EDWIIO

Supporting evidence from the series:

Incredible memory for Special Interests- he knows Die Hard by heart!

Jake stims! He even has a hoberman sphere on his desk!

His intense energy and his hyperfixations also fit ADHD!

In series 5, Jake and Holt discuss fidget spinners. I rest my case.

Jake’s difficulties with ‘adulting’ throughout B99 is a ND mood. 

So is “Did you tell them I feel so bad I have a tummy ache?”

Jake’s difficulties with emotions is also another ND mood.  

We see Jake typically being attracted to non-convention, and finding it exciting.  

Jake’s unconventional intensity and passion affects his job, and his love of his friends, (as well as his love of Die Hard).

His mind is quick and amazing! It centres around unconventional thinking.

Jake’s excitability and behaviour is often compared to that of a child, which is peak Autistic/ADHD stereotyping, so I’m using it for good. 

He hyperfocuses in all his cases! It’s usually how he solves them too!

Jake ‘infodump’ Peralta works Die Hard into nearly every conversation.

Head-canons:

Not only is Jake autistic, but honestly, everyone on B99 is neurodiverse.

Amy? Autistic. Holt? Autistic. Rosa? Autistic. Then there’s general anxiety, ADHD, and all number of other conditions often alluded to in-show. I see parts of my autism in every single one of them. It keeps me sane. 

Jake would be very comforted by a diagnosis, if he got one, I feel like we would see a lot of relief. A lot of his so called ‘flaws’ match the traits of Autism and ADHD, and it could help him develop positively. 

Can you imagine an NYPD campaign about an autistic detective? I can! Now picture Jake as its poster-person! Our traits can have a lot to offer jobs where analysis, puzzles, and nonlinear thought, is needed.

Jake’s outfits are nearly all identical. I think it’s all part of an autistic routine. We see Jake as disorganised in the plot a lot, so unless it’s backed by something else, this routine would be out of character. 

I know Jake being ‘immature’ is a staple of his character, but I love the idea that it’s more complex than immaturity. It’s ND adulting.

Jake and Amy would be an autistic powerhouse. Their issues would balance out- and that’s why I shipped them from the very start. Amy’s extreme organisation balances out with Jake’s disorganisation, they are a great team for so many other reasons, that’s just one example.

We see Jake fighting for justice in so many ways, B99 has tackled homophobia, biphobia, misogny, and I for one know the Nine Nine would not stand for ableism, give me an anti-ableism episode NBC! PLEASE!

TL;DR Jake Peralta is bi, autistic and has ADHD, I will fight y’all on this.

I’m well aware a lot of this is projecting. Don’t @ me.

But then Uther sent Leon on a mission, he insisted you travel to the court of an allied kingdom under the guise of training with them and learning different styles of fighting while kind of acting as a spy. It was a long mission, and when you finally make it back to Camelot after a year away you head towards the throne room where you'd expect Arthur and Uther would wait for you. But as soon as you open the door a serving boy stumbles directly into you.

"Oh sorry." He mumbled with the sweetest smile. But you had no time to react because footsteps came up behind you.

"Merlin where were you?" Arthur grumbled at the boy over Leon's shoulder.

"I was here, George told me to come to the throne room but when I got here I was confused because your giant ego was not yet taking up all the space and I couldn't even believe how huge this room is without your abnormally large head in it so you have to forgive me for taking a moment to take it all in before I wanted to look for you. Have you had problems with getting dressed again? I'll write to my mother so she'll sent the rhyme that helped me to remember how to tie shoes when I was a child. No worries I'm sure you'll manage it eventually."

look at this mini animation i made for the S&Co Birthday MAP hosted by @goofywhovian !!

When someone in the context of CA:CW says that Steve Rogers was Tony's best friend and these people exist:

There’s a package on Arthur’s table. It looks harmless enough, just a simple bundle of cloth tied with a length of string. It sits unassumingly next to his breakfast tray, waiting for him when he begrudgingly rises from his bed to Merlin’s incessant nattering about wasting the day away.

‘What’s this?’ He prods at the bundle, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Merlin glances over his shoulder from where he’s crouched by the hearth, poking determinedly at the embers in an attempt to chase away the morning chill.

‘Oh, that’s for you. A Yule gift.’

Arthur’s brow furrows quizzically, feeling as though it’s unfair to confuse him so early in the day when he’s not yet shaken the sleep from his mind. 

‘But… you already gave me a Yule gift.’ A rather lovely gift, actually, of a carefully written manuscript detailing several of ‘The Brave and Only Mildly Idiotic Adventures of the Courageous and Not-At-All-Pratlike Prince Arthur and His Very Dedicated Manservant.’ It’s decorated with some truly ridiculous doodles of snake shields and poisoned goblets and the like, and it’s currently tucked away in Arthur’s nightstand along with all his other most prized possessions– not that Arthur would ever tell Merlin as much. He already got his ‘very dedicated manservant’ a pair of thick, fur-lined gloves of the finest quality (because he tired of Merlin’s constant complaining about numb fingers after a hunt, not because looking at the man’s chapped and cold-reddened hands made him inexplicably upset, and certainly not just to see the wide smile of surprised gratitude spread across his face as he unwrapped them) and he doesn’t intend to give the idiot a big head on top of it.

Finally stirring the fire back to a crackling blaze, Merlin rises and brushes the ash from his hands on his thighs. 

‘It’s not from me, obviously,’ he says with a typically insolent eye-roll. ‘It’s from Mum.’

‘From… Why on earth would your mother have sent me a present for Yule?’

‘Arthur,’ and Merlin is truly the only one who can get away with speaking to his prince like he’s a simpleton and one day maybe Arthur will figure out why, ‘you rode out against your father’s orders to save the life of her only child, then rode out, again against your father’s orders, to save her entire village. Not to mention providing her son with a job and a home for more than a year now. As far as she’s concerned, you’re family.’

He says it so easily, even gives a little shrug at the end, like it’s just another fact of life instead of a statement that brings Arthur’s entire higher cognitive function to a stuttering halt.

It shouldn’t be such a startling notion, family. He’s familiar with the concept, obviously. His father is family (albeit often cold), and Morgana as well (albeit often scathing); he has enough history with and regard for Gaius that he could conceivably consider the physician an uncle-like figure; he’s always held Sir Leon in a brotherly sort of light, having come up as a knight under his supervision.

But all of these people have known him since childhood, have formed bonds with him through prolonged history and proximity, if not blood or obligation. The idea that someone could, and would… choose him as family… Not to mention that it’s Hunith. A woman whose warmth and strength had triggered a flood of childish wonderings about if Arthur’s own late mother would have been as kind, as protective, as unabashedly affectionate, had she lived.

There’s a growing lump in the prince’s throat that he refuses to indulge. He stares down at the innocuous little parcel on the table, idly brushing it with a fingertip before tugging at the string and letting it unravel.

Unfolding the fabric reveals it to be a blanket– soft, but simple, a deep, warm shade of maroon unadorned but for the carefully embroidered gold of a small Pendragon crest in one corner. It’s not the finest material, nor the warmest, and he supposes the gold thread would have cost too much for any further embellishments. 

He immediately likes it more than his entire set of rich bedding.

The lump has grown, and he’s hyper aware of the weight of Merlin’s gaze on him, so he clears his throat and blinks fast before darting his eyes up. His servant is looking at him softly, knowingly, but says nothing. Arthur is unspeakably grateful.

The blanket is spread by Arthur himself atop the bedspread. It’s not nearly large enough to cover the surface area, and yet, in Arthur’s opinion, it’s perfect.

The next day, Arthur sends a messenger with a delivery of goods to Ealdor– sacks of flour, dried meats and cheeses, preserves in sturdy glass jars that will last through the winter. 

A few days after that, it’s dresses and furs– picked out by Gwen, of course, so that they’re both pretty and practical.

A new set of cookware follows– polished to a shine and wrapped by Arthur himself.

More than a week later, Merlin bursts into his chambers looking altogether exasperated, in a fond sort of way that makes Arthur's stomach do something funny.

‘Arthur, enough is enough!’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ The prince keeps his focus quite purposefully on the knights’ latest patrol report, but he swears he can actually hear the eye-roll he receives.

‘You have to stop it, you cabbage head! She doesn’t have room for all this stuff; you’ve seen the size of our cottage!’

With a sigh, Arthur drops the parchment on his desk and rises. ‘Very well,’ he concedes, noting Merlin’s answering sigh of relief as he passes him on his way to the open door. ‘I’ll have to build her a bigger cottage, then.’

The sound of Merlin tripping behind him makes him grin, but he does slow down enough for his bumbling friend to catch up.

‘You– you can’t just– just do that! Just build her a bigger cottage. It’s not even in your kingdom!’

‘Don’t be silly Merlin, of course I can. She’s family, isn’t she?’