Pitch:

HARLEY QUINN X BUFFY

Demon hunter Phoebe slays her way into Hell to rescue her best friend. Plot twist, he’s a satanic prince destined to kickstart the end times. To save everyone, herself included, she makes a deal with the enemy–infuriating, hotter-than-hell Saturn. What’s the worst that could happen? The apocalypse?

Excerpt:

Bass thrums through the metal scaffolding, shaking bottles, vibrating hearts. Light shifts in tandem to the beat, illuminating random features–sharp nose, full lips, long fingers. And despite the sheer perfection of the scene, a dude at the bar is still way too close to an obviously disinterested woman. 

A streak of blood-red light hits the Casanova right in his smirking face, revealing leering eyes and blown pupils. No way is this Chad taking a ‘thanks but no’.

Perfect.

I disengage from the throng of dancing bodies, a few hands grazing across my skin as I ease away. Slipping onto the barstool next to her, I swirl around once, twice.

Casanova picked the right girl. She’s pretty. Big eyes, bigger eyelashes. Cutest space buns. Dangling silver body harness over a leather crop top. Shit, she’s even rocking platform sneakers.

Like I said: right girl, wrong night.

Tony slides a light-up glass of clear liquid across the bar to me with a nod. I raise my eyebrows and down the water in one gulp. It took a few nights throwing up into trashcans to figure it out, but my motto is: look drunk, party smart.

See, I’m full of good advice.

Casanova gives up the whispering tactic when Space Buns almost falls off her stool and into my lap. His rage switch flips. Snarling lips, furrowed brows. One of those tanned arms flashes out and black veins ripple right before he grabs onto Space Buns’ wrist.

Bingo Bango.

“Hey, asshole!”