for me and for every Spanish speaking anime fan. The legendary Mexican voice actor Jesús Barrero has lost his battle against cancer. He was one of the most beloved and respected Latin american voice actors and he voiced some memorable characters from anime, TV and movies, including:
Koji Kabuto in Mazinger Z
Jan Kugo (Galáctico) in SF Saiyuki Starzinger
Pegasus Seiya in Saint Seiya
Yamcha in Dragon Ball series
Rick Hunter in Robotech
Nube in Hell Teacher Nube
Taro Misaki (Tom Misaki) in Captain Tsubasa
Jason the Red Ranger in Mighty Morphin Power Rangers