Chapter Text
PREFACE
Greetings, my excellent friend. Welcome to Nicktoons Unite.
If you're just now clicking on this story, be informed that this is a sequel and crossover to several stories I've written: Hey Arnold! The Football Head Returns, Danny Phantom: End of Days, Rocket Power: Zero Gravity, ChalkZone: Quest for the Golden Chalk, The Loud House: Ace of Spades, and Hey Arnold! The Maximum Curly Saga.
If you haven't read any of those yet, please go read those now before you carry on, or else you're not gonna know what's going on.
Also be noted that while this story does bear the name Nicktoons Unite, it is not related to the video game of the same name, which I have not played. My story is an entirely original work with my own roster of Nicktoons, and is a similar premise in name only.
If you've been following the stories up to this point on Fanfiction-dot-net, you might have read different drafts of those stories before they underwent rewrites. Over the years, I've gained a lot of experience with writing, and changed them from their old versions to entirely new stories.
Danny Phantom: End of Days was once a 100,000 word-count story that was very amateurish, but now stands at over 360,000 words and is a totally different and better story.
Hey Arnold! The Football Head Returns, Rocket Power: Zero Gravity, and The Loud House: Ace of Spades have half-rewrites, but feature different scenes that were not present in the older drafts, and feature elements that will be built on later.
ChalkZone: Quest for the Golden Chalk and Hey Arnold! The Maximum Curly Saga are mostly the same, but have minor changes that do help improve them.
But now comes the big crossover where it all comes together. Before we get started, however, I want to give you a little more information on why I made this series. I hadn't used this website or written anything until 7 years ago, and I've been working very hard to get to this point.
I've been doing continuations of all the original shows, trying to retool them so they can cross over together, while at the same time trying to preserve their original tones and lore, making them not unlike origin stories for any other superheroes. But there's one more origin story I have to tell you that fully contextualizes the series:
Mine.
This is the secret origin of DevilBoy216.
CHAPTER 1: I AM BORN
In the year 1997, I was born.
I was an only child; I had no brothers or sisters to speak of.
I was also an undiagnosed Autistic child. My sensory imbalances include a diminished sense of touch and hearing, with heightened eyesight, save for the need for glasses or contact lens, which I did not receive until much later, and then replaced with laser treatment.
Where my mother is quite emotional, my father is almost completely lacking in most social graces, often hiding his rigidness behind a friendly smile.
My mother and father were barely special people in any way, shape or form.
My mother was the third child of a family consisting of a traumatized Vietnam veteran and his saintly wife, with twins for siblings; a brother who shared similar interests, and a hellion of sister with a bratty attitude. She spoke of me as some sort of solution to her life, saying it 'sucked' without me in it, as if I am the only thing that gave her life any value whatsoever.
My father was the second and less favored child of his family; his elder brother was given damn near everything by his mother, while he personally received little, and was abused by both his drunken, womanizing father, and spoiled brother, with little to his name and less in the way of close relatives of friends. Yet still, he speaks to them and visits them semi-regularly, and his mother alleges to not remember any of the events she put him through, and acts as if they did not exist, cucking himself to his own tormentors.
I was a loser born to losers.
CHAPTER 2: I AM RAISED
Both held right-wing Christian beliefs, and their beliefs led them to raise me homeschooled through a Christian homeschooling group. As a result, I was deprived of several fundamental facts and information that many of you probably know and take for granted, such as a basic understanding of science, history, and politics. In their place, I was fed propaganda that declared evolution as a hoax, and that the Bible as literally true.
They were not qualified to teach in any fields of study that they 'educated' me in, and were certainly not taught on how to educate an Autistic child. Like any child in my position, I had a very limited understanding of the world, and often got angry when I did not get my way, and was sometimes slow to understand or think. The latter case I was often mocked for, which they would draw attention to and point out for my slow pace, making me feel stupid and unintelligent.
On top of this, my parents also held very strange beliefs, many of which range from dispicable to outright outlandish.
My mother has often made comments stating...
That science is not real...
That she claims to hear voices in her head...
That former human species such as Homo Erectus and Neanderthals could have 'just been deformed people'...
Thinks Hillary Clinton is a lesbian, and that she and perhaps all Democrats are communists and/or socialists and/or progressives (I despite Hillary Clinton and any corrupt Democrats, but they are nowhere near communist or even socialist. There are some progressives who are not corrupt, but she does share this view)...
Asked me if I joined ISIS after I argued for a medicare-for-all style healthcare system for the country...
Does not believe that circumcision is genital mutilation, but believes that foreskin restoration is...
...and has often believed that if I were to attend a public school, I would have become a gang member of some sort, or been prescribed pills that she did not want me taking.
My father has beliefs almost more outlandish, but some downright despicable, such as...
Arguing that racial profiling works...
That Adolf Hitler was 'just trying to make society better' if he succeeded (He is also Pakistani in descent and clearly not white, so he would be among those killed to 'make society better')...
That former president Barack Obama was born in Kenya, and claims to have seen a video of said president's photograph opened in photoshop and had layers removed to reveal that it was doctored (this is nonsense; an image file like JPG or PNG does not retain photoshop layers, only PSD files can do this. He is also a former computer technician and should know this)...
...and that the moon landing was faked, consuming various conspiracy videos on the subject.
Do these sound like people who you believe should be educating a child, much less some of the few people is in constant contact with?
If you answered 'no', you would be correct; alas, I was forced to live in this situation for most of my life, being taught every school subject by them, and having very little friends, only interacting with these two most of the time, and having no means of being on my own away from them; no place where I can be myself and be isolated from them.
As such, I was not given a complete view of the world, and force-fed a very biased and warped version of it. I would often be susceptible to misinformation, and slowly but surely swayed to several right-wing beliefs that had no basis in reality.
From here, I have only bits and pieces of information that I can still recall. There are some memories that have slipped my mind entirely, some from my parents themselves (no matter how unreliable of sources they may be) and some that I've intentionally tried to forget, and I'd rather not remember at all. Nonetheless, what I do remember, I remember very well, and can't forget even if I tried, which I have.
I was a rambunctious child growing up; as an undiagnosed Autistic child, I behaved in ways that many would consider strange, and had a penchant for doing things my way.
Like many children, when not interested in something, I was more likely than not to pay little attention to it, straying into my own imagination. For my parents, attempting to homeschool me, this would earn me many punishments and attempts to force my attention on something.
This would mostly come in the form of medication. They were not trustful of pharmaceuticals (an instinct which, for all their flaws, I must give them credit for), but in lieu of a proper medication was being forced to take fish oil capsules and B-vitamins every day. These pills would always make my stomach hurt, and I never wanted to take them, especially because I didn't like the idea of someone forcing me to change myself through substances in order to appeal to them.
But that is what they made me do nonetheless, and I hated it so much. For their rhetoric of opposing medication, they opted to medicate me by any other means besides proper medication. Additionally, my mother specifically would threaten to make me take an unspecified drug that 'made me act like a robot' if I refused, threatening me with something that would further alter my thinking and consciousness.
They are not certified doctors at all, but they would attempt to diagnose me with disorders that they tried to attribute to me, such as ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder), and always accuse me of bad behavior for not taking them. Whether or not I really required medication as a child is a question that is left to qualified doctors, but they were the last people who should have decided how to medicate me.
Adding to this mix, I was also hit with a belt for anything they viewed necessary as a punishment. My father would always seem eager to go for the belt, even making me get it to administer the punishment, but my mother would partake in using it as well. I was a child that angered easily, and, with these two attempting to control my every decision, I was indeed angered many times, and was hit for it, forcing me into a cycle of abuse I could not escape.
I was a child who had barely a full consciousness to my name, and forced to into a routine of work that I had no means of changing or protesting against, and nowhere to go. Much like the Hulk, I was an angry boy who just wanted to be left alone, but they would not, and would not stop provoking me, and subsequently 'punish' me for reacting negatively to their provocations.
A few specific ones that I remember that did not involve belts were almost being forced to pick up dog shit with my teeth, with my father pushing my head towards it in trying to make me grab it, having a bar of soap shoved in my mouth, locking me in the garage, shoving a cloth in my mouth and restraining me, recording me during an angry, childish rant as a means of humiliating me, just to name the few I can recall.
I would cry and scream about these punishments, trying to call for them to stop, and to say how much they hurt, but I would only receive callous remarks in which my mother would tell me 'I don't speak whine', or mockingly cry like a baby to dismiss my own anger.
But there are moments of retaliation I took that I enjoyed greatly, I remember managing to hit my mother in the hand once with a belt (but threw it away after, for which I'll never understand why), pulling her hair out, and choking her.
My father was the one who administered most of the physical punishments, often grabbing me and restraining me, making me feel weak and powerless. He would slap me many times, yell at me, and throw me to the ground, once jumping on me after doing so, and kicking me while down on another.
When my body grew, I had almost no exercise routine in place, and I was weak, with my arms so devoid of muscle that you could feel my bone. He would again mock me for this, calling me weak and accusing me of always dropping things, further humiliating me and making me feel powerless.
As such, there was only one time when I managed to retaliate against my father for his torment. There was an instance where he began to headbutt me relentlessly, then scraping his head against mine, and would not stop.
So, I dug my fingernails into his face and scratched it deep enough to bleed. He had healed up from it later, but I wished that it had left a permanent mark on him. He had called me a girl for making that attack, but I never let the insult get to me, because, after all, I wasn't the one who was bleeding, was I?
I wanted to kill them multiple times, but I was too weak and stupid to actually do it. My mother once put a knife in my hand and told me to kill her, but I did not do it. I once took out an airsoft pistol and hid it in the couch to shoot my father with it, thinking it would kill him, but, once again, I cowardly backed out and snuck the airsoft gun back, unaware that it would even seriously harm him.
I also attempted suicide once in front of my father, grabbing my neck and attempting to break it, but this only earned me another hit with the belt.
I was in hell.
There were times I would just yell or cry when I went to bed, wishing desperately that I could get as far away from them as possible.
CHAPTER 3: I FIND FRIENDS
Through the homeschool group my parents put me in, there was a facility where I attended one day a week, meeting with some children my age, and a few in my neighborhood that I hung out with, but these were far and few between, and I barely got to go on luxuries such as going to a friend's house, simply for lack of availability.
I also had no siblings, leaving me an only child with little in the way of friends. Those friends I did have I loved to spend time with, and tried to do so as much as I could, trying to find some escape from the house and be somewhere else, with someone else.
Once again, I received mockery from my parents over this, even accusing me of being gay for wanting to spend time with other friends.
I wish I could remember many of the times I spent with my friends, but I can't even remember their faces or their names anymore. I know I knew people back then, and I knew that I had fun with them, but I can't remember anything else. Again, this goes back to my forgetting most of my past.
A lesson I've learned about this is in regards as to why some things we can remember better than others: The pain associated with punishments and trauma force us to remember them, leaving scars on our minds. A scar lasts forever, but something soothing and good for you only lasts a short while. It's little more than a stop-gap against what makes you hurt.
But what I know for a fact is that they all consistently left. If there's one word I hate most in the English language, it's 'goodbye'. I would always lose contact with people I once knew for a long time, cycling through friends until I had none left. This is a problem that still stays with me to this day.
So what I had for friends more often than not were my toys, and movies.
My favorite toys growing up were Bionicles, and I would always try to get them all every Christmas. I also had the movies and most of the comics; from a young age, I had an interest for deep lore and epic stories. Yes, despite all the abuse I would endure from my parents, they would still grant me many toys and luxuries, but I want to address this important fact:
The few good things I got from them, I do not accept as a fair trade for the bad they gave. In fact, I view many of the goods they did to make their bads even worse.
Imagine if you were dealt a small amount of abuse every now and then. You would, of course, recognize that as bad. But if this was compounded with a reward, perhaps you wouldn't see the wrong that was done to you as 'wrong', now, would you? 'Well, gee, sure, I got hit with a belt, but I got this nice toy, so I guess that it's not all bad'.
No. Wrong is wrong. Imagine if any random person did this to a child. You would immediately recognize it as abusive. Or perhaps think of it between a pair of romantic partners. That would be abusive as well, would it not? Trying to cover up a recurring problem of violence with material items?
So why should it be any different for me? It left me confused over the abuse I took, and I perhaps never would have realized it was abuse, and been led to do that wrong to others by the way I was taught. I could have been an abusive person just like them. I would rather they were just abusive and not even have the facade of love so I would never be mistaken.
Furthermore, their personalities are completely insufferable. On top of being around them almost all of my life, their voices would never be out of my ears, burning into my mind to further annoy me in general, giving me no sense of peace.
But on top of having toys, I also enjoyed video games, movies, and cartoons, just like any other child. These were my best friends growing up. I could be at it all for hours, and be happy in my own world. As someone who needed consistent sensory stimulation, as per my Autistic needs, they were the only things keeping me sane.
However, just as I would receive punishment by the belt, they would also take my playthings away.
Kevin Smith's Dogma has a deleted scene in which the character Azrael describes Hell:
"Human, have you been to Hell? I think not. Did you know that Hell used to be just the absence of God, and if you'd ever been in his presence, you'd know that's punishment enough?"
For when I was separated from my play, it was like being taken out of the presence of god, and being deprived of love. One of the worst things they did was take my favorite teddy bear, a blue bear I named Jack, and cut him open with a pair of scissors. I was so devastated that I could do nothing but stand in total silence and shock. Though they later fixed the bear by sewing the tear, it was still one breach of safety that I never forgot.
Once, later in my life, they took everything I had for four months. The punishment was in response to a childish offense I committed against my cousin, who herself is a very unpleasant and obnoxious person, and I did not like at all. She had a Twilight standee which I poked a pair of holes in, putting them through the eyes of it.
Should I have done that? No. Should I have been punished for it? Yes. But would you consider what is practically sensory deprivation to an Autistic person for four months to be a suitable punishment over, say, simply having to pay for a new standee, which they made me do anyway?
Though my cousin had her fair share of problems, I swear that my parents were far more patient with her than they were with me, and I was easy to push around because I was their son, and there was no repercussions to suffer.
Again, I was mocked for this. My mother specifically would accuse me of 'worshipping' my playthings, especially in a religious context, for when she would try to brainwash me into Christianity.
So, I would be alone in my own head, and without any means of stimulating myself or my mind. Still it was hell.
But I would still divulge myself in, memorizing entire lines out of movies and quoting them, imagining the characters and having fictional conversations with them to myself.
Two of the biggest loves I would find here were superheroes and Nicktoons. I loved the Sam Raimi Spider-Man trilogy and what DVDs I had of the 1994 animated series, as well as a DVD called Nickstravaganza 2, which included episodes of Rocket Power, ChalkZone, and Invader Zim, which became some of my favorites. Of course, I also loved SpongeBob, and it would play all the time, but I would also wait out for my other favorite shows like those previously mentioned, and Danny Phantom.
I also saw some of the classic Nicktoons movies in theaters, such as The WIld Thornberrys Movie, andI would also often frequent Universal Studios Orlando, which had two of my favorite rides: The Adventures of Spider-Man and Jimmy Neutron's Nicktoons Blast, the latter of which is no longer operational, but you can find videos of it on YouTube.
They were well ingrained in my favorite things, but they would go to the sidelines over the years, as I began to grow and find new interests.
CHAPTER 4: I GROW UP
As I grew up, I began to take greater interest in movies, taking in action movies like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jackie Chan vehicles, and other big action movies like The Matrix. Most of these were courtesy of my father, who, for all his several flaws, was far more liberal with my media consumption than my mother.
My mother would dislike when I watch shows like Ed, Edd, and Eddy or The Simpsons, refusing me to let me watch them, and buying a box for the TV that censored any and all swear words, always trying to make me consume overly sanitized media. My father, conversely, let me watch almost anything I wanted.
I started to gain a better taste in movies and started to learn the names of directors and what other works they did, wanting to learn more. Some of my favorites would come to be men like Robert Rodriguez, Quentin Tarantino, James Cameron, and John Carpenter, to name some of the biggest influences I had.
This would eventually lead me to getting my first job, which would be at a local MovieStop (it was an offshoot of GameStop focused on DVDs and Blu-Rays that sadly went bankrupt).
There, I learned of other filmmakers I would enjoy that not many would have heard of, such as Ralph Bakshi and Ryuhei Kitamura, as well as finding classics such as Akira and Ghost in the Shell.
I was also much into video games as well, primarily wasting my time playing the Call of Duty games. But ones I especially loved were Halo and Metal Gear Solid, the second in each franchise being my favorites.
I have not much else to say in this period of my life, because, for the most part, there was nothing else to speak of. I could go on and on about what influences I gained, but that you can find on my bio in full in a full list.
My life during this period was wasted with more schoolwork for courses I cannot remember, filling the void with video games, and fulfilling jobs. It was a pathetic, meaningless existence, and I thought very little about the world around me, save for my job, which I did genuinely enjoy.
Sadly, I had that job no longer when the company closed, leaving me to find another job. My next one was with a hardware store, which was one of the worst experiences I had, for one of the worst times of my life.
CHAPTER 5: I WANT TO DIE
I had graduated through school, though I had not truly 'graduated' so much as just 'gotten it over with'. As I said, I never cared much for what classes I took, and, during the high school years, I would take a virtual school with the state, and mostly phone in the classes by copy-pasting the answers from the lesson to the questionnaires so I could get them out of my way as soon as possible. Following the long, tortuous experience I had with my parents homeschooling me, I swore never to return to any school or do any schoolwork again.
I had reached had a new job. It was nowhere near a pleasant experience.
Though some of my coworkers were alright, the customers consisted of mainly old people and vagrants, and were more often than not quite rude. The smell of the place was also very unpleasant, always reeking of metal and wood and oil.
I would often be dragged along to places I didn't want to go as a kid, and I hated hardware stores most of all. It was always the smell of the place that would always make me the angriest and most frustrated. Waking up for the job many early mornings, I would always be tired, and mostly out of my head.
Most of all, I didn't know anything about tools, nor did I want to. I was once again in hell, and perhaps an even worse one.
I tried to vent to my parents about the troubles with my job, but I would always receive scorn or indifference, telling me that every job that I would have to put up would be hard, and I would have to get used to it. They would also try to push me to find something else to do with my life relating to college, but, on top of having no interest in college or jobs related to it, I also had no interest in accumulating an unpayable debt that would come with college, making it not an option.
Around that time, I managed to connect with someone I once knew as a child, as part of the homeschooling group I was put in. Call it puppy love, but this person was someone I considered a love interest when I was young.
She moved away when I was little, and, according to my parents, I was never as upset before until that happened. Her and I were born very close together in the month and same year, and I had believed that we were somehow meant for each other. How depressing it must have been for me back then to have that illusion shattered.
Around that time, I had also smoked weed for the first time. One of my more interesting coworkers invited me to smoke with her after a Christmas party at our job, which I, a dumb, young man, took up the offer (It wasn't in the way you're thinking. She had a boyfriend and a child of her own, and was twice my age).
I had smoked it by inhaling the weed and holding my breath for as long as I could, which they said would enhance the high.
And boy, oh, boy, it did.
When I got high, I acted like I got hit with Joker gas: I couldn't stop laughing, almost as if it were involuntary, and frantically went about back and forth about her apartment. She was with another of our coworkers who joined us, and both of them started at me in amazement, saying they'd never seen anyone react like I did. The fun continued until I eventually calmed down and went to sleep, going home the next morning.
The next day, I felt much different. Typically, I was a more zany and goofy person, but, following that smoke session, I was drastically different. I was more introspective and thoughtful, beginning to articulate myself differently and think more critically. I felt like Michael Korvac absorbing the Power Cosmic from Galactus, just starting to learn the power.
This also led me to turn on my past, and think about myself more. I had forgotten most of the abuse I was put through, but my mind was opened to where I could sufficiently look back and think about it, realizing what had become of me. Realizing I was not happy.
But, being in contact with that old flame, I had falsely attributed it to her leaving, and told her this, believing that her moving out was the root of my problems.
As a result, she swore never to speak to me again and blocked me.
This had driven me mad, feeling as though I had the sole support I had ripped out from under me.
It was then when I finally contemplated suicide, and made the action to do it.
Stealing a small handgun from my parent's gun locker, I drove from Florida to New York to confront her, planning on shooting myself in front of her. I had left an angry note behind for my parents to find explaining my anger, which they found halfway through my trip and tried to call me, but I ignored them.
After 2 days of driving, I arrived, and her father was the first person to confront me; my parents had found their contact information and informed them of the situation, and they agreed to help. He requested the handgun away from me and sat me down before the family, allowing me to explain myself.
Her parents, I will say, are very nice people. They allowed me to stay for two weeks, to which I did as a cool-down period. I did some yard work for them as well, to try to pull my weight for being there. It was a good time, and I felt good to be around anyone but my parents at the time. They were genuinely caring people, and it felt good to have that.
After this period, I left not for home, but for one of the few safe havens I've ever known:
My grandmother's house.
CHAPTER 6: I FIND MYSELF
One of the places I would visit very often as a child was my grandmother's house, going often for summer vacations and Christmas. Though I had very little escapes from my parents, this was one of the few reprieves I ever had. My granparents live in Georgia, in a little house on a hill among the woods.
I had mentioned my grandfather, her father, as a traumatized Vietnam vet who went on bizarre fits (such as playing Michael Jackson's 'Man in the Mirror' at 3 in the morning for no apparent reason), but this was not the person I knew. He was a kind and loving man, taking me on all sorts of fun trips such as camping, fishing, drives around town, and getting me junk food and Coca-Cola.
My grandmother, as I said, is a saint. She is the nicest person I know, and has endless patience for everything. Her I wouldn't spend as much time with as the others, something I regret greatly, but I loved her nonetheless and enjoyed her company. I used to believe she was the tooth fairy; she had a job delivering teeth to dentists, and thus earned the nickname of 'The Tooth Fairy', which I took literally and with pride.
My uncle, my mother's brother, is a bit of a putz, but he had access to all the movies I wanted, and it was through him I discovered a lot of the classics and my favorites while at the house.
My elder cousin (who is a trans woman, but had not transitioned when I knew her) had an original Xbox and through her I discovered Halo 2 and Metal Gear Solid 2, playing them constantly as a child.
My younger cousin I used to play toys and such with, but I grew estranged from her later. She is not exactly the most pleasant of people to be around. Nonetheless, I was through her that I watched the original Rugrats movie and A Goofy Movie, as well as Mighty Morphin Power Rangers.
My uncle and elder cousin no longer live there, with the latter being estranged from the family, and my grandfather endured a stroke from his smoking habits, so the house is not as it once was. Nonetheless, I still love that house very much, and I have always felt at peace there.
So I stopped there on my way back home, spending time in a place I loved the most, the thing I needed most at the time I was in.
I had relaxed and enjoyed myself as I always did there, but, with my new introspective look, I began to grow a taste for knowledge. Taking to the internet, I had discovered channels covering various subjects like religion and politics, primarily through the creators DarkMatter2525 and Kyle Kulinski/Secular Talk, who managed to turn me to atheism and leftism, respectively.
That was when I started to gain a better understanding of the world, and just how misinformed and brainwashed I was, and how it was not the old flame I once had that caused the problems I had, but instead my parents. Shaken out of my past programming that I was fed as child, I started to grow angrier at my parents for what they did, feeling my entire basis of reality being based on a lie.
I was angry enough to destroy. The person I was wasn't real. He was a fake dream created by a pair of neglected children who were trying to fulfill their own needs.
I was a bad kid raised by bad kids.
I was a monster raised by monsters.
It was almost a lower point than I had been at before, but not sad enough to kill myself. Instead, I felt empty, without guidance or direction. The world no longer seemed to matter and I still felt no drive to do anything.
But then, while simply watching TV, that was when I found the person who would at last change my life, and make it change for the better, making me who I am today.
A kid from Hillwood named Arnold Phillip Shortman.
CHAPTER 7: I AM BORN AGAIN
Out of the Nicktoons I mentioned above, you will notice that among the favorites I mentioned, Hey Arnold was not one of them. I hadn't watched the show at all before then. I didn't even know what it was. The closest interaction I had with it was it briefly being shown in the ride Jimmy Neutron's Nicktoons Blast, but I hadn't known or recognized it then. I wish I had now so I could savor that ride all the better.
So it was by chance that I came across Hey Arnold on TV late at night. At the time, Nickelodeon was in full effect with re-airing their classic shows late at night on their 'The Splat' block, and, having grown up on many of those shows, I watched it while I was there. It had all been part of my healing, taking me back to a more comfortable spot in my life.
It had put me in such a vulnerable place where I felt at peace. I once again remembered when I would watch my favorite shows, and how warm and welcoming it felt to be with my Nicktoons. I always loved the worlds they brought me in, giving me the perspective of a child, when I was still happy. Pax Americana.
But then, after some Rugrats, a show called Hey Arnold came on. Huh? Hey Arnold? What's that? Well, it's a classic, so I guess I'll watch it.
And what a splendid decision it was.
As a child, I had always wanted to be out of the house, to be somewhere big and new, and be among other people. I always liked the setting of a big city, just like Spider-Man had been in with New York City, and wondered what it would be like to live there. It was the biggest, most different setting from my own living situation that I had, and I had yearned for something completely different from where I was now.
And, with Hey Arnold, I got a taste of it.
But I didn't realize it yet. I had bought a DVD box set at a Wal-Mart nearby, and stashed it away for a bit in favor of watching other movies.
But, when I finally got home again, after getting a new job at Target, I was with delight and joy that I found that Hey Arnold! The Jungle Movie was coming out. That was when I busted it out and started watching more. Most importantly, I began to realize why I loved it so much.
I loved the setting of Hillwood, I felt like I was really there in the bustling, busy rumblings of a city, just being a kid and living among the people, I loved the jazz soundtrack, making it all feel so warm and welcoming, while at the same time energetic and lively, making you feel alive, I loved being among the kids from P.S. 118, getting to know them, feeling like I was part of their group...
...but most especially, I loved the character of Arnold. Craig Bartlett once complained that he felt he was 'too perfect'. I could not disagree more.
He was an all-loving hero, always helping out, always willing to lend a hand, always willing to go the extra length for someone else. He was the best friend I never had growing up. I saw the good deeds he did throughout Hillwood, and how he alone was a force for good.
He was everything I wasn't.
And this is where the old, fake me had at last began to die, and the new out.
I had mentioned before how I would consume all forms of cartoons and movies, going so far as to repeat and reenact lines. This is related to my Autism (and when I say 'my Autism', I don't mean it as in 'my condition', but how I am Autistic, as no two Autistic people are alike); I can, for lack of better phrasing, absorb personality traits off of others.
Even how I learned how to read is attributable to the shows I watched; as a result of the swear box my mother put on the TV, it would replace certain words like 'ass' and replace them with 'toe', so I would repeat the phrase as "I'm gonna kick your toe!" as if that were the genuine phrase.
But when I watched Hey Arnold, what happened to me, I can only describe by comparing it to an issue of Spider-Man, which led to the Superior Spider-Man storyline.
Doctor Octopus swaps his mind with Spider-Man, allowing him to take over his body before his own dies. Before Spider-Man dies, he manages to unlock his own memories in his brain, forcing Doctor Octopus to live them out. Vicariously living Spider-Man's life, Doctor Octopus decides to give up his life of villainy, instead dedicating it to fighting crime, just as the true Spider-Man did.
That's what it felt like for me. Like I was the person helping out all the people in Hillwood, and I inherited his desire for good and good deeds. The part in The Maximum Curly Saga when Curly/The Freak says "Oh... Now I get it"? That was me. That's how I felt after I watched it.
My anger was finally subsided, and I was at last getting some semblance of peace. My parents, though they now show sympathy and care following my suicide attempt, I no longer hate, but simply pity. They are victims just as much of their environments, and I can make the active choice to not continue what they did. I can't forgive them or forget what they did, but I can understand them.
Through all this affair, I can relate most of my struggle to the DC character Orion, of Jack Kirby's New Gods, one of my personal favorite comic book characters. Orion is the son of Darkseid, who is, for all intents and purposes, the god of evil of the DC universe. He was an evil person from the start, but, out of a peace treaty, he was given over to Izaya, the Highfather.
When Orion was first given to Izaya, the young son of Darkseid tried to kill him with a knife, screaming that Izaya hated him.
Izaya responded by saying: "'Hate' is no longer a word in this place! Put down that weapon... son!"
Complying with Izaya's order, Orion asked "You!... You are... my father?"
Izaya responeded "Only if you wish me to be! I am Highfather! And you... are Orion! We have need of each other, Orion! This is a place of friends!"
He then offered his hand to Orion, saying "The hand or the weapon, Orion! I, too, had to mae that choice! Decide!"
And Orion dropped the knife, putting his trust in Izaya.
That's what it felt like when I watched his show. I wanted to disagree with him, to hate him, I wanted to stand for the opposite of what he was...
...but I couldn't. He defeated me.
To steal a line from Ben-Hur: "It was like the sword was taken out of my hand."
So, when The Jungle Movie came out, I was ready. November 24th, 2017, I had worked a long black Friday shift with only 1 hour of sleep, working all day pushing carts back inside the store, but I wasn't stopped or deterred or even tired at all. When my shift was over, I rushed back home to watch it as it aired. I hadn't cable anymore, so I had to use a free trial of some internet TV service instead.
And, as it came on and I watched it, I felt like I was part of history.
From beginning to end, I was pleased with the movie, and I was glad to see the story of Arnold Shortman come to a close, and a satisfying one to see him both have his parents back, and with Helga... eventually. It was wonderful. And so that was the end of Hey Arnold, and I was along for the ride, and happy to have been apart of it...
...but I wasn't done with it yet.
CHAPTER 8: THE MISSION BEGINS
After I had finished the entirety of Hey Arnold, I had also began rewatching the original Batman movies by Tim Burton, and The Dark Knight Trilogy by Christopher Nolan. At the time, I was beginning to become deeply vested in comic books, something I was not previously into despite my interest in superheroes.
I had read only a handful at the time, but most notable were some of Chris Claremont's X-Men, particularly The Dark Phoenix Saga and Days of Future Past, but also, my personal favorite comic book of all time, Frank Miller's The Dark Knight Returns.
Though Hey Arnold was finished, and I thought of it as such in my mind, it was not so as I thought.
For some reason, an idea began to bounce around in my head. There was a brief moment in The Jungle Movie which Helga showed a parody of the Bat-Signal shaped like Arnold's head. So, what if Arnold Shortman was a superhero?
It was a dumb idea and a stupid one based on nothing but a joke and the particular movies I was watching, but it just wouldn't go away. I started to have little glimpses of a story start to form in my head, thinking of what characters would be like other comic book characters, and how scenes from comics or movies would play out with Hey Arnold characters.
I tried again to dismiss it, but that still didn't work. So, finally, I began writing the idea down on paper to try to get rid of it; to try to shit it out and leave it behind.
Then I kept going.
And I kept going.
And I still kept going.
And, before I knew it, I had a 50,000 word draft of an entire story based on Hey Arnold, centered around him being a superhero, taking my time to tie the lore in and make it plausible.
I still couldn't stop thinking about it, and then, there was something else that made it go further.
Butch Hartman, before his numerous controversies and practical exile from cartoon circles, made a video parodying the trailer for the 2017 Justice League movie with Nicktoons characters. The video received a ton of positive reception, with many people calling for an actual Nicktoons crossover movie, something that had apparently been wanted by fans for decades.
With one story already finished, I realized there was only one thing left for me to do:
Continue.
Before I started the project, I was someone who never wanted to be anything. When asked what I wanted to do with my life, I always answered 'nothing'. My parents, for all their abuse and mistreatment of me, did it with the intent of trying to make me a functional person in society. In response, I made it a point to not do anything out of of spite, to not give them any reason to be proud of me. I wanted to waste whatever gifts or potential I had as revenge, to not use any of what they gave me.
But this was something that I could not ignore, no matter how hard I tried, and my calling came from Hey Arnold itself, and I decided that I would do it for the show, rather than them or anyone else, and I would do it all on my own terms.
According to my parents, I displayed an unusually high understanding of the English language at a young age, allegedly scoring a 10th grade level on a 2nd grade test, and read books that were several levels above my reading age. It was a muscle that I had neglected for a long time, and I had not used since.
I had also not written anything at all before starting this project. The most I had made was a small story based on Shakespare's MacBeth as a school project during my high school grades with the state virtual school. The story got me a perfect score, so I must've had something then, too.
So, I had no education and less experience. That means I had to start entirely from scratch. Stan Lee once was quotes by saying reading makes you a better writer, so I took to reading a lot more comic books, reading approximately 60 issues a week, and watching as many movies as I could find, expanding to as many genres as I could discover, which I still do to this day.
The original drafts of my work were very crude by my standards now, but nonetheless a fundamental start. I'm proud of how they stand now, and pleased with my abilities now.
But I did all of it for a reason, and for one specific goal.
I did not just make this to be a simple fanfiction.
I'm going to pitch it all to Nickelodeon themselves to be their own film franchise.
The fans have all been neglected just as their shows were, cancelled and forgotten to give way for more SpongeBob, and I'm here to change that. I want to bring all the Nicktoons back, and bring them back better than ever before. I don't just want to complete the shows; I want them to have the best movies of all time, and everything I make to be my magnus opus. Not because I want awards or for some recognition, but to give these shows what they deserve for making us happy as children.
The moneychangers at Nickelodeon now are not concerned with what made them what they are now. They would rather let their great works die alone and forgotten, all to push more SpongeBob spinoffs and other junk to pander to the lowest common denominator, insulting the intelligence of their own audience, which, even if their target is indeed just children, can nonetheless see through their schlock.
I had previously pitched this directly to Craig Bartlett himself, finding his email through backchannels, but he had declined my offer, saying that Nickelodeon was not interested in making Hey Arnold at the moment, and adding that he would prefer to make the continuation himself, and also that he had not read my story as not to steal my ideas.
But I didn't tell him what I'm telling you now. I wanted to tell him after he read it, so he could know what effect his show had on me, and why it was so important that I make this. The way I see it, he saved my life, and my life doesn't belong to me anymore. In turn, what I made doesn't belong to me, either, but him. I'm just trying to give him what he's owed.
Furthermore, you've already seen what kind of life I've had, and what effect his show has made on me. The most important part of this series is that I make a positive impact on a person's life, just as he made one on my own. If his show, relegated to television as a cartoon, had such an impact, just imagine how it would do as a worldwide franchise on par with Star Wars or the MCU.
Also, after seeing how Nickelodeon has treated its IP over the years, I'm not certain that he would get the proper chance to continue with a new season or movie. So I may very well be his only option in order to get a fair treatment. And with all these people going to the same colleges to learn the same courses to make the same movies and shows, I'm an outsider who learned things his own way, and, therefore, I can bring something totally new to the table, and something you cannot get anywhere else.
I could go on and on about myself, telling you more about the things I've done since I started this project, and what good differences I've already made, and even found a girl that I do love very much. But I've kept you waiting long enough with my story, and I know you've been waiting for this one.
But I also emphasize: I made this series to try to make the world better. Like Orion, I was not born a good person, and I am trying to be one now. I hope that I can earn that someday.
I've managed to help a few people already:
A kid who read the ChalkZone story did so in between training sessions between his boxing rounds at school, and won his championship.
A good friend of mine has read most of the Danny Phantom story and him and I talk about film a lot, and I've inspired him to write his own screenplay.
I've also met someone very special to me, who's helped me just as much as I try to help her. She started out as a fan of this series just like you, and helped contribute some little ideas here and there for the stories. I never wanted to find love, swearing I would never do so out of anger at my parents; I wanted to ensure that the lineage of this family and all its problems would die with me, and that perhaps I would die after my work here was done...
...but she's made me rethink that, and again made me want to do something for another person, rather than act against another.
I was born and raised to be The Freak, but I'm trying, so desperately trying to be the Green Eye. To be someone Craig Bartlett would be proud of.
I've noticed that much of our favorite works that often try to criticize societal problems are said that they 'aged well', but they really haven't. What this means is that the problems addressed then are stil present, and I want to solve them once and for all by offering solutions for what ails us.
Hey Arnold is not the only show in which I tried to replicate his desire for good. This was also reflected in the other stories:
Danny Phantom I made a critique on the very concept of religion, hoping to make the argument to leave it behind and at last turn people towards logic and reason instead.
Rocket Power I analyzed the purpose of family, demonstrating how it can be good, or how it can be bad, and to try to find the family that gives you what you need.
ChalkZone I made as a call to embrace creativity, and how forgiveness and mercy are needed to overcome trauma, as well as a connection to an inner child.
The Loud House I created to critique how the world can often distract from the self, told through a superhero story, and not to grow up too fast.
Now, through Nicktoons Unite, I will give you all that and more.
And, to help me get this all pitched to Nickelodeon, you can sign my petition here, and follow along with the other directions listed to help me get there:
Hop onto my Discord server for more details and updates as they come, and how else you can help.
But for now, my friend, your childhood is back. It hasn't gone anywhere, but instead, grew up just as you did, and it's waiting to meet you once again and have all the fun you used to have together, and more.
Are you ready to go?
If so, click onto the next chapter, and enjoy Nicktoons Unite.