No one ever expected Lex Luthor to be the one to host a cannabis party.

And yet… here they were.

The Legion’s secret hideout, usually humming with weapons tech and whispered world domination plans, had been transformed. Green haze drifted lazily through the air, mingling with the low thump of bass-heavy music. The lights were soft for once, and someone (probably Harley) had replaced all the security feeds with looping footage of kittens.

Grodd lounged in a hammock strung between support beams, passing a massive blunt with two fingers and an air of philosophical calm. Riddler sat cross-legged on the floor muttering about quantum puzzles that no one else understood. Cheetah was curled up on the couch, purring from the edibles and swatting at the laser pointer Harley kept flashing.

Lex stood apart, arms crossed—until Ivy handed him a perfectly rolled joint with a smile that didn’t ask, just expected.

“You want peace?” Ivy said, settling into a vine-wrapped loveseat. “Start here.”

He lit it.

The Legion didn’t plot that night. Or argue. Or destroy anything.

They just… vibed.