So, despite some faults, I really enjoyed totk, and on its anniversary I want to say something about it. Other people have said similar things before but it’s really important to me and actually a big part of why the story of totk was meaningful to me, so I want to also say it:
Zelda needed to come back from draconification. The story needed that. It wasn’t lazy and just ignoring “consequences” because (imo) that was the *point*
The point is to feel like there are going to be terrible consequences and then say actually, no. You can come back from this, with the help of other people.
To me at least, that was the theme of the whole story.
If botw was about how the world goes on past loss and grief and starts to heal (how flowers grow in the ruins and the world can be beautiful again, be worth saving, even if it has changed)…then totk was about a more personal kind of healing.
The weight of the world should not be on your shoulders alone…you, alone, should not have to fix everything…you should not have to sacrifice yourself, but when you do, someone will be there to save you from it.
This turned into a really long ramble so:
You (Link) gained so much and now it’s gone. It feels like you’re back to where you started and yet you know you have to do it all again…you were weak and you failed and you’re weaker now…but
You go down to the surface. Monsters swarm across it once again. Other people are fighting them too though. You help, but it’s not just you…
You go to the Rito, the Gorons, the Zora, the Gerudo…just like with the divine beasts, there are friends who help you save each region. But this time, part of them comes along with you when you leave. It’s nice, you realize, the first time one of them protects you from a monster you weren’t prepared for. You’re still weaker than you were before, but someone has your back…
When you go up to the sky you see a strange new dragon there. There’s something about them that feels familiar. You try not to think about it.
You go down to the depths too. It’s terrifying at first. You hate it. You only want to get what you came for and get out of the dark….but slowly, the light grows. You get stronger. The dark feels like a challenge you can face (and someone has your back).
There are spirits down there. You don’t know when they’re from, but some part of you wonders…are these all the people you let die in the Calamity? (You help them find rest from their wandering. The weight on your shoulders feels a little less heavy).
There’s so much gloom. The first few times the sky turns red and hands chase you (a reminder of what you’ve lost, how you failed) you just run. Eventually though, you have to fight. It feels like the (second) worst day of your life again. But you manage to get free of the grasping gloom and stand and fight, as wild and desperate as it is. Beneath the manifestation of your worst fears, there’s another thing to fight, but this time it has a face (a voice in the back of your head says…you know this isn’t all on you and your failure…it’s really Ganon’s fault right?). You get through it.
At every turn in your travels, it seems like something reminds you of Zelda. Her passion, her curiosity, her kindness. You miss her.
At first, the tears you find reassure you. She may be in the past, but she’s safe. She’ll come back somehow…but then you hear the word draconification for the first time. You want to believe she wouldn’t do it but you know her and the fear sits cold inside you. (Zelda is a lot of things. She’s been allowed to be more of them, since she was freed from her hundred year battle, without her father holding her back. But deep down inside her, there’s a vein of self-sacrifice that still runs strong. It’s what saved the world before, after all).
She did it. She really did it. She’s gone from you (from Hyrule) forever, and it’s all your fault. If only you hadn’t failed so utterly in the battle (you can hardly even call it that) under the castle. If only you’d caught her. If only you hadn’t let the sword break. You should have protected her you should have been better it’s all your fault and now she has to live with the consequences, forever. Everything really is on you, you should have been better.
(Zelda POV: you couldn’t call upon Hylia’s power in time, you were too content to let it wither and fade away from you, ready to be free of it. You shouldn’t have. He got hurt, the sword got hurt, it’s your fault…Sonia and Rauru help you channel it again, Sonia helps you learn how to turn back time…but you don’t save her. She dies because you couldn’t save her. Rauru dies not long after. There is no one left to guide you, once again. You could spend years trying to figure it out on your own. But you did that last time. It didn’t work. Self-sacrifice, stepping in front of someone you love, that worked. (You do what you can, to call upon the sages, to help Link in the future, first). And then you swallow the stone. You’ve come a long way, in the past five years, allowing yourself to exist. But in the end, self-sacrifice worked last time. It’ll work this time too.)
You (Link) go down beneath the castle. You were supposed to bring the sages but you didn’t. It’s nice, for someone to have your back. But no one else should get hurt to fix your mistakes.
They follow you anyway. They fight with you, against the hordes, against the greatest enemies you defeated together, along the way. They’ll have your back, even if you don’t think you deserve it.
You fight Ganondorf, and then the demon king, in the hardest battle of your life. You think it’s over and then the demon king decides it’s better to lose himself completely than let you win. You’re exhausted and afraid of yet another battle, but up there in the sky, when you’re falling, the Light Dragon catches you (you wonder why she changed her path to catch you, you wonder if there’s still something of Zelda left in there to save). With her help, you win.
And then you’re in some other realm. The spirits of Sonia and Rauru are there. You remember how the two of them and Zelda channeled such incredible power together. You think about Recall. Turning something back to the memory of what it was before, like Sonia said. You stand with them and you allow yourself to hope. Maybe the Light Dragon can remember the form she took so long ago, the person that she was.
And then you’re falling, and Zelda is falling, but this time you catch her. You catch her. She’s back home with you, finally, finally.
And maybe, one mistake doesn’t have to be the end of the world. You don’t have to be perfect. Sometimes, someone else can stand with you, and it’ll all turn out alright. (You can put the weight of the world on your shoulders, you can sacrifice yourself, but someone will be there to catch you, someone will be there to pull you back to yourself, when all is said and done).
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You Don't Know Your Own Strength.
(scene written under the cut)
You're here again. The first Sadness you and your friends encounter in the house. It's… annoying. Having to listen to the same thing over and over again. Is that mean? You feel like that's probably mean, oh Change! Um… you just! It's just that you've heard it all before!
But m'dame Odile's spiel is comforting to Mira! And Sif's always the one who suggests going over strategy again! There's no harm in doing the same things if it makes people feel better. When you decide against talking strategy, Mira always seems upset. You don't want to hurt anyone.
… But. But.
You're tired.
You're really crabbing tired of this. How much time it takes to talk about the Sadness, how you always have to get knocked down. The hit hasn't even actually downed you in a long time. You're just faking it. You've gotten pretty good at faking it.
You're not paying attention. It seems like the fight's already started!
There's no reason not to speed things up, though. Right?
You're up!!
You throw a punch. Just one. And… Oh.
It's down.
That was. That was easy!! Really easy! Like laughably easy, even!
Just one punch. One measly little punch. Basically nothing. There was barely any Craft in that!! It was almost brute force!! Haha!
Easy.
It's so much easier to throw a punch than it is to Craft a buff. You've been wasting so much time trying to play support!
The Sadness is down. But you give it a few more whacks for good measure! Just in case!!
Because it's
Just!!!
So!!!!!!
Easy!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You turn to your friends, smiling.
"See! These Sadnesses aren't so tough!"
And they look… horrified.
Bonnie's grabbing Sif's cloak, m'dame Odile has stepped in front of everyone protectively, Mira's reaching out to you but she looks sick to her stomach and Sif.
Sif's hand is stretched into a craft sign. Holding themself in front of Bonnie.
Everyone is looking at you.
They're. Scared of you.
. . .
Oh.
You feel a thread tugging at your chest.
And that thread—
"A Sadness, huh? The House must be crawling with them..."
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There were two great posts about Izzy yesterday, and I would like to expand on and add my 2 ct to the things said in them a little. One, by @celluloidbroomcloset (with additions by several others), about how Izzy immediately falls back into old patterns of manipulative behaviour after his supposed redemption in 02x07, only this time with Stede as the focus of said behaviours instead of Ed. The other, by @batsarebetterthanpeople, about how Izzy's behaviour in 02x06 and onward is more akin to the development a homophobe coming around to a queer loved one, than an arc of queer self-discovery.
Izzy's story isn't about himself. I think this is the first, fundamental mistake people make when engaging with it. He's not a protagonist; he doesn't exist in the story for his own sake. So when ofmd asks "How to reform a toxic person? What does it look like and is it even possible?", the starting point isn't one of empathy with Izzy.
It's one of empathy with Ed. ofmd is asking these questions not because it wants to understand Izzy better. What it wants to explore is the possibility of Ed having the relationship with Izzy Ed wants. Whether Izzy can be brought around to understanding Ed's wants and needs, whether he can understand the hurt he caused him.
This is a fundamentally different approach to how these stories are usually told. Usually, we start out with the unspoken assumption that the toxic person is well-intentioned, good at heart, and whatever pain they caused our protagonist is more akin to a misunderstanding than deliberate harm. Yes, they may have have caused hurt, but if you just see things from their perspective, you'll understand that they only had your best interest in mind, and that will enable you to forgive them.
Obviously this can't not veer off into victim blaming. "The abuser had a good reason for what they did, and therefore, it's your own fault. Or at the very least not theirs."
ofmd fundamentally rejects this. It is very careful to never let the bullies and abusers have a valid point. Abusers are abusive because they get something out of it. To truly reform an abuser, they would have to be willing to build a life for themselves that is a lot less comfortable. Where they have to consider other's feelings, communicate and compromise, meet other people on equal footing, instead of putting themselves in a position of authority. It means letting go of patterns of behaviour that they have so far been quite successful with*.
And Izzy - tries. He is interesting because part of him clearly wants to leave the toxicity behind. He gets to see what positive relationships, human connection, being part of a community look like; he's offered an outstretched hand, and, after biting it a few times, tentatively starts to take it.
But he can't quite get there. The temptation to fall back into what he knows is too strong. celluloidbroomcloset's post linked above talks mainly about 02x07, so I'm not gonna repeat all that, but I'm going to add two little scenes from 02x06 that further cement this. In the beginning of the episode, Izzy finds Ed as he's standing on deck, watching the sea, and the conversation that plays out is a clear mirror to, almost repeat of the Frankfurter clouds scene from 01x04. Ed tries to share an observation with Izzy in an attempt to reach out to him ("Something's wrong. Feels like a storm's coming but I can't see it."), which Izzy, of course, immediately dismisses ("Or maybe you're just a mopey twat and there is no fucking storm").
The second scene is, when Izzy is the only one discouraging Ed from following Stede to his cabin after he kills Ned Lowe. Discouraging support, discouraging connection and emotional honesty; Izzy will continue to try to isolate Stede.
Now, I do not think this, or the things happening in 02x07, are put in there deliberately to show that Izzy has ulterior motives. Rather, they are an illustration of how deep these maladaptive patterns of behaviour go. Izzy isn't able to fully admit to himself the extend of the harm he caused and this is what prevents him from truly changing his behaviour - even when he has just experienced the benefits of a loving, supportive community!
All of this is the explanation to the answer the show gives to our starting question: Is it possible for Ed to have the relationship with Izzy that Ed wants? And the answer is: No. Just because growth is possible, doesn't mean it is enough. Doesn't mean anyone's entitled to forgiveness. Sometimes, the only compassionate thing to do, is to take yourself permanently out of the other person's life.
But Izzy did learn, and he did grow. It's just that the purpose of said growth wasn't to heal him; it was to enable him to understand the hurt he caused to Ed. That doesn't have to mean people like Izzy can never be reformed, it just means that this isn't a story about the reformation of a toxic person. It's the story of leaving this toxicity behind.
And this is why Izzy's heartfelt apology followed by his immediate death is a positive ending. It represents the conviction that no relationship is so broken it can't be mended, but also the assurance that no relationship is so important it can't be ended.
Ed gets to hear the things he needs to hear most - I am sorry, I was wrong, you didn't deserve this - and then Izzy disappears from his life, and with him, all the toxicity he represents.
They can part on good terms, but part they must. So Ed can go into the rest of his life, unburdened.
*read Lundy Bancroft's "Why does he do that", seriously. The whole thing is on archive.org.
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