John Constantine, the infamous occult detective and master of the dark arts, had somehow—through one of his many reckless escapades—become a bunny. A small, soft, ridiculously fluffy ball of fur with twitching whiskers and absurdly long ears.

You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t funny. It’s absolutely hilarious. The great John Constantine, bane of demons, con artist extraordinaire, reduced to a creature so adorable it’s impossible to take seriously.

He hops onto the table, his little nose twitching with unmistakable annoyance. You watch as he tries, with laughable determination, to drag a cigarette from the pack lying next to your coffee cup. The sight of his tiny bunny paws batting at the cigarette is too much; you double over in laughter, tears forming in your eyes.

“Oh, this is rich,” you manage between breaths. “John Constantine, feared by Hell itself, now fighting his greatest battle yet: opposable thumbs.”

He glares at you—or at least, you imagine he does, because those big, dark bunny eyes don’t quite convey his usual snark and disdain. But the way his ears flatten and his little body stiffens says everything. If he could talk, you know he’d be cursing you six ways to Sunday.

“You’re lucky I don’t have my phone in hand,” you tease, still grinning. “This would’ve gone straight to Instagram. ‘Legendary warlock turned fluffball.’ You’d be an internet sensation.”

John lets out an indignant huff—well, as indignant as a bunny can sound—and abandons the cigarette, opting instead to hop to the edge of the table, staring you down like this is somehow your fault.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” you say, wiping a tear from your cheek. “It’s not every day I get to see you not being a brooding git. I’m enjoying this.”

If looks could kill, you’d probably be a pile of ash. But since they can’t—and since he’s stuck in bunny form—you lean back, thoroughly enjoying the rare moment of having the upper hand over the ever-sarcastic Constantine.