heck it have a TON of my own changling hilda hc's
Hilda found out she could still change into a troll during a heated game of dragon panic, and its safe to say everyone panicked a little when she suddenly became stone
The transformation is (at first) emotion based. Whenever Hilda feels extreme emotion, she goes troll mode! If the feelings are sudden then she just poofs into her troll form but if her feelings build up then some signs of her changing can be seen:
Bits of her skin turning into stone and her hair getting a bit more grey.
Her teeth getting more sharp and jagged.
Her eyes glowing like a trolls eyes.
Slightly longer nose.
At first she was scared of scaring her friends and others off by suddenly becoming a troll, but over time as troll acceptance grew she felt more comfortable saying that she was half troll.
Over time she learnt how to willing become her troll self, and whenever she willingly becomes a troll her body ignites in troll flames before they dissipate and reveal her troll self, and when she goes back to being a human its in a puff of smoke.
Also when she does willingly become a troll her outfit doesn't magically vanish, instead its represented by flora! Her clothes are colorful lichen, her scarf is a yellow vine around her neck, and her hat is a black flower!
Like trolls, instead of getting cuts and burses when injured Hilda gets cracks and fractures. These translate to scrapes when she reverts back to human. But the most horrifying aspect is that Hilda's troll from can break if put under too much pressure or force. (One time during a nightly picnic with her family and friends she fell off a cliff and landed on her arm, which broke off. Everyone else had to quickly rush to the trolls and ask if there was anyway to fix this, and luckily there was. [idk what it be, maybe some rare flower?])
There were a few times she turned in public:
When she got her first sparrow scout badge, she jumped for joy when she claimed it, turned into a troll, and thanks to the spotlights turned into a rock and broke the floor.
The first time Frida kissed her...with all of their parents in the next room.
There's more times but I can't think of any rn
Johanna has had to explain that her daughter can just go troll mode sometimes to many people, so most of Hilda's friends and some other people know about this.
Another weird changling think is that sometimes she just gets "Troll Flashes" and just turns into a troll for no reason at all. So she packs a sunhat and gloves just in case she feels like she's going to turn into a troll, to keep outta the light.
Hilda can fight the "turning into stone" bit depending on 1: The lights strength (its easy to fight simple light blub light, but a spotlight is a tough battle) and 2: amount of coverage on her body (the more skin showing, the more she'll have to fight)
She doesn't like the sounds of bells now, its tolerable as a human but gives her headaches as a Troll. One time during a celebration involving a big bell she got knocked out when it started ringing. David gifted her some pocket muffling headphones to lessen bell pain.
Whenever she is turned to stone its like a form of sleep, so from her pov she's turning into stone, then she's breaking out even though its been few minutes or hours later from when she became stone.
A troll taught her troll curse words, now she is unstoppable!!! /j (this one is more silly :P)
I love these!! I adore seeing how different people go about with their own versions of Changeling Hilda :D I think it's cool that you have Hilda's troll-ness not being a secret, like how I (and I think other people?) have done. Kid's even weirder now lmao
(And if you haven't seen it already and you're interested, I'd recommend checking out @formallyuninformed 's Changeling Hilda stuff for some angst related to your fourth point ;) )
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
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