There were a lot of things the Legion of Doom was good at: terrorizing cities, building doomsday machines, plotting elaborate vendettas.

But one thing they didn’t often admit? They were terrible at throwing a normal party.

It started with Lex Luthor’s idea of “team bonding,” spiraled after Harley Quinn brought the wrong kind of drinks, and ended somewhere around Cheetah daring Sinestro into a very personal game of dominance.

Costumes disappeared. Boundaries blurred.

Laughter and growls and promises filled the once-sterile meeting halls.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t romance.

It was hunger, heat, and a shared understanding that they were all a little monstrous—and maybe, tonight, that was something to celebrate.

The Legion didn’t believe in happily ever afters.

But they knew how to lose themselves in the dark for a while.