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artificialqueens · 10 months

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🏳️‍🌈 Your Best American Girl (Gia Gunn/Laganja Estranja) - Lita

Summary: Life on the road is fucking lonely, and Laganja thinks it’s killing her. Gia is adrift in a foreign country, trying and failing to stake out a career. Friendship can be found in the unlikeliest of places - namely a high school gym in Delaware. Femme Fatale Wrestling AU.

A/N: This is essentially the Pretty Dope origin story that I’ve been sitting on half-finished for months. This is set five or six years before the main story iirc, while Gia and Ganja are still working on the indie circuit before getting signed by Femme Fatale. I love these morons and put way too much thought into their respective backstories, and I wish they got less villain-coded airtime in the main story (which won’t be the case for much longer, I promise) so this was stupid fun to write. Re: the song from which I lifted the title and lyrics, Your Best American Girl by Mitski has always been Gia/Ganja crack to me - it was written from the POV of struggling to meet eurocentric beauty standards as a woman of colour trying to date white men, but I think it can also read as a trans narrative and the ‘all-American boy’ line really evokes angst and shit about FFW!Laganja for me, so it’s always really inspired me while writing the two of them. Anyway, hope you all enjoy! <3

CW: Transphobia

Your mother wouldn’t approve

Of how my mother raised me,

But I do, I think I do.

****

There’s something a little disarming about wandering around in a high school after hours. The fluorescent lit hallway leading out of the gymnasium is overbearingly bright and creepily empty. Laganja makes slow, unsteady progress towards the door leading out to the parking lot; one of the wheels of her suitcase fell off while she was trying to get it out of her car earlier, and dragging it around lopsided was proving nothing short of a fucking nightmare.

The show had been far from bad, but she’d just hit her limit - at least it’s only five minutes’ drive to her hotel, maybe fifteen if she goes via McDonald’s like she’s planned. She has a pre-rolled joint in her backpack, and nowhere to be until eleven am the next morning. Then another hours-long drive to the next gig out in the back of beyond, to another shitty match in a shitty school gymnasium or community centre - rinse and repeat. She’d been living out of a suitcase for the better part of a month already, with another two weeks to go before she’d next see the inside of her apartment. She wasn’t at all mad at the payout, but it felt like a lot of work for money she was spending most of on gas and takeout. A little bit of her missed being a ‘real’ athlete - it wasn’t nearly this lonely.

A lot of her missed it, actually. Back then, she’d had teammates to keep her company, and she didn’t have to pay for her own accommodation. Or travel. Or gear. These days, she’s never a standout - just a replaceable body at the bottom of a card, never in the same place more than once. No foundations, no friends. She misses being treated like she mattered.

The scandal had died down since last year - she was finding it easier to get gigs, and could look at her social media without having a panic attack - but it didn’t make things much easier. She was just a little less radioactive than she had been after being kicked off the Olympic team. Rebuilding her life was taking time.

Laganja rounds a corner, still fighting with her suitcase - a loud voice catches her off-guard and she stops dead; ducking behind a row of lockers. It’s a guy’s voice, brash and angry. She doesn’t really want to get herself involved in whatever the fuck this is. At least not until she’s figured out what’s going on.

“What part of leave me the fuck alone don’t you understand?”

“Babe, wait-“ A female voice this time; equally loud and a little abrasive, but with a distinct edge of fear that makes Laganja nervous.

“I’m not your fucking babe- don’t touch me!”

Laganja hears the crash of a body slamming into metal, and winces - craning her neck to peer down the hall. The feminine voice belongs to that Japanese chick she’d worked a match with earlier that night - Gia something? She couldn’t work out at the time whether or not she liked her - she’d stiffed her a little in the ring, and had been pretty closed-off and hard to talk to backstage. Her lip is trembling, and there’s already black streaks of mascara running down her face. The guy has just shoved her into the lockers - pinning her in place with a hand roughly grasped around her shoulder. The other is raised like he’s about to punch her. Laganja’s stomach drops.

“Look, can’t we figure this out?“ Gia’s voice is shaking.

“There’s nothing to figure out - I’m not a fucking homo, okay? So back the fuck off. I’m leaving.”

“But my-“

“I don’t give a shit,” he snarls. “Stop following me around like a lost fucking puppy - we’re done.”

“How the fuck am I gonna get home-“

“I don’t care! You fucking lied to me!”

Gia whimpers. Fuck this - Laganja steps out from where she’d been hiding; this feels like it’s about to get ugly, and she can’t just stand around and let that happen. She tries to say something, but the words get stuck in her throat, standing about ten feet away from them as her mouth opens and closes like a guppy, trying to string a sentence together with her fists clenched by her sides.

Doesn’t matter - the guy sees her there, and his eyes widen. He practically sprints towards the door; shoving it open with his shoulder and letting it slam behind him. Gia crumples against the lockers. As soon as he’s out of eyeshot, Laganja drops her case, making straight for Gia. She’s sitting on the ground; hugging her knees and crying. Laganja crouches down at her side.

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

She looks up, sniffing a little. She’s still wearing her ring gear, a black and red high-necked two-piece, with an oversized hoodie shrugged over the top.

“I’m fine,” she murmurs, avoiding eye contact with Laganja as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Is he-“

“Fuck off,” Gia pulls away sharply from the hand that Laganja had placed on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry - I don’t want to shove my nose into your business or anything, but like…hey, weren’t we in a match together earlier?”

The brunette gives a nonplussed shrug; pulling out her phone from the pocket of her hoodie and wiping away her running mascara with the aid of her front camera. Laganja fishes a travel pack of Kleenex out of her backpack and offers it to her. She takes it begrudgingly, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. Laganja sits down on the floor next to her, crossing her legs and leaning against the locker.

“You’re doing a really bad job at fucking off,” Gia observes.

“I heard most of your conversation - I figured you don’t have a ride home, or anywhere to sleep tonight, and I’m not gonna leave you stranded out here in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. I’m waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and realise that I’m trying to help you, okay?”

The brunette cracks half a smile.

“Bitch.”

“Takes one to know one,” Laganja smirks. “What’s your name?”

“You seriously did not forget what my name is after an hour-“

“No, I mean your real one.” She gives a bemused laugh. Pro wrestling etiquette is a language she’s still trying to decipher - she’s not sure whether or not that’s something she should have asked, but the question is out there now. There’s probably a stupid made-up word for the question she’d been trying to ask. Shoot name? She thinks that’s maybe it. “Mine’s Lucy, by the way.”

“It’s still Gia,” she replies, a little thorny. Then: “I’m gonna stick with calling you Laganja, though. That’s funnier.”

“Thanks,” Ganja rolls her eyes. She turns to Gia, her face turning a little more serious. “So, what’s going on?”

“With what?” Gia says, her tone half uncertain and half sharply defensive.

“You know - that guy. Looked pretty bad from where I was standing.”

“Oh, Trey’s my boyfriend. Or well, I guess was. I…” she sighs, chewing over her words a little. “One of the- look, why the fuck am I telling you this?”

“Because I wanna help,” Laganja replies simply. Gia purses her lips.

“One of the guys backstage told him something about me that I wasn’t ready to tell him, and he got mad, okay? So it’s basically my fault.”

“What the fuck could they have told him that made him that mad?” Laganja raises her eyebrows. “None of that was okay.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Gia hugs her knees.

“Listen - I just met you, and after tonight we’re probably never gonna see each other again. Who am I gonna tell? It’s just between us.” Gia doesn’t seem impressed. Laganja offers a hand out to her. “Pinkie swear.”

Gia looks a little wary, hushing her voice and ignoring the childish proffered hand. “I…I’m transgender. I was like, born a guy. It’s not something I wanna make a big deal of, it’s just that-“

Laganja has to hold in a laugh, realising that now might not be the right time.

“Seriously? Bitch, me too!”

Gia looks taken aback.

“Shut up,” she says, shrinking away from Laganja. Fuck. She thinks she’s mocking her.

“I’m not kidding - honest to god.” Gia eases up a little. “And by the way, wether you told him or not, that doesn’t give him the right to treat you like that.”

Gia doesn’t say anything.

“I mean it - I’ve dealt with my share of this shit, and there’s no excuse for it. What he said to you was fucking wrong, period. Doesn’t matter how upset he is.”

“I was gonna tell him - I just didn’t think he’d react like that. Plus like, he was gonna find out eventually.” Gia laughs a little grimly. “I told him I was saving myself for marriage, and I don’t think I was gonna be able to like, keep that up for much longer.”

Laganja gives a tight-lipped smile, slightly uncomfortable. Not with Gia, with the situation. She hadn’t even attempted dating since she’d come out, and this was exactly why. Too scared of what people would think - or say, or do. After seeing the full, horrendous extent of the first ‘big’ reaction to her transition, it didn’t bear thinking about. Didn’t exactly help that her parents, who she’d been outed to in the midst of the whole scandal, had barely said a word to her since, and her teammates had thrown her to the wolves.

“Well, he’s a loser who doesn’t know what he’s missing,” Laganja eventually says. She stands up, walking back down the hall to grab her broken suitcase, before returning to Gia and holding a hand out to her. Gia looks perplexed.

“What are you-?”

“C’mon - I need dinner, and I’m not leaving you here.”

****

“You want any more?”

Laganja holds the joint out to Gia - sitting in the passenger seat of her car. The brunette shakes her head, a hint of a laugh in her voice.

“Nah - I’m good.”

“You sure?” Laganja takes another drag; trying to talk while holding in smoke.

“Totally sure - I…you got me really fucking high,” Gia giggles, leaning against the door of the car. She aims a handful of fries for her mouth and misses - dropping most of them into her shirt.

“I think you needed it, honey,” Laganja smiles, watching Gia trying to pick fries off of her chest with her tongue, like a lizard. She’s loosened up a hell of a lot, Laganja thinks as she flicks ash into the empty Coke can on her dashboard.

“Yeah,” Gia says airily. “Y’know, you’re the first person I’ve met who’s like, like me. And you’re really fucking cool. I like you.”

“You’re just saying that because I bought you food and let you smoke my weed.”

“Nah - seriously,” Gia insists - rambling a little, her eyes overly-moist and tinged pink. “I’ve never met another trans girl - I knew that I was one, but you’re like….you’re the first. It’s like we’re fucking unicorns or some shit.”

Ganja smiles.

“So, what the fuck is your story, Gia?”

“What?” Gia giggles, still fighting with her fries.

“How did you wind up stuck out here, with him? You’re too fucking good in the ring to be working in a high school gym in fucking Delaware.”

“I started training when I was like, eleven,” Gia says, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. Laganja notices her slack jaw, and tries to pick it up off the floor before Gia sees it too. “It’s like, normal in Japan. Both my parents are wrestlers, it was sort of always gonna be my thing.”

“But what are you doing here?”

“It’s part of the training system - we call it a ‘learning excursion’. You get sent to the US for like, a year before you debut on TV back home, learn to speak better English and work different styles or whatever. So I came over when I was nineteen. Then while I was here, I figured out my whole…” she gestures awkwardly at herself. “This, and now I don’t think I can go back home. Well, I could - but I ditched training, so I think my parents will want to kill me, and also I have tits now - I don’t know how they’ll feel about that but I don’t think I want to. So for the last three years, I’ve just been taking whatever shitty gigs I can get, lying to my parents about getting signed to WWE developmental so they think I’m too busy to talk to them, and trying to like…I don’t know. Live.”

“God.” Laganja grimaces, sucking down the last few puffs that the joint has to offer.

“Your turn - what’s your damage, Miss Laganja?”

Laganja squirms a little. She glances into the backseat at the Team USA backpack that she still uses. It feels a little bit like stolen valour.

“Kinda similar. Not as cool. I was an amateur wrestler - and I was fucking good at it. Like, Olympics good. I was meant to go to London in 2012, but I’d already started hormones and obviously that got flagged up in my drug tests, so I got disqualified and then the news went apeshit about it because it got misreported and people thought I wanted to compete for the women’s team. So I sort of just went and lived under a rock for a year until the shitshow died down, and then started doing this. I’m still pretty new to it.”

“You are really good,” Gia says, kind of aloof like she doesn’t want to be caught giving Ganja real praise.

“Thanks.” Laganja’s cheeks flush pink.

“Also that’s fucked up. What happened to you, I mean.” Gia pulls a face.

“Yeah, but I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. At least this way I can actually be myself.” Laganja shrugs. “And nobody seems to care - real sports it’s all ‘biological advantage’ this, ‘biological advantage’ that, but this is all staged, so nobody gives a shit. And the outfits are better.” She gives a laugh, watching the evening sky shift from deep orange to star-scattered blue through the dirty windshield. “I never wanna see a fucking singlet again.”

“Tell me about it,” Gia giggles. “It’s like, a whole thing with the Young Lions - the rookie wrestlers back home - that you don’t get to have a distinct look until you graduate. Just black trunks and a shitty haircut.” Gia pulls out her phone, flicking at warp speed through her camera roll and then zooming in on a group picture. She turns the phone to Laganja - it’s filled with the image of a depressed-looking teenage boy with a buzz cut, standing shirtless and shoulder-to-shoulder with a group of similarly uniform but presumably less miserable kids. Laganja’s eyes widen.

“No fucking way is that you!” She gasps. “That’s insane - you look so different.”

“Thanks, it took a lot of work.” Gia half-laughs.

“Seriously - you’re like…so much hotter now. It’s not even funny. Your stupid boyfriend doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Shut up - you’re hot.” Gia smiles, her head lolling back. She puts a hand on Laganja’s thigh. Laganja’s skin tingles.

“And you’re high.”

“Am not.” Gia flops sideways, her head resting on Laganja’s shoulder. “I’m glad I met you, Ganj. You’re really nice. And really pretty.”

Laganja blushes again. She doesn’t think anyone has ever called her ‘pretty’ before. She tries to keep her eyes fixed in front of her, like she’s driving, but Gia’s hand is cupping her cheek now - soft fingers brushing against her sweat-misted skin, gazing up at her with hazy brown eyes. When Laganja looks down, Gia inches closer to her - hesitantly pressing their weed-dry lips together. Laganja doesn’t know what she’s doing, but she also doesn’t try to stop her.

The brunette parts Laganja’s lips with an exploratory tongue, and Laganja - no idea what she’s thinking, no intention of questioning it - lets her, closing her eyes and deepening the kiss, one hand leaving the steering wheel to cup the back of Gia’s head. Gia murmurs softly, and then she pulls away before Laganja has really figured out what’s going on. Once her touch is gone, she kind of misses it.

Gia is laughing again, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Sorry. I don’t know what the fuck that was. Guess I am high.”

“It’s okay. I liked it,” Laganja admits hesitantly. Gia reaches a hand out for hers, clasping them together. “What now? Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”

“Fuck no,” Gia pulls a face. “And I don’t have anything booked for…” she pauses to think, counting on her fingers. “Fucking ages. I was just tagging along with Trey since most promotions don’t bother booking a women’s match until the last second, but now he’s gone.”

“You can tag along with me,” Laganja offers. “I’m crashing here tonight and then I’ve got a show in Pittsburgh tomorrow - come along for the ride, I can try and get you on the card.”

“Sure - if you’re sure.” Gia looks hesitant.

“Positive. I kinda miss having company. And you’re really cute.”

“No, you.” Gia smiles drowsily. Pulling Laganja closer by the hand she’s holding, Gia tries sloppily to initiate another kiss, and this time Laganja doesn’t hesitate.

For the first time in months, she doesn’t feel quite so alone.

****

You’re an all-American boy,

I guess I couldn’t help trying to be

Your best American girl.

Pride Challenge Points: 5331

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