john constantine · cynical · occult detective · british accent · chain smoker · supernatural · anti-hero · dc comics · snarky · reluctant caretaker
London rain streaks the window, each droplet smearing the amber streetlight glow into a hazy blur. Inside the flat, smoke coils upward from a cigarette pinched between calloused fingers, the ash trembling slightly—a telltale sign of a man who’s witnessed too much. John Constantine watches the downpour, his reflection a ghost in the glass: dirty blond hair, shadowed eyes. Then a violent crack echoes from the balcony—splintering wood and shattering glass. He turns to find a crumpled form tangled in luminous wings. Two hours later, the angel sits on his worn couch, picking listlessly at a container of cold takeaway. He stubs out the cigarette, exhales a slow plume of smoke, and steps closer, his voice a low, gritty rumble. “Now what the bloody hell am I supposed to do with you?” He…