Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1. puella in rosea

marigold struggles to settle for the night after playing princess earlier in the day

(gender discussion except the person trying to talk is a toddler)

2. nostri cincinnis

marigold makes some observations about hair

Chapter Text

Crowley had known from nearly the second he had given birth to his and Aziraphale’s second child that they were going to be a little firecracker. Marigold had been born in the springtime with a fair amount of red hair, and Crowley’s own golden snake eyes, pupils and all. They were smaller than Cosmo had been, being born at only 37 weeks, but it hadn’t deterred them any less.

Marigold had taken their first steps at 10 months, Aziraphale had insisted that it was so they could play with their older sibling, Cosmo, faster, which based on the way they eagerly followed the tiniest winged creature in the cottage while using their third word “Mo” very easily. (Their first word, just like Cosmo,  was also “Dada” though Marigold’s had been immediately followed by “Papa”. The two words had been said all within a span of about 10 minutes and unprompted, and if the sun shined a little brighter that day–neither of the parents would have noticed.)

The little redhead was fairly easy to read most of the time, and typically a good communicator (again, both of the parents’ had assumed that they were trying to play catch-up with Cosmo who was already talking and walking. They weren’t going to complain about early advancements, they were just hoping Marigold would be ready to potty train sooner as well so they could take a break from nappy changes.). They were loud with everything, they loved singing on the top of their lungs to Crowley’s music they didn’t know the words to and Aziraphale’s that had no words at all, they loved laughing fully at jokes they didn’t understand, and despite their lack of volume control, they were fairly well behaved. Tantrums weren’t unheard of (being a toddler is one of the hardest jobs an immortal being can have), but usually they could be calmed with just a cuddle and a few minutes of breathing big gulps of air.

Marigold was very good at communicating thanks to Aziraphale and Crowley, and often found themself learning new words to loudly shout their different feelings. They had spent the whole day eagerly playing a princess (also a dragon. Dragons are sick as hell. Why not?), and somehow as the night droned on, their mood had shifted from something so excited and enthusiastic to one that was teary and sad.

“What’s got you in such a fuss, baby?” Crowley asked as he held Marigold wrapped in a fluffy beige towel and nothing but a nappy underneath after their bath. They whined and gripped onto the neckline of Crowley’s shirt, a few tears that had pricked at their eyes  dripped and found a new home in the dark fabric beneath. “Do you need a tipple and then a good sleep?”

Marigold hiccuped and shook their head, “No,” Crowley nodded and moved slowly into the youngest’s room and sat in the rocking chair they had invested in when Cosmo had first been born. Crowley stroked their matching locks of flaming (ironic, considering that Marigold had just finished their bath and was still quite wet) red hair and rubbed over the small bumps where their tiny baby wings were folded neatly at their back under the towel.

Marigold puttered out another sad breath and sank into Crowley’s hold. He loved his children, and the mere idea of seeing either of them so sad wrecked his heart for all it was worth. He just held them and rocked back and forth in the chair as they continued to let out a few tears.

“Marigold, can Daddy help you feel better?” Crowley asked and swiped his hand over the almost-two-year-old’s cheek. The toddler hummed and their head further into Crowley’s neck with a very small nod. Crowley grinned at the very slight gesture, no matter what the size of it was–he was going to get to the bottom of it. He used a single finger to poke at their ribs feeling the way they attempted to stifle a little laugh. 

“Let’s see,” Crowley began, his own mind wandered to when they had started acting sad earlier in the day. They were just fine at lunch while they ate a ham sandwich, strawberries–which was their favorite, and a few carrots. They had sat next to Aziraphale and picked from his collection of strawberries once theirs was done with a happy smile. It was one of his favorite sights in the whole world. “We were happy at lunchtime, we had some strawberries with Papa.”

Marigold nodded and lifted their head a bit to look at Crowley with puffy eyes. “After that you had some milk, a cuddle, and a nap,” Marigold’s hand found Crowley’s chest and nodded once more in agreement. “And then we played castle with Papa and Cosmo.” Marigold began to shrink a little. Crowley remembered how eager Marigold had been to play a princess, and how much they enjoyed dancing and spinning around in the pink pinafore that they had worn all day.

“Princess,” Marigold whined, still managing to fiddle with Crowley’s shirt around their chest. Their little eyes welled up a bit after saying.

“Did you not want to be a princess, baby?” Crowley asked gently, rubbing up and down their back. Marigold shook their head fiercely. Crowley did like to think of himself as smart, he knew his baby was a little firecracker and he was right about that, but he felt bad not knowing exactly what was bothering them. “You did wanna be a princess?”

“Yeah,” They cried, “‘m princess.” Crowley listened to the way they spoke, they way they were struggling to find the words to communicate how they were feeling.

“You’re a princess?” Crowley asked, he studied the way Marigold began to sit up in his lap, the tears that had gathered almost beginning to dry up, as if he had asked the right question. “Did you not want to stop playing?” There was a visible crumble in their features, he was wrong. 

“Princess like Nana,” They said, their bottom lip quivering at the words. Tracy has been referred to as many things but a princess? Crowley watched over the baby’s face as they began to push away from him to get down on the ground. Marigold was still only in their nappy as they toddled over the circle carpet in the center of the room in search of something as their eyes surveyed the floor for its contents.

“Where are you going, princess?” Crowley asked, using the nickname he had earlier for the little one as they played their game. Marigold turned at once and smiled hugely, showing off their little baby teeth that were pearly white. They bounced happily with a clap before turning and finding the objects they had been looking for. They walked back to Crowley with their hands full of the little toys and placed each one in front of him with a different name.

“Dada,” Marigold said with distinction as they placed down the first toy, a red crocheted snake with black button eyes and a bright pink tongue. It was a gift from Muriel as one of the first things she had learned to do after touching down on Earth for near-permanent residence.

“Darling, I’m pretty sure Daddy is in the rocking chair,” A voice said from the doorframe. It was Aziraphale who had a bathed and pajama’d Cosmo stood right in front of him. Marigold smiled at their Papa and turned with all the toys in their arms.

“Sit please,” They said to both their other father and Cosmo, who had already snuck further into the room to sit in Crowley’s lap. Aziraphale raised both hands and moved to sit on the floor next to the rocking chair and after a quick explanation from Crowley sat quietly to watch Marigold attempt to explain… whatever it was they were trying to explain.

“Dada,” They said again at the snake before they sat down a polar bear toy that had fluffy white fur all over it, “Papa,” They pointed next. “Momo,” They moved to a separate spot to place down the third toy, a lamb with similar white curly wool. Marigold moved another step over and placed down a stuffed orange cat, “Nana.” Two more cats were placed down in yellow and blue colors, “Nini, Maggie,” Marigold turned and in their hands was a penguin in a pink skirt.

“Which pile does Ms. Penguin go in, baby?” Crowley asked, observing the way Marigold had neatly set up the three piles.

“Princess Mango,” Marigold said, referring to themself as they set the penguin down with the cat toys that had represented Tracy, Nina, and Maggie.

“Mango goes in princess pile!” Cosmo cheered as they watched Marigold place the toy down, both toddlers cheered at the organization as the parents watched. “Ms. Penguin’sa girl,” Cosmo said in a singsong voice, “So’re the kitties!”

“Yeah!” Marigold cheered, “Girl!” The tiny redhead beamed with joy at the new word, the right word. 

“Oh!,” Crowley sounded surprised, he looked at the piles again, and put Cosmo’s words with it. The snake and polar bear, himself and Aziraphale typically used masculine pronouns, and the toys had boy names; the sheep toy had never been ‘gendered’ by Marigold and thus had become Cosmo who had never really had a gender (not that they minded, as it turned out); and the final pile had the three lady cats, Tracy, Nina, and Maggie, which were three of the women that Marigold knew–the last toy Ms. Penguin who wore pink was also in that pile. The “girl” pile.

“Marigold, are you trying to say you’re a girl?” Crowley asked and watched as Marigold’s face completely lit up. Her mood for the entire afternoon made sense now, she had been a princess in the game, and by the time the game had ended, where she was able to be a little girl, she was stuck being not herself again.

“Yeah!” Marigold laughed heartily and ran to Aziraphale who had his arms wide open. He immediately held her tight and kissed her all over her face as she was finally able to express her feelings no matter how long it had taken for her to piece together how to get that done.

“My baby girl,” Aziraphale hummed and kissed Marigold’s hairline, smothering her little face with kisses.

“Princess!” Cosmo cheered as well, feeling the way Crowley held them tighter as well, their support for their little sister never wavering even the slightest bit.

Crowley was certain his children were perfect in every way. He and Aziraphale had two of them, the second was a daughter, a firecracker, and a princess. Marigold had fiery red hair and yellow eyes just like Crowley’s. Her favorite color was pink, and she was very good at communication, even if it took a few steps to figure out what she meant in certain things.

Chapter Text

“Daddy,” Marigold hummed early one morning, while Crowley’s hands were easily twisting and managing his daughter’s hair to be woven into delicate french braids before she could run off to play in the back garden with her two siblings, Cosmo and Alyssum. “Papa said you used to have long hair like me.”

Crowley looked over his daughter, who had always followed after him in her looks. Her hair held curls like his own had in the age of Golgotha, where he had embraced the feminine styles and donned his own loose curls in the blistering sun

Crowley continued his work in weaving Marigold’s hair, “I did, way, way, long ago. Before you or Mo were even born.” Crowley watched as Marigold sat patiently, which for a 5-year-old that was normally full of energy, was an incredible feat in itself. “Your papa used to braid my hair, and it was curly and beautiful just like yours.” Marigold crossed her arms at that, a little pout poking at her lips.

“Where’d it go?” She asked. Crowley watched her expression as she continued staring forward toward the back window that went out to the small back garden where Aziraphale already was with Cosmo and Alyssum, all of whom had short, curly, white hair that remained so fluffy, yet groomed it didn’t need as much care as the long red locks that Marigold had. Crowley had loved his hair when it was long, and he loved that his daughter had asked to keep it long when given the choice to trim it shorter.

“I cut it all off,” Crowley had been keeping his hair short for years now, with babies and life in general, keeping it short had been the way to go to avoid the pudgy little fingers that liked to grab and tug with all the minimal force that they could muster. The biggest culprit of pulling things was in front of him, Marigold loved to tug on his scarf when he wore it, loved to grab onto his and Aziraphale’s ears, and overall just always be touching either one of them. She still seemed rather dismayed by the whole premise of him once having long hair, and no longer sporting that look that never seemed to bother her before. “Why, bubba?”

“Siobhan at school and her mum have the same hair,” Marigold said as Crowley finished with the plaiting he was doing in the five-year-old’s hair, “And then James said he and his dad had the same hair.” Crowley gave a quick tap to Marigold’s shoulder so she knew she was free to turn around and look at Crowley directly with her twin eyes, and almost identical twin features. “‘N Cosmo ‘n Lyss ‘n Papa all have the same hair.”

“And we don’t?” Crowley tried to supply for her and helped Marigold to stand up in the chair so she could look at him more directly. She nodded at Crowley the second they were facing each other with a hum. “Ah.”

Crowley hadn’t put much thought into his hair length for quite some time, he of course had scared the sentience into the crimson stuff so it wouldn’t bother to leave the perfectly groomed place he had put it in, but Marigold’s hair had grown unlike his. For a while, while she was still a baby (a littler baby than five-years-old that is, to Crowley and Aziraphale both their children would always be their babies.) her hair was still short and the same length as Crowley’s.

“I wanna match hair with you,” She said matter of factly. “Papa can braid it.” She reached her little hand up and tousled the hair so it fell from its place, which he wouldn’t be bothering to scold it back into place. Marigold’s hands moved the different strands around, so they parted awkwardly and ended up falling over the sides of his face and falling at the lowest point, just below his ears.

“Yeah?” Crowley gave his daughter a gentle smile and wrapped her up in a little hug that she leaned into with pleasure. Her hands still found themselves tangled in his hair as she attempted to make his hair “presentable” in her own youthful vision. “I can grow out my hair, I think.”

Marigold laughed at the words, “Daddy! You can make anything happen!” And Crowley smiled at her belief, there was that little human saying of looking at someone as if they had hung the stars, and his own children wouldn’t be wrong when they looked at him with widened eyes in awe. Though if you had asked Crowley about the most important thing he had ever done in his very, very long life he wouldn’t hesitate to pull out his mobile phone and show off a picture of Aziraphale sitting right smack in the center of their sofa with all three of their children hanging off of him while he read them a story with silly voices, afterall they were infinitely more important than any bundle of gasses that lit up the sky could ever be.

And if Crowley’s hair started growing faster than it ever had in his existence to begin to match his baby’s, Marigold would happily say that they matched now and never speak on any of his hair growth tips*.

*It was fear. And a silk pillowcase.