AN: Warnings at the end.

˃Be Perry the Platypus.

Your boyfriend is an idiot. Absolutely clueless, can't see what's right in front of his long nose, would lose his head if it wasn't screwed on. You know that last one for a fact, because he occasionally forgets his arms.

Sometimes you have no clue how he reached the completely baffling conclusions he does.

For one thing, there's the whole business with 'Steven'. Because he can't recognise you without your hat. You've wondered if he's face-blind, but he never has any trouble recognising anyone else. Just you.

"A platypus? ... Perry the Platypus?"

So it shouldn't be a surprise that he has no clue you're a self-made man. In the literal sense.

Back when your family first brought you into their home, they'd made certain... assumptions. No sex listed on the adoption paper, no clear tells, so they'd defaulted to male. You hadn't expected to care what they called you, but it was hard not to when Phineas called you over with a 'here, boy'.

They'd done their research, later. Platypuses have cloacas, with males having their dicks hidden away inside. They hadn't wanted to go poking around, for which you're thankful, so they'd looked at your ankles. You'd still been a pup back then, with your pup spurs, and they'd made more assumptions. After all, only male platypuses had ankle spurs. It felt like a lie. It felt like your truth.

The day you'd lost your spurs still ranks as one of the worst days of your life, up there with the time you'd found Heinz with another agent. Ferb had found you, pawing at the sign of your body's betrayal, close to crying.

"What's wrong, boy?" Phineas had asked. Ferb set you down, then showed his brother the discarded spurs he'd picked up off the ground. "He lost his spurs? Is he hurt?"

No. And yes. Both. Neither.

All you knew at the time was that they'd fallen off, even though your every instinct screamed that they shouldn't have. You'd read the pamphlets, only female platypuses lost their spurs, and you weren't... were you? It sounded wrong. You'd let out a pathetic whine.

Phineas had glanced at you, then back at Ferb, then at the spurs still resting in his brother's hand. "He's going to need new ones that won't fall off... I know what we're going to do today!"

Not long later, they'd set you back down on the ground, replacement spurs hanging heavy from your ankles. You'd held your breath as you lifted each foot to check the weight, releasing it with a sense of relief at how right they felt. Definitely something you could learn to live with. And you would.

"I think he likes them."

Fighting with your spurs was another matter entirely.

The weight of them had thrown off your balance at first, enough that even walking was a struggle. So you'd trained. Deep in your base, running and jumping and moving until they were just as much a part of you as your own paws.

It hadn't been easy. You'd had to relearn all the ways your muscles move, from the way you throw a punch to the way you swing your tail. But the satisfaction when you'd got it right justified the effort. After all, your job demands nothing less.

The time spent training had led to you modifying them. Nothing visible, just a few tweaks to make them combat-ready. Better weight distribution, controls to tuck the spurs away while fighting Heinz, sharpened points for the rare occasion you'll have to use them. Not that you ever want to. That's not why you have them. All you're doing is honing your body into the very best agent you can be, and using every tool at your disposal to do so.

And if you'd developed a habit of tapping your spurs against your chair just to hear the click of them, reassurance that they're there and you hadn't imagined it, that was no one's business but yours.

Your family had realised their 'mistake', one day. It had been a regular check-up at the vet, until you'd heard the words that twisted in your gut like a knife.

"You realise your platypus is a girl, right?"

The boys were still young. They 'didn't see why it mattered'. To them, you were still a good boy. Their good boy.

Candace followed their lead, for which you're still grateful. "Whatever. He's still the useless meat brick." She cared, in her own way.

The only one who tried to change was Linda. You'd ignored her. Pretended you didn't hear when she called you. Petty, yes, but you'd had no other choice. OWCA's policies were strict for a reason. Any hint of the idea you're more than you seem, no matter how good your reasons, and that was it. One moment you'd be there, the next you'd be gone.

It was all to protect them. You had to remember that.

To your eternal relief, her attempts to use the 'right' words for you didn't last long, not after Phineas stepped in. He'd explained that since you answer to 'boy', obviously you thought it was your name.

He wasn't entirely wrong, you'd thought.

And Heinz. Your oblivious idiot nemesis boyfriend. He's always been supportive, in his own clueless way, and you appreciate that. You know you've never been anything but a man to him, despite everything. Sometimes you think he even forgets you're a platypus.

You'd considered telling him. Had almost done it, once, working up the courage to write out a whole explanation in your neatest handwriting. All your fears, spelled out in black and white on the page.

But when it came time to give it to him, you... couldn't.

Worries raced through your head, not for the first time. Would he still think of you the same way? Would it change anything? How could it not change anything? How could it not change everything? You couldn't risk it.

"Is everything okay, Perry the Platypus?"

You couldn't tell him but he'd held you close anyway, whispering reassurances that you're handsome and manly, like he knew. Or maybe he'd recognised his own fears in you. You know he struggles with his own insecurities, different from yours but parallel, and you wish you could tell him he's never been anything but a man to you just as much as you want to hear it from him.

You'd been... worried, the first time you'd let him make love to you. Still uncertain how he'd take it. Would he think less of you for your body's traitorous nature? Surely he would.

And yet, to your initial surprise, he hadn't brought it up once. He'd noticed your missing dick, how could he not, but all he did was call you 'handsome' and kiss you until you forgot you had anything to worry about.

In hindsight, you shouldn't have been surprised. He always has had a tendency of missing the obvious.

That much had been clear when you'd woken up in his bed the next morning, aching but content, to the sound of him talking away on the phone.

"He doesn't have a dick, but I figure, you know, he's a platypus! It's probably normal for them. Definitely. Definitely normal."

You'd squinted at him and growled tiredly, because it's no one else's business what you do or don't have. It didn't stop him, but he'd reached over to run his fingers through your fur and that was good enough. At least you knew he cared.

One day he'd brought up the idea of turning himself into a platypus again, breathless and excited, and all you could do was nod numbly.

What could you say? How could you possibly explain your fear, that he'd look at you differently when faced with the undeniable proof of the lies you've let him believe. That he'd think your manhood was a lie. That it is a lie, just like everything else about you. You still can't be sure where the line is between your truth and the lies you've had to become. How could you know, when falsehoods come as quickly to your paws as violence?

In the face of his cheerful enthusiasm, his pale skin still bearing the marks from your fists, you'd said none of it. Another lie to hate yourself for.

Instead, when he'd asked for your help to rebuild the Platyp-inator, he'd grinned so widely that you'd agreed, not wanting to disappoint him too soon and wishing you didn't have to at all.

And yet, after the inator was finished and he'd been transformed, he'd seemed surprised to have a dick.

"Weird... my inator didn't work right, I guess. Oh well!"

You didn't have the heart to tell him he was wrong, that it looked nothing like his human dick, that he was physically entirely platypus. Not when he'd nudged his bill against yours, the gesture somehow more intimate than a human-style kiss. Not when he'd taken your paws and pulled you into a dance, spinning around the room with you, breathless and laughing. Definitely not when he'd bitten your tail and made love to you the way both of your instincts demanded, fitting snugly inside you the way he never did as a human, all the while telling you how strange it all was.

What could you do but make yourself believe him?

When you'd found yourself gravid with his eggs, you'd thought that would be enough to send this precarious peace crashing down.

Telling him had been easy enough, all things considered. Pull his hand to your side, let him feel the shape of the eggs inside you, wait for his reaction. Hold your breath in case it's the wrong one.

He'd freaked out.

Over your impending fatherhood.

He hadn't planned to have more children, he'd said. It was unexpected, by which he meant he probably should have used a condom. Would it mean you couldn't fight him? How long until they were due? Was there anything you needed? Did platypuses get eggnancy cravings? Charlene had wanted rice pudding when she was pregnant with Vanessa, he still had a ton in a freezer somewhere. He didn't know if it would still be alright, but he had it.

At no point did he ever question how you, a clearly male platypus - or so he claimed - could be eggnant.

You'd let him fuss over you, exhaling as you'd slumped into his gentle hands and gentle words. He'd tucked you in against his chest, and you'd let the sound of his heartbeat wash away your thoughts, leaving only relief in their wake.

Then he'd told everyone.

"It's in his theme song! 'He's a semi-aquatic egg-laying mammal of action'!"

At least he'd taken the news well. One less thing to worry about.

Now, with your pups - his pups too, he was involved in their creation - licking at your milk patches and your endearingly clueless boyfriend telling them about their incredibly handsome and strong father, his words, you have no clue how he still doesn't know.

Then again, he still doesn't recognise you without your hat. It's expected, by this point. Reassuring. So, you'd finally let yourself relax around him, knowing that no matter what, you'll always be his boyfriend.

At least until he gives you the ring he owes you.

Warnings: trans!Perry, gender dysphoria, misgendering, mpreg(g).

AN: Crossposted from ao3 as always. Title from Castle of Glass by Linkin Park.

This was not meant to be angsty. I just want everyone to know that. My goal was humour, but angst snuck in while I wasn't looking.

Reviews appreciated!