A few days ago it occurred to me that if Lee hadn't pushed her away, her mother would have sent her to conversion therapy, and that thought has kept popping into my head every now and then ever since oh my goddd...
The whole "Jax never experienced consequences for her actions" take is wild because abstracting is one hell of a consequence. Besides, even if we ignore her abstraction the statement is still factually incorrect.
Behold, Jax facing consequences for her behaviour:
This isn't even all of it (10 photo limit and all). You guys just wanted an abused, closeted, homeless trans woman to be executed on screen because... *checks notes* ...being an abused, closeted, homeless trans woman made her act like an asshole as part of a maladaptive coping mechanism, something she could have gotten better from and made up for had she had the resources to do so...
...As shown by Lee, who is functionally the same person as Jax up until the brainscan was made, getting her life together in the real world because she had resources and a support net. Whereas Jax was trapped in a digital purgatory that was run by an ai who viewed her and the others like fish in an aquarium for the majority of her time there.
But no, her committing allegorical suicide isn't enough for y'all.
Yes, Jax's behaviour was awful. No, ofc her trauma doesn't justify it, it's just the reason behind it. No, we didn't need to watch her be hanged, drawn, and quartered for it because the narrative already shows her facing consequences... repeatedly.
I know it will probably just be a flashback but a girl can hope right? Oh and sry that the search is n germen, I don't know how to set my google to english 😅
i think the most insane layer the show ever added was the s7 flashbacks to their childhood. especially when we see what lengths damon went to to protect stefan. stefan wanting damon to stay with him and damon promising him an eternity of misery for it really takes on a different ring with the context that damon was SO desperate to escape that he left stefan there alone, to join a cause he despised. to damon, stefan becomes just this. memory of his failure. i almost think this is WHY he never views what katherine did to stefan as wrong even though stefan himself says it was to him multiple times. he can’t return and find out that stefan IS being victimized. he can’t accept that by leaving, however right he was to do it, he left stefan in danger. so it has to be stefan’s fault. stefan has to be the bad guy. stefan has to be purposefully trying to drag him down. the source of his pain has to be external. he would never allow stefan to be hurt, so if he feels guilty feels bad, Stefan must be trying to hurt HIM.
i actually kind of love that damon and stefan choose to live together in the boarding house. these are two grown men, beyond grown actually, and they can go wherever they want, use compulsion and money to find a new complex to reside in, and they just don’t.
in the first half of s1 it’s very obvious that damon stays in the boarding house to needle stefan, but stefan can go! he literally has no obligation to stay. on top of that, their “uncle” zach is killed in 1x05 so the excuse that stefan is staying to protect uncle zach can’t work anymore. and even worse in 1x08 when damon kills lexi, stefan is still living in the boarding house. or 2x01 when damon learns that katherine never cared for him and she always loved stefan, damon still doesn’t go. he just learned the woman he loved never cared for him and on top of that she’s in love with his brother. and the examples go on.
time and time again, stefan and damon have several reasons and opportunities to just not stay in the same house together but still do. they’re both just staying there because their brother is there lmao. it’s cute.
Requested by anon: hii. can you please write an imagine with klaus mikaelson? he arrives at mystic fall, he starts to fancy the salvatore’s little sister (instead of caroline) and gets even more captivated when he heard her sing at the mystic grill?
Pairing: Niklaus Mikaelson x Salvatore!Female!Reader
A/N: i'm back. And no matter the years, hobie always gets me horny lol.
Where you're riding him and asking him to talk you dirty.
Warning: smut! 🔞
༘˚⋆𐙚⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡
Dirty talk?
Not his usual thing—he’s more of a actions over words guy, especially during sex. But if you ask for it....he’ll give it to you.
How can he refuse when you are bouncing on his cock so good? Taking him like a good girl?
Breaking the kiss,he leans back against the couch cushions, gazing up at you with dark eyes now full of filth and heat.
Then—
“Fuck,” Hobie growls,voice low and gravelly as hell. “You feel so damn good on my cock.”
His hands squeeze your hips harder before adding:
“take what you want, luv… ride me just like that"
It’s too much. In the best fucking way possible.
Dirty talk with that voice + his thick cock buried deep in you= You are in heaven.
Hobie doesn’t hold back now. Not with words, not with anything.
“Goddamn,” he rasps, head tipping back again as his voice drops even lower—rougher.
“Y/N....you look so pretty like this… taking me so deep.”
A shiver runs through him when you moan at his talking, so Hobie pushes further:
“That pussy milks me perfect… fucking hell—”
His hands slide up to grab your breasts through whatever fabric separates them (because he can't resist touching every inch of skin available).
So Hobie keeps talking,filthy praise spilling from his lips between ragged breaths:
“That’s it, luv… take every inch,”
“Fucking own me like this,”
“You’re so tight—Christ, luv…”
Each word is punctuated by your bouncing faster, your body moving with increasing urgency now that you are chasing something (an orgasm? just pleasure?). Either way, Hobie’s right there with you.
His hands roam greedily over your skin where they can reach—the curve of your waist, the dip of collarbones—as his own hips start lifting slightly off the couch to meet yours. Matching energy.
The boat cabin fills with the sounds of their passion—moans, heavy breathing, skin slapping softly against skin.
Hobie’s voice is a constant stream now, a mix of dirty talk and encouragement:
“You’re so fucking hot like this…”
“Look at you… taking me so well…”
“I love how you feel—fuck—”
He’s losing himself in it.
Not just physically—but emotionally too. This isn’t just sex anymore; it's you. Together.
When you arch your back or clench around him extra tight, he kisses whatever part of you he can reach—a shoulder, neck—to add more sensation to the overload already building.
And that’s it.
He doesn’t last a second longer.
With a choked groan, Hobie spills inside you—hot and deep—as his back arches off the couch, hands gripping your hips like anchors.
Pleasure whites out his vision for one blinding second; nothing exists except this feeling: you, clenching around him while he fills you completely.
For a few seconds after, hobie and you just breathe.
Shaking slightly. Overwhelmed by intensity (again).
No words yet.
Just skin-to-skin contact as you come down together in the quiet boat cabin.
Hobie Brown loves nights like this. Coming back from his patrols and fucking you senseless.
Pairing: stoner!Hobie Brown x stoner!Reader
Word Count: 3.1k words
Prompt: High Sex
Warnings: NSFW, smut, drug/weed use, smoking, high sex, brief nipple play, fingering, brief handjob, creampie, aftercare, swearing...
A/N: Yeah, so I started this while I was high. It was really fun. Finished it with the worse migraine none to man. It was not really fun. But anyway, it's done! I know February is over but I'm going to try to finish most of the prompts before I end the event. Thank you and enjoy!
“Dunno why you keep doin’ that if ya just gonna keep coughin’, luv.”
You turn to Hobie, your vision of him hazy with the tears in your eyes. Smoke swirls around your head and makes the tips of your ears tingle. You're not having a pleasant time as your lungs seize with every heaving cough.
You desperately grab a bottle of water, opening it and forcing water over your throat to ease the sting. Though he laughs, Hobie’s hand strokes a small line along your bare thigh, his thumb tracing circles into your skin. Eventually, you calm down and your eyes are clear enough to see him through.
“Thanks so much for your help,” you gasp.
He's unfazed, watching you with red eyes and a large grin as he laughs. “My pleasure, darlin’.”
You set the blunt on the tray on his bedside table. You throw a leg over his lap, settling on top of his sweatpants. You place your hands on his bare chest, stroking curious fingers over the muscle you find.
You dip down slowly, catching his lips with a content sigh. His hands settle on your hips, gently squeezing the fat of your thighs with his own hum. You're both melting into the other, your touches grabby and unfocused. Your lips are less concerned with kissing and more concerned of feeling as much of the other as physically possible.
Your whole body is tingling, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. You're so eager, you're both rocking together as you each seek the other out.
Hobie’s mouth presses to the curve of your jaw, moving farther down until he's mouthing at your throat. You let him, lifting your chin to allow him the space he needs.
He raises a hand beneath the oversized shirt you'd stolen from him, caressing your skin with a hum. You sigh breathily, every sensation a million times better as his thumb catches your nipple.
“Hobes,” you whisper.
“Yeah?” He smirks up at you. “What is it, luv? Talk to me.”
“Need you,” you murmur, rolling your hips slowly in his lap. He grunts lightly, letting his head fall back a bit as his thumb continues to stroke gentle circles over your nipple.
You huff gently, every flick of his finger deepening the need in your belly. “Fuck, baby,” he hums. “Keep goin’. Just like that f’me.”
He wraps his lips around your nipple, licking and sucking at it and humming appreciatively to himself when he hears your moans. He's so much taller than you that his back bends strangely just to be able to reach your breasts.
You arch into him, your hips still rolling. You can feel him hardening beneath you. The stiffness in his sweatpants pokes against you and creates the perfect source of friction as you channel your clit down onto it. You grind your hips down on him, listening to his groans and reveling in the pleasure.
You feel like glitter; your body tingles all over, glimmering with a feeling you don't think you'll ever get out.
Your mind is pulled away from its wandering when you feel his hand slipping into your panties. The warmth of his fingers press against your wet folds, rubbing at your clit briefly before pushing farther back and sinking inside of you.
You shudder, your lips split to allow shallow breaths to pass through. You clench around his fingers, long and curling as you huff. You're whining, grinding your hips down into his palm as you let your breath waver.
“Fuck, Hobie,” you moan, enjoying the delightful stretch his fingers provide. He thrusts them in and out of you, deep but slow and almost lazy. His red eyes watch you intently, mesmerized by the sight of your pinched brows and parted lips.
“Yeah, baby, there ya go. Ride my hand just like that, filthy girl.” His lips latch onto your other nipple, grunting as the tip of his tongue teases it. Your hands grip his shoulders, using him for support as his fingers make it impossible to stay still.
“Oh, god, please don't stop,” you huff, feeling everything becoming increasingly fuzzy as you feel your body getting light. You feel like you're brimming with light, bursting at the seams with brightness and yet pleasantly hollowed out of any sensation all the same.
The pads of his fingers stroke a spongy part inside of you that makes your breath hitch and moans fall freely from your throat. “Fuck, that feels so good.”
You dip your hand into his sweatpants, fishing out his cock and pumping it in your fist in long, slow strokes. His hips lift up into your hand, a broken moan slipping out and rumbling in his chest. Your fingers wrap around him, squeezing lightly at the thickness you've grown to adore.
Precum leaks from his tip and onto your fingers, making each tug of his cock more fluid, more smooth. His brows pinch together, his lips parted slightly. As you lean in to catch his lips, you moan at the feeling of his lip piercing chilling against your skin. Your mouths are dry from the weed, but that doesn't deter either of you from the desire budding within yourselves to keep tasting the other.
He uses his free hand to remove his pants from his legs, kicking them off and sitting back down. “You ready for me, luv? Y’feel ready.” He nips at your neck, flicking his tongue out over your skin.
“Yeah. ‘M ready,” you nod, still nudging your hips in time with his hand. You whine when he pulls them out of you, eliciting his own chuckle.
“C'mon, sweet thing.” He holds you to his chest, lifting you up enough to guide the head of his cock to your pussy. He rubs it through your folds, encouraging them apart until he's able to sink you down on him.
You hold your breath, your eyes shut as you feel the way he slowly presses inside of you. It fills you up bit by bit until you're flush in his lap. You let out a shuddering breath, your hands at his chest as you sit there, relishing, savoring.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, watching you with lidded eyes. “Y’feel so good, luv.”
You let out a short breath through your parted lips. Your pussy flutters around him as you slowly move your hips in slow, deep grinds. There isn't a lot of movement—there doesn't have to be. You keep him as deep as you can, whimpering every time the blunt head of his cock rubs against that lovely, deep spot inside of you that makes you weak. It becomes a repetitive, almost desperate pursuit to just feel that, as much as possible, as deeply as possible. You need it to fill every crevice of your being until you're limp with it.
“H-Hobie, right there.” Your fingers curl around his shoulders, pressing into the muscle. He moans at the feeling, the pads of your fingers digging into the spots on his shoulders that releases tension he forgets he holds there.
His hands tighten on your waist, just to have something to hold as you continue to grind on him. It feels good, amazing. You could be here forever, savoring every single movement of your hips, every crease of his brows, every curve of his lips, every little sound that slips from the both of you into the sluggish, dopey air between you.
Your hips become more insistent, but you don't change any technique. Though you move a little faster, you keep rolling your hips back and forth on his lap. You're both rocking together, huffing and moaning into the other as the feelings just keep dragging on into this wonderful coiling in your belly.
“Oh, god. Feels so good, baby,” you coo, leaning in to kiss at his neck, your teeth scraping gently at the skin with an appreciative touch. “You're amazing.”
He's too dazed to make any jokes of any nature. The feeling of your hips is numbing his already numbing brain. “Shit, I love you, darlin’.”
The words seep into your skin like honey, make you feel smooth and rich and so, so nice. You smile, leaning forward some more to wrap your arms around him. You lift your hips a little, sinking back down on him and gasping lightly at the new pleasure you find. It cuts off your response, overcoming your fuzzy brain with a new sensation and a new goal to chase it.
You lift your hips again, dropping down a little rougher and continuing the movements until you're breathless. “Oh, Hobie–” You whine.
His grip on your waist tightens, just the flex of his fingers digging into your flesh. He moves his hands down to your hips, following the movements of your eager body up and down on him as his sounds mix with yours. “Keep goin’, sweets. Just like that, yeah.”
You dip down, meeting his lips again in an eager kiss. You breathe him in like you would a joint, deep breaths pulling into your lungs and lingering there as you dip your tongue past his lips to taste him.
In your mind, your movements become faster and faster. In your kind, there's a frenzy of pleasure that's swirling and building as you search it out with desperate grinds of your hips and heightened moans and grabbing hands, when really, it's an irregular rock of your hips, almost lethargic but so needy as you seek out any amount of pleasure that you can find.
You reach over to the nightstand, retrieving the blunt once more. You take a long drag from it, letting the smoke circulate through your lungs with dazed eyes. Hobie raises one hand to cradle the side of your head, bringing you down to join your lips again. You blow the smoke out slowly into his waiting mouth as he breathes it in ardently.
Smoke swirls around the both of you, out of his nose to entwine elegantly around your heads. Your vision continues to be softened around the edges, reduced to a pleasant fuzziness that makes the pleasure that much more enticing.
“C’mere, baby,” he says, his voice sticky with both affection and a fond fatigue. He wraps his strong arms around you, pulls you flush against his body. You feel as he shifts the both of you to lay you on your back, leaning over you like a pretty behemoth.
You stare up at him with droopy eyes that kiss in the corner, your smiles sticky with fondness. You trace your fingers dazedly around the edges of his lips and his nose and his eyebrows. He stares at you with red eyes that looks like he's gazing at precious gemstones.
“How're you feelin’, precious? Y’feel good?” He dips down to kiss the corner of your lips. You giggle lightly, nodding up at him happily.
“Feel really good. Love you, baby,” you coo, lifting your head to meet him in another kiss. He hums, chuckling as he accepts it in earnest.
“Gonna make you feel even better, yeah? How's that sound, babe? You want that?” He says it so close to your ear, in this deep and rumbling purr. You shudder, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist and pulling him in as you crave his touch and all the pleasure he has to give you.
“Yeah. Want that, want you, Hobie-honey,” you murmur. Your fingers just keep brushing along his jawline, feeling the heat of his skin and relishing it.
He chuckles, trying not to dissolve under your touch as he presses his lips to the apples of your cheek. “I got you, lovely. You just stay right there and moan for me, yeah?” You nod sluggishly, happy to do whatever he wants.
Hobie steadied himself, one hand on the mattress beside your head and the other resting at your hip. When he thrusts inside of you once more, deep inside to feel how well you envelope him, you moan in surprise. With the numb pleasure of your earlier position, the wonderful feeling of having him close, having him deep inside, just feeling him pressing into you, you'd almost forgotten how good it felt to have it the other way around.
He pulls back a bit to thrust back inside, and you lose breath at the pleasure that explodes all around you. He quickly builds pace, much better at bringing focus in this state than you are with his heightened abilities.
You wrap a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down so your foreheads meet. He's muttering something you're not quite hearing, too dazed and fuzzy to pay attention beyond the steady thrusts of his hips. You grab onto his arm to steady yourself, throwing your head back against the mattress to moan and gasp as he takes it as an opportunity to kiss and suck at your neck.
“Fuck, Hobie. Please don’t stop,” you gasp.
“Why would I do that, eh?” he smiles, breathless and as happy as you. “When you feel so good. When you're feelin’ so good.” He kisses your neck, down to your collarbone with a deep hum. “I got you, sweetie. You know I got you.”
The sounds filling the room are nothing if not lewd. The smacking of his hips into you, the wet sounds of each drag of his cock, your whimpers and moans, his breaths that are bordering on moans of his own. It swirls and swirls until it's all turning into more pleasure in your brain. You're fuzzy with it, in mind and body. You grasp onto him for dear life and continue to get high off him.
When he presses his finger to your clit and rubs in quick, measured circles, you're done for. You whine as you relish in the pleasure, holding onto him as he holds onto you. Every flex of his fingers, every snap of his hips, every brush of his pelvis flush against your own, it's clouding your brain in more and more lust until you cannot possibly think to focus on anything.
“I'm gonna cum,” you gasp, like a revelation. It hits you out of nowhere, but you welcome it with enthusiasm. “Don't stop, Hobie. I'm gonna cum for you.”
“Yeah, that's right,” he breathes, moving quicker, deeper. He's on the verge, spurred on by your pleasure, by your eager cunt. “Come on, luv. I got you, I got you.”
The coil tightens in your belly, more and more and more until you can't stand it. You breathe in until you can't anymore, the edges of your vision going white. He listens to the pitch of your moans rise higher and higher.
Your back arches off the bed when you cum. Your breath had been so deep before, that it's let out in a series of short huffs that tremble in your lungs and make you dizzy. “H-Hobie,” you gasp, grasping onto him for dear life. “Oh, fuck. Oh, my god.” You're babbling something, but your mind is too hazy to make out any of the words.
Your pussy flutters around him, clenching and squeezing as you cum undone beneath him. His name falling from your lips swarms his brain and sets him over the edge, like a call he has no choice but to answer as he breathes you in, tastes the sweat in your skin. He thrusts as deep inside of you as he can, carried away by the feeling of your warmth as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you so close that you're not sure there's any distance left to be crossed. He pulls you close like he's trying to align your atoms, match them like perfect puzzle pieces so that you phase into each other and finally become one.
“O-oh, shit, luv.” He cum inside of you with an almost choked sound, his brows pinching together as he wraps his body around yours. Your sounds mix in the air in a loving symphony, riding out your highs to their fullest extent, only emphasized by the high in your system. It's indescribable, but so amazingly wonderful.
When you eventually float down from the cloud you'd gotten lost in, you lay back against the mattress with a body heavy as bricks. Everything is fuzzy around the edges. Your toes and your fingertips tingle like pop rocks, and you feel like you're going to fall asleep at any moment now.
Hobie pulls out of you, kissing every inch of your face as he whispers little words of praise and affirmation and really anything he can think of into your skin. He kisses your cheeks and your lips and your eyelids and the tip of your nose. He kisses the spot just below your ear, your collarbone, your throat, down to the valley of your breasts. None of it is inherently sexual in the slightest manner. He kisses you like he's worshipping you. He kisses you like you're meant to be praised for your perfection. The chill of his piercing makes you shudder.
Your hands smooth lazily over his body, over any skin you can find without having to move from your spot. Your eyelids are heavy, sticky with each slow blink. Your mouth is incredibly dry. He hears when you smack, the discomfort from the lack of hydration settling into your tongue.
“Water.”
He chuckles, already reaching for it as he sits you up enough to help you drink. You do, eagerly. He has to slow you down before you end up choking on that, too.
“Alright, alright,” he laughs, pulling it away and setting it down. He kisses you again, this time swiftly but still so loving.
He grabs some tissues to clean you up with, taking his time to take care. Then he's scooping you up in his arms and laying on his back and plopping you down on top of him. He's much bigger than you and much stronger than you, and you've gotten over the whole “I don't want to put all my weight on you” a long time ago. You lay on him like an oversized teddy, curling up and nuzzling into the crook of his neck with a deep breath.
“I love you, Hobie,” you whisper, kissing him gently.
He hums deep in his chest, a smile curling his lips. “Love you, too, darlin’ girl.” His hand strokes your back in a gentle, loving pattern. It feels so perfect, and it's so easy to fall asleep on top of him.
“That's cute,” he mumbles, glancing at you with a tiny chuckle.
So we’re doing AUgust on a server I’m on, and the Week 3 prompt was “Heroes/Villains.” I saw the opportunity to write Jade Exchange and pounced on it with both hands. There’s also heavy Redcrackle vibes in this one, iykyk.
Here is Meant To Be Yours!
The warehouse job was supposed to be simple. All Harumi needed to do was grab a few ration packs without being seen by the guards. The mission was so easy that even Nya agreed to let her do it without backup. Unfortunately, being the Green Ninja meant that things were never simple.
“You are pathetically predictable. You know that, right? No powers, barely any allies, and you’re still trying to play the hero.” Lloyd taunted her, slashing out with his katana.
Harumi grunted, catching the strike on the hilt of her saber and twisting, trying to knock her enemy off balance. Lloyd was too experienced to fall for such a basic disarming technique, though, and he quickly overpowered her.
The son of Garmadon’s lips twisted up in a mocking grin. “Not talking, huh? And here I thought I was the Quiet One, Rumi.”
That drew a reaction from her- she let out a low growl, sidestepping a slash that would have cut deep into her thigh. “Don’t. You don’t get to use that name, after everything you’ve done.”
The blond-haired man frowned at that. “Everything I’ve done? I just wanted my father back. As far as I’m aware, that’s not a crime.”
Harumi stepped back, looking at Lloyd’s face. For a moment, she thought the pain in his eyes was genuine. First Master, it was stupid, but she wanted it to be genuine. She wanted the Lloyd she had fallen in love with, instead of the Quiet One.
Sensing an opening, Lloyd lunged forward with a backhanded cut. The strike would have caught Harumi off guard, but her reflexes took over.
She stepped just outside of his range, then brought the pommel of her saber down on his wrist. Strong as Lloyd was, a direct impact like that would disarm anyone. His katana clattered to the ground, and after kicking it away, Harumi pointed her weapon at his throat.
“Give it up, Lloyd. Let me leave with the food I need, and you can leave without telling any of your soldiers that this happened. Deal?”
Lloyd chuckled. “I’d ask why you’re not leaving me to bleed out, but the answer is obvious. You still like me too much for that.”
“That can change.” Harumi quipped. Still, her grip on the saber loosened slightly, which Lloyd seemed to notice.
“It’s not too late for you to join me, Harumi. Having the Green Ninja on my side would cement the legitimacy of my father’s rule. We could be together. We could be happy.”
Met with Harumi’s disbelieving scoff, Lloyd’s tone became more desperate. “Please, Rumi. My father wants you dead. I don’t want to have to kill you. I can’t kill you.”
“Then join the Resistance and help us bring your father’s empire to its knees. I will never join you. Garmadon needs to be stopped, even if it means fighting you.”
Harumi sheathed her saber, and before she could regret it, she kissed Lloyd’s cheek.
“Think about it, Lloyd.” She whispered, turning towards the door and dashing away.
Too stunned to react, Lloyd could only watch as the girl of his dreams slipped through his fingers.
okay so what gets me abt Eve Teschmacher (specifically in Superman 2025) is that beyond her well-disguised intellect and plot significance, she is also actually, genuinely nice. it's definitely something that took me some time to notice - after all, she's introduced taking selfies during a crisis, which is being actively created by her boyfriend - but you pick up on it, in retrospect.
she's the only member of Luthor's entourage who's actually kind to Ultraman - and it looks dumb and ditzy when it happens, but it's a direct parallel to Clark's treatment of the superbots. he's nice to them, even though they are just mindless tools, just like his clone is designed to be; and within the context of the film, this is a clue to the sort of person Eve Teschmacher actually is. in her position, she could easily take advantage of Luthor's money and ambitions, she could be the princess of his egomaniac utopia, she could abandon the rest of the world to its death, the way so many real-world influencers do every day - but she doesn't!.. she cares enough to document his machinations, she cares enough to risk her own safety meeting Jimmy, she cares enough to send him the proof even when she thinks she's screwed and he cannot get to her in time to save her. Eve has every reason to be scared. she is actively in danger every time she is around Luthor when he's angry (which is all the time, lbr). she still chooses to do the right thing, though - the same way that Lois chooses to go after Clark, the same way that Mr Terrific chooses to help Lois, the same way that the Justice Gang chooses to show up in Jarhanpur, the same way that Jimmy and the rest of the Daily Planet staff choose to delay their evacuation just to break the story that exposes Luthor.
every character that chooses to do good is instrumental in ensuring the happy ending, and THAT is what the movie is about
amandla
pixelskylines
prguitarman
