Though your spin on happiness is not mine.

Dude, everyone dies. What's not to like? Besides, it's not like they all died alone. Sheesh.

My goth is showing again, isn't it?

Y'think? Silly, silly girl.

The hope of happiness is what drags characters on through the hells we throw at them. I want no part of a universe that teases helpless creatures, no matter how lovely they are in their suffering.

Is that anti-goth? Or merely Uncle Goth?

No, that's goth too. Because while I can appreciate Ple's endings, I think I like Connie's universe better.

The hope of happiness is what drags characters on through the hells we throw at them. I want no part of a universe that teases helpless creatures, no matter how lovely they are in their suffering.

Eh. I think what I liked about Coda, and why I'm always going to think of it as schmoopy and happy is that they found a modicum of content in a world without hope.

Because ultimately, it's the whole death and taxes thing. The end is inevitable, it's how we face it that matters.

Although, you know, it's hope that something good will come from the Big Fight that helps one fight it. Straight-up despair can be not only hard to live, but kind of dull to read.

Straight-up despair can be not only hard to live, but kind of dull to read.

I like my despair with a side of snark, personally.

But I may have spent way more time than was healthy mentally preparing for the world to be blammo-nuked and trying to find a silver lining as a kid. (Side note, I also spent time figuring out where we could hide in the house in the event of Nazis. Nukes and Nazis were my two big fears. Wait. And supernovas. Three.)

(Cripes, I was a morbid child.)

Nukes and Nazis were my two big fears. Wait. And supernovas. Three.

What about comfy chairs?

I think that to snark about despair, you have to have some sense of a space outside of despair, if that makes sense. And I'd call that space hope. I'm not saying that necessarily you get to a better place -- the hand that's held out to you may have razors hidden in its grip -- but you can imagine that place, at least.

Oh, yeah, everybody dies, and sometimes it is a relief, but there should be some good somewhere. And my secret, schmoopy, heart of hearts, I want everyone to get together with their man/woman/alien/undead/inanimate object of choice and have at least a few days to be happy in. Deathbed revelations of true love are a little too Twilight Zone cruel for my taste.

I think that to snark about despair, you have to have some sense of a space outside of despair, if that makes sense. And I'd call that space hope.

I think you can safely snark at rock bottom, as sort of a thumbing of nose to the Fates. But only after you've been there long enough to set up shop.

I don't know. I mean, I don't consider myself a darkfic writer. Beige, yeah, or deep grey at best. I've even done fluff. Shameless fluff. Marshmallow Fluff. But, I'm not overly invested in the happy, for which you can blame Tolstoy.