139.)

Blossom filled my baby bottle with apple juice. I let her have my pacifier, clipped to her onesie with the handmade clip I made her for Christmas. We didn't cuddle at first, but we sort of slumped together on the sofa during the movie-selection process.

"My therapist wanted me to watch a movie," I said, skimming through Disney+.

"I don't think therapy movies are really the vibe," Blossom laughed.

"It's a Disney one. Encanto? That guy that did Hamilton wrote the music."

"Oh, I heard a song from that!" Blossom ran through the memory in her head. "Blah blah blah blah blah Bruno... we can do that one."

So I put on Encanto while Blossom turned down the lights.

It was about a family with magic powers, and a girl who... well, I won't give the movie away. But the opening song was fun. And the house was awesome.

"I really appreciate good outfits," Blossom said, pulling out the pacifier to speak. "Mirabel's embroidery on her skirt would take. Ages. Like, years maybe."

"I like consistent locations. Like, the courtyard in the house. The way the rooms upstairs are set up. I can like, map it all out in my head."

"Impressive. Do you do that with Academy Works too? Like, Academy A?"

"Mmhmm."

"I still can't get over the Ai/Wendy thing... like, I have to reread the whole story again. At least Wendy's part."

"Movie's on," I warned Blossom. "Put your paci back in."

So Blossom put her paci back in.

"I know it's supposed to be sad that Mirabel has to sleep in the nursery," I added a few minutes later, "but I could write fanfiction about this."

"I'm sure people already have~" Blossom added, although she didn't take her pacifier back out so it sounded a lot more mumbly and babbled than Blossom was typically known for. One thing that wasn't lost in the babble was her cute inflection toward the end, and that was probably just a testament to how skilled Blossom was at coming across her best in any given situation. The movie continued to play, and after a few more minutes, Blossom decided she wanted to get cuddled in close. Her head on Amy's lap, or vice versa; either was good with her.

Blossom shuffled a little closer to me and I moved awkwardly, not quite toward her or away from her. In the end, we wound up with her head on my shoulder and both of us half-laying down in opposite directions. The L shaped chaise was good for that. It was comfortable, and I could smell Blossom's shampoo.

"I vibe with–" Blossom paused to take the paci out. "I vibe with Louisa. Lots of expectations. Like, how I can't be baby."

"I think you make a good baby," I told her. I mean, she was sucking a pacifier and sitting around in a diaper and a onesie. But I could see her point.

"I think I make a good baby. But people see 'tall girl who's strong' and I get typecast. Especially because I'm pretty switchy, so people just assume that I'll be the one in charge if there's any kind of power exchange dynamic, and when it comes to baby stuff… I'm not exactly the picture-perfect ideal of Littleness. I'm tall, I'm extremely busty, I'm pretty bossy, I have trouble staying in submissive roles for extended periods. I hope I get such a bop of a song written about me~"

"Give it time. The ABDL Disney musical is just around the corner, I'm sure." I rolled my eyes, but Blossom couldn't see. "And if it makes you feel any better, I think most Littles - if not all of them - feel like that. Like we aren't the picture-perfect ideal. So we... pretend..."

"I guess that's a good point, cupcake. You're pretty smart for a baby-brained princess. You should run an advice account on twitter or something."

"Oh yeah. Someone says they're having a problem with a girl they like. Advice from Mia Moore: just bake a thousand cupcakes or something."

"Movie's on," Blossom teased. "Drink your bottle."

So I drank my bottle.

The movie was really good. It was a little predictable at parts, but that was because my writer brain wouldn't let me just watch something and enjoy it. But by the end of Isabella's song I was crying. Not loud or sad crying, but like raindrops on a living room window. Something you barely notice. I wiped my eyes and shuffled out from under Blossom. I had to sit up.

"You alright?" Blossom asked, looking nervous.

"Mmhmm... yeah. Sorry. I'm fine."

"You never need to apologize to me for crying; tears are just feelings too big to stay inside. I'm pretty sure I read that in a smutty story somewhere."

Blossom took her pacifier out completely so she could be more attentive and available to Amy.

"No, no, I'm really okay. I just think that one hit a little too close to home." I kept wiping my eyes.

"I never got that idiom," Blossom rambled, clearly trying to change the subject. "Too close to home. Like a storm hitting close to your house? Or is it a baseball thing? It sounds like a baseball thing..."

"I dunno," I laughed. I faked a laugh. I really wanted to stop crying now. Blossom had paused the show and I didn't want to pause the show.

"Well, what hit close to home?" Blossom asked.

"The... I dunno. Need to be perfect. Thinking that's the way you gotta be. And what if you don't wanna be? What if you wanna... I dunno."

"Be a brat?" Blossom offered.

"Ha... yeah. Good example." But I was thinking more along the lines of Blossom herself. I wasn't the perfect person for her. I wasn't good at sex or kissing or treating her like a baby. I wasn't good at talking about stuff. I wasn't good at coming to her for help. She deserved someone perfect. The perfect partner.

And my mom deserved the perfect daughter.

And Lin deserved the perfect friend.

And my readers deserved the perfect story. Academy Works was supposed to be perfect.

I still thought about that comment on Academy I. I still thought about how one stranger on the internet didn't like it. And I tore myself down for what I did wrong. But the truth is... I liked Academy I. A lot. I thought I did a good job. I was proud of it. But that stranger wasn't proud of me. And I wasn't supposed to be proud of me if everyone else wasn't proud too.

I hated myself for a long time for always screwing up or doing the wrong thing. I hated Little stuff for a long time, because it was a blemish on my personality. Because I wasn't growing up the right way. Because it was something people had to deal with rather than appreciate. That's how I felt. I felt like an obligation.

But the fact is, I didn't hate myself for screwing up or doing the wrong thing. I didn't hate myself for being wrong. I hated myself for wanting to be wrong. I hated that I wanted to be Little, and I hated that I wanted to have strong opinions. I hated that I wanted to be a brat and lie and argue. I hated that I wanted to be things that were problems for everyone. I hated that my choices made me an obligation.

So what was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to be if I wasn't being good for everyone else?

I was starting to see why Stephanie wanted me to watch this movie.

"I know that this sounds like a hallmark card, or a platitude, or like it's something people just say and it doesn't have meaning… but I promise you when I say this that I mean it from the bottom of my queer lil' heart, okay? You can just be you and that is more than enough. You can be sweet, or you can be bratty, you can be big, or you can be little. You can cook, or you can bake, or we can just order in every night. If nothing else, remember that I chose you for you, and so if you can't believe in yourself, let yourself believe that I believe in you."

"Yeah, well... I'm trying, I guess."

I didn't believe her. I wanted to, and that felt wrong too. I felt like I just wanted things to all fall into place for me, and I was willing to believe anything to get there. I felt like I'd listen to anything she said if it suited my narrative. Wasn't that manipulative?

But Isabella was perfect and Mirabel hated her for it. And when Isabella wasn't perfect, Mirabel supported her. Because Mirabel's imperfection had nothing to do with magic: it was that she needed to be useful. You couldn't be useful to perfect people.

Maybe Blossom needed to be useful too. Maybe it was just her trying to make up for everything she did to me, but that didn't change the situation. She needed to be useful, and in turn, she needed me to be flawed.

Flawed... I could be flawed. I was good at that. You didn't get good at apologizing without being good at being flawed.

"Can, um. I have more juice?" I held up the empty bottle. "And then, um. I dunno. Just. A hug. Or. Something..."

"Absolutely and positively, cupcake."

Blossom slid up off the sofa, then decided to follow her engineer brain and perform the tasks in the order prescribed. So she went to the kitchen, she filled up the bottle with apple juice, and she made her way back to the cutiepie waiting for her in a diaper and onesie.

"I wanna hug you, and then I wanna sit on the sofa and put your head in my lap while I bottle feed you. Is that okay?"

I wanted to say yes, but I was starting to realize that I wanted to say yes because she wanted me to say yes. Right now, I felt overwhelmed and stupid for crying. What I wanted was to make Blossom happy, but what I needed was to decompress. I needed a moment - which I had gotten - then I needed a hug, and then I needed another moment.

"Rain check?" I asked, a little nervously.

"Anytime, sunshine."

Blossom leaned down and wrapped her arms around Amy in a warm hug, which was kind of awkward since Blossom was still standing.

Blossom continued the movie. I cried again at the end and the bottle was empty. My head was fuzzy with exhaustion, in part from crying and in part from not sleeping.

"Good movie," I said quietly, rubbing my eyes.

"I wonder if Mirabel has a bedroom now..." Blossom said, more to herself than to Amy.

"I hope not," I said, still on my fanfic thought process.

"Or, she has a bedroom. But it's a proper nursery, with a crib and stuff!"

"Do you have any in-universe justification for that?" I was asking seriously: I'd write it.

"Some things can just be wish fulfillment," Blossom countered.

"Ya know..." I was thinking about this near the end, with the butterflies and everything. "Every time they do a song, Mirabel gets swept up in one of those big... musical numbers. And like, representations of what the characters are going through. Like, think about Louisa's song. It's not like all that stuff was actually happening. It was just a visual metaphor. But Mirabel was there."

"Oh... that's true..."

"And she wasn't just there, like standing there. She was interacting with the environment. Seeing the same things the other person was seeing. I think that's like... a really good expression of empathy. Being able to really be there and understand someone else's song, so to speak. And she's the only character in the whole movie that does that."

"Huh..." Blossom paused. "I never would have noticed that..."

"And then, at the end," I went on, "there wasn't any visualization. No dance numbers, no sudden setting changes. It was just... people singing together, working together, with no fantasy behind it. No need to express themselves in imagery, because they could do it with words."

"You're a smart cookie, you know that? Nobody analyzes things like you do. And I go to school with engineers! Hypotheticals and problem solving is my literal bread and butter, but you do it so fluidly, so naturally. It's impressive."

"Ha... thanks..." I still wasn't used to the praise Blossom often gave. When it was about writing, it was so easy to accept. Anything else? Well...

"You look tired," Blossom said, tilting her head.

"I am," I admitted. "It's been a long day..."

"Do you wanna cuddle in bed?"

For each of them, that was usually a loaded question. Not because of the intimacy, but because it meant that the day was over. That one more day at the beach house had ended. There was one fewer day left in the weekend. And for Blossom, at least, she was feeling better about that because she was starting to feel like Amy was properly part of her life. But she didn't know how Amy felt.

"I think so."

All my thoughts were muddled by exhaustion, but there was one prevailing one. I had to use the bathroom. I was working through a million different ways to handle that particular situation, but the fact was clear: I couldn't wet myself again before bed. Last time was a lot of feelings and I was too tired to put up with that.

Blossom was already on her feet. She was cleaning up the living room, folding up the blankets and putting my bottle away. She left the living room and I heard water running in the distance. Doing dishes. Cleaning my bottle.

I sat there for five seconds and had a thousand conversations with myself. The kitchen wasn't that far away. Blossom couldn't see me from the sink - not with how I was lying on the chaise - and I was facing away from her. She wasn't exactly in the room, but she wasn't exactly in a different one either.

And I did have to pee. And the water was running. And I was lying on the couch in a way I would often lie in my own bed while writing.

Was it weird? If I wet myself? She wasn't here. Actually, last time, she did it in the kitchen right? And I was on the couch? Same distance. And what about people standing outside a bathroom door? That was closer! Sure, there was a door in the way, but I had a couch in the way...

What were my alternatives? Tell her I had to pee? She'd tease. I'd probably stand in the bathroom and wet my diaper. It would definitely be more awkward than just doing it and never talking about it. Right?

The rationalizations were weighing me down, but I controlled those rationalizations. I decided where to put the weight. And for this specific decision, I put all that weight on my bladder.

That was the first time I wet myself in front of Blossom Brixley. Or, maybe it was my first step to doing it. But it was something. The quiet pattering of the water. The clinking of cups, far away. The heat pooling between my thighs. The diaper pressed tight against my skin by the taut onesie. My cheeks burning crimson.

The whole thing took only a few minutes, but I'd conjured worlds. My favorite one was having an accident without thinking. Of trying to get up and use the bathroom, but Blossom stopping me in the hall. Of getting checked right there. Of the disapproving tone of her tongue clicks. Of the monologue she gave. Of the dawning that I would be in diapers for a very long time.

When Blossom came back over to me, she tilted her head. I hadn't moved and I wondered at first if she knew what I did. But that wasn't it.

"You're coming to bed, right?"

"Yeah, I am..." I sat up more and climbed to my feet. The diaper between my thighs was thicker, pressing my thighs apart. I knew if I took a single step, I'd waddle. Gosh...

Best to get ahead of this...

"Um... I'm gonna change first, okay? Can I use the room?"

"For sure," the simple, immediate answer, and then the follow up: "Do you want me to change you? 'No thanks' is totally a fine answer for this one, cupcake."

Blossom wasn't entirely sure what had Amy so pink-cheeked, so quiet-toned, so head-stuck. But she could also infer from the fact that the two of them were diapered, and that she'd made several bottles of juice for the girl, that Amy was probably wet. And obviously, she was asking to change her diaper.

"Uh, no... I don't... think so..."

I was barely okay being in a wet diaper around Blossom. Having her take it off me, ball it up, and throw it away? It made me shiver in a bad way. No, I couldn't do that one. Not yet, anyway.

But...

"Maybe you could... uh... I dunno. Do the tapes?"

They were my least favorite part. I could unfold the diaper, lay it out, and find a comfortable place on it. I could do the powder. I could pull it up between my legs. But the tapes were always the most annoying part, and I always felt fat afterward.

"That sounds like an excellent idea. I'll hang out down here for a bit and then I'll head up and wait outside the bedroom door for your signal, alright? Does that sound okay?"

Blossom did her best to contain her pride, but goodness was it difficult. Even though it might have only been a very little baby step, it was a step nonetheless!

There were a few complications. First of all, I had to throw the wet diaper away, so I had to change in the bathroom. Then I had to walk across the hall without any underwear on, which was absolutely terrifying. Then, when I was ready for Blossom to tape the diaper on, we hadn't come up with a signal or anything. But then Blossom knocked and everything was okay.

Blossom taped the diaper up and I looked at the ceiling. It was like having all the good parts of our usual routine without any of the scary ones. Then she snapped the onesie closed again and I shuffled a little so everything fell in the right places. I was too tired to even come up with a fantasy about it.

"You're so good at getting diapered, babes. You're such a good girl, and you lay really still, and you help me when I prompt you, and you just look so cute in diapers."

This was not the usual compliment that Blossom would pay someone, and probably not the kind of compliment that most adults would care for, but Blossom was pretty sure Amy would appreciate it.

I rolled my eyes, but it brought color to my cheeks. Blossom crawled into bed after me - she hadn't changed, but I didn't think she was wet - and pulled the blankets over us. I took off my glasses and my vision went about as foggy as my head.

"Come here," Blossom urged, pulling me into my usual spot against her chest. My thigh rested on the front of her onesie - on the front of her diaper - and my own onesie pulled tight between my legs and pushed my own diaper against my bottom.

Blossom turned off the light with a good long reach to the bedside table, and I slept like a baby.