testosterone shoes

anonymous asked:

hello Elise! 💕 I'm feeling abit stressed about an audition coming up so I was wondering could I get some professional dancer!grantaire headcannons please? 💕💕

ballerina grantaire basically keeps me alive, do you have any hcs for him??

  • I love myself some Grantaire who’s simultaneously a ballet dancer and a hardcore bower and who manages to conciliate the two into one
  • Sometimes he’s at the gym, boxing with really buff people and there’s this big testosterone ambiance. Grantaire’s ballet shoes are sticking out of his bag and a dude is there like “are those your sister’s?” and Grantaire just smiles smugly “Nah my guy. Gonna kick your ass with a well placed arabesque, don’t worry”
  • Grantaire who’s a graceful boxer and an energic and a sharp dancer, combining both of his sports together
  • Not to mention the fencing, who literally combines some form of dancing and onslaughts
  • Grantaire who teaches from time to time, when a teacher is not there. He loves the little ballet students because they’re so eager to learn but they’re also silly as heck. He makes them laugh a lot
  • A lot of makeup, especially foundation, goes into hiding his black eyes for representations
  • Grantaire who finds out that Azelma has always wanted to be a ballet dancer but thought she didn’t have the money to be accepted, and now thinks that she’s too old to be a graceful dancer
  • Grantaire calls bullshit on that and gives her one-on-one lessons to catch up with everything she’s missed
  • Grantaire and Eponine at sitting in the front row for Azelma’s first representation and Grantaire feels proud that he managed to do at least /that/. He didn’t change the world but he helped Azelma to make her dream come true and that ha to count for something
Anyone who read that last post and got curious...

One time I ended up in the ER with heart problems from T. Because triage thought I was male, they read me as even younger than I really was–and assumed I must be on street drugs that were possibly giving me a heart attack; what else would cause that in such a young boy? I think their guesses were coke and speed, nobody believed me when I said I was sober. Probably only hurt my case that I kept alluding to a “medication” I took that might be contributing, but I wouldn’t say what until I got to the doctor, because stealth, yeah? (Fuck.)

Eventually this lesbian physician got on the case, and I watched it dawn on her, what was going on. Goddess, was she un-amused by this situation. I don’t remember what words were spoken, but I am pretty sure she warned me that T was a dangerous thing to be doing.

I remember the feelings and the nonverbal cues very, very clearly. I remember watching her get tight-lipped and quietly angry, not at me exactly, but not NOT at me either…kind of the way moms get angry when their kids run into the street: “you could have been killed!” etc. She looked me in the eye, dyke to dyke, while she talked to me. I felt shamed but not in a way I could really put my finger on (so later I just called her transphobic to anyone who would listen). And I remember I sanctimoniously kept holding my line that this was my “medication” and I needed it, etc.–which on some level I believed quite desperately, but on some deeply buried level I also knew it was a script, and I felt the doctor’s urgency as a kind of fissure opening in my contrivance. I hated her; I hated every level of her recognition. I needed the unconscious things to stay unconscious.

I wish I could talk to her now. When I look back on it I suspect she saw me as a harbinger; her reaction was to that, more than to me, per se.