By Storyboard Supervisor Erik Fountain

I went to watch Epic Mickey 2 and this popped up! And I love it! Those two silly brothers!

Old Politoed Wisdom

You all thought my best oc was Melony or Dardanne ??? WRONG !!! IT'S POLITOED !!!

Politoed (yes, the politoed is named Politoed) is basically Dardanne's dad

Politoed was originally Dardanne's father's ace pokémon.

When Dardanne ran away from home as a teenager and was enrolled in Plasma, Politoed followed him to make sure he was safe and to keep an eye on him. Dardanne became his trainer because Politoed refused to leave him alone.

Dardanne is later selected to accompany N on his journey throught out Unova to gather the badges and defy the league. Dardanne keeps old Politoed out of his pokéball most of the day, following N's ideals fervently. Politoed might look chill and laid-back, but his tongue is sharp and N is unfortunately the only one who can understand it.

Politoed is also very aware of what's going on in Team Plasma, having already quite a lot of prior experiences with abusive trainers (Dardanne's father is an ex-gym leader for a reason after all). As Politoed is unable to drive Dardanne away from what is essentially a cult, he decides to stick by him and do his best to protect him whenever he can.

tl,dr : Politoed ditched his original trainer (Dardanne's dad) and decided Dardanne was his kid now

Absolutely love it when powerful legendary Pokémon are best friends with a little girl

You know, when you first become obsessed with Hoshi no Kaabii at the ripe age of 13 and are mostly too busy just being excited over how cute Kirby is, sometimes it's not until you sit there 8 years later, at one week away from 21, watching old tributes about your biggest childhood hero on YouTube, where it finally dawns on you just how dark Meta Knight's story is—and just how strong he himself truly is.

This man has been through war almost as long as he's been alive. He witnessed one of his closest friends die before his very eyes in order to reclaim a sacred sword she knew she'd never be able to wield just to toss it toward him in her final living moments, knowing that he was the chosen one; the one worthy of Galaxia's power. He was forced to wield that blade with it undoubtedly carrying those painful memories, knowing that Garlude died for it, just for his sake. Years later, he was forced to kill his own best friend with that very same sacred sword after at first being overjoyed to withess his triumphant return after going missing for an unknown amount of time, possibly years, following Meta Knight helplessly watching him being captured and carried away by a demon beast—only to realize that the one and only remaining person closest to him had been tortured near to death, then corrupted and turned into a mindless, unrecognizable demon by Nightmare.

He was forced to watch his comrades die over the course of what we can only assume is at least hundreds of years in what was nothing but a doomed war from the beginning, falling one by one, until as far as he knew, he was the one and only survivor. In one of the first few episodes, when he chooses to entrust Fumu with knowing just a part of his past, we see him in a flashback, tattered and beaten against an unnatural red sky, staring down from a clifftop where smoke rises from burning ruins where we can only imagine the carnage that lies within and the things he's seen. His eyes don't hold their vibrant glow for the only time in any of his appearances. He's injured, grief-stricken, bereft. Downright heartbroken, undoubtedly.

Years later, he discovers the children of his fallen best friends, the last remaining memory of them, are alive, but both hate him and believe he is responsible for the death of their parents. And even when they're out for his life in the belief that he's a murderer, Meta Knight chooses to attempt to comfort and guide both of these bereaved children so that their hatred and grief does not turn them into demons inside and out, all without being able to defend himself... because he knows that they're right. Even if indirectly, even if unintentionally... all of their anger and hatred toward him is justified.

And yet, through all of that... He never gives up. He never lets his grief, his anger, his sorrow consume him. Despite losing everything he's ever dared to care about, despite watching the cause he devoted his entire life to fall apart before his eyes, despite his entire existence being an endless living hell... he keeps going, because in his words, he has not given up hope.

This is why Meta Knight was my hero when I was younger, and why he always will be.

I sure hope Digital Circus fans behave normally and respectfully to any other Glitch shows going on at the same time when it ends. You guys will do that, right?

Happy New Year, everyone.

Lovely Flowers.

(Catoon & Eliza)

found a bunch of silly screenshors and did sillies, its basically me multishipping ragatha being a lesbian and dumb interactions

How Outono was found

The marketplace was as lively as ever, packed with vendors shouting prices and people bustling from stall to stall. Among the crowd was Masha, a young maid making her usual rounds to gather supplies and ingredients for the castle.

And there she was again. Masha (22 years old) had noticed the little girl several times before, darting through the streets, always keeping her distance from strangers. She didn’t beg, didn’t steal—just played with the stray cats and dogs like she was one of them. She was always alone, sitting in the dirt and keeping to herself.

It wasn’t uncommon to see orphans wandering the streets, especially after the war. But this girl stood out. Bright blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin—she didn’t look like she belonged there. People couldn’t help but notice her, and that made Masha uneasy.

Masha had watched her from a distance, wondering about her story. Where was she from? How old was she? Seven? Eight, maybe? But what really bothered Masha was how much attention the girl could draw just by existing. A chill ran down her spine at the thought of what might happen if the wrong person noticed her.

Masha had heard the whispers in dark alleys. Men who offered food and shelter but delivered nightmares instead—slavery, prostitution, factories. The girl was practically a walking target.

No, Masha thought, she couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. She had to act. It was reckless, impulsive, but she didn’t care. “There you are!” Masha called out, pushing through the crowd toward the girl. Her voice was sharp enough to make heads turn. She grabbed the child’s arm—not hard, but firmly enough to keep her from slipping away.

The girl froze, staring up at Masha with wide, startled eyes. She didn’t fight or run, just stood there, too shocked to react.

“Come on,” Masha said, her voice softer now as she led the girl through the busy streets. She kept her head down, ignoring the curious glances from the crowd. To them, she was just a frustrated aunt dragging a mischievous child home.

As they made their way to the castle, Masha’s thoughts raced. What was she doing? She wasn’t anyone important, just a maid trying to keep her head above water. She had enough on her plate without adding a lost child to her problems. This could blow up in her face. But as she felt the girl’s small, cold hand in hers, she pushed the doubts aside. It was too late to turn back now.

When they arrived, Masha wasted no time. She took the girl’s dirty, torn dress and helped her into a warm bath. The child didn’t resist, but her wary eyes followed Masha’s every move. As the grime melted away, Masha got a better look at her.

Her skin was smooth, untouched by scars or bruises. No signs of the abuse you’d expect from a child on the streets. But she was so thin—her ribs showed, and her small frame seemed almost fragile. Malnourished, but not beyond help.

And her dress… Masha frowned as she picked it up. The fabric was fine, high-quality, definitely not something a street orphan would wear. Someone had cared for this child once. So why was she out here alone?

As Masha gently scrubbed the girl’s hair, she tried to ask questions. “What’s your name? Where are you from? Do you have family?”

At first, the girl didn’t say a word. She shrank into the water, clearly overwhelmed. But as the bath’s warmth set in, she began to relax. When Masha asked again, the girl shook her head faintly, her expression confused.

“Nothing?” Masha pressed. “You don’t remember anything?”

Another small shake. Masha sighed, brushing back her frustration. “Alright, it doesn’t matter right now.”

As she rinsed the soap from the girl’s hair, Masha noticed the way her small hands played with the bubbles. The child giggled softly, and for the first time, Masha saw her smile. It was a tiny thing, fleeting, but it lit up her face.

After the bath, Masha dressed her in one of her old tunics, the smallest size she could find. Still, it hung awkwardly on the girl’s petite frame, the sleeves drooping well past her hands. Masha couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, don’t you look like a little bird in borrowed feathers.”

The girl didn’t seem to mind. She hid her shy smile behind her blond hair, her cheeks tinged pink.

Later, Masha handed her some bread and cheese she’d bought at the market. The girl devoured it eagerly, taking bites so big Masha had to laugh. “Slow down,” she said, patting her head. “There’s plenty more.”

As the girl ate, Masha felt some of her worries melt away. There was something about her—innocent, endearing. She rested a hand on the child’s head, thinking aloud. “You know, you’ve got the most beautiful eyes. Since you don’t remember your name, how about I call you Blue? Sound good?”

The girl paused, then gave a small nod.

And just like that, the little girl became part of Masha’s life.

She was still shy, always hiding behind Masha when strangers came near. But in the quiet moments, she was a joy—giggling to herself, chasing sunlight, and even whispering to the stray animals that seemed to follow her everywhere.

As time passed, "Blue" found her voice. She made up silly songs, told little stories, and even helped Masha with her chores. The work of a maid was tough, but with Blue around, it didn’t feel so hard. Her tiny hands and sweet voice brought a light to Masha’s world that she hadn’t realized she needed.

The Best of Sergeant Tamora Jean Calhoun