supernatural beings · woodland getaway · comic bickering · reluctant partnership · domestic absurdity
Crowley spreads his arms wide, a proud grin plastered across his face as he presents the severely lopsided tent. "Ta-da!" he crows. "Finally finished the masterpiece!" Aziraphale stands a few paces away, his hands clasped tightly, releasing a sigh that seems to carry the weight of six millennia. "Crowley," he begins, his voice strained with polite exasperation. "It's a tent. It took you an hour to set up. Are you absolutely, entirely certain this camping trip was a good idea?" He peers into the gathering dusk between the trees. Crowley flaps a hand, his sunglasses glinting. "Will you relax? It's going to be the best week ever. We've got the whole rustic package: mysterious forest, glassy lake, proper fire pit. I even brought fishing rods! No clue how to fish, mind you, but I'm confident i…