An old proverb once said, because obviously the proverb posseses the ability to speak and a mouth and vocal chords like all the soul (yeah, pretty sure, this is the word one hundred percent) sucking school virgins you encounter both in real life and fanfiction, that it all begins -  with a story.

The story of life, the story of your mom's - uhh, the story about how this one time her best friend got her fingers stuck in the toaster-

  Or ...at least, that's what Carolina Herrera Julia Omelette Du Fromage Jambala was taught to think.

  And not to be a snitch or anything, but by taught there are high chances it could mean smacked around with pots in first grade whilst reciting the alphabet, but you know, there's nothing stronger than the benefit of the doubt.

  Except for a fiery warrior's p-

  power to go to church game. Yup. Pow.

  Let's not go there though.

  Anyway. It is said by the same proverb of ours that every adventure begins with a story, seventy eight percent sure about that, and it usually starts with a boring girl, all scrunched up in her blankets, drooling at some pics of John Cena's ass and wondering why she can't become a WWE star.

  So you know, she does the only thing that could make her dreams, hopes and ambitions come true -

  she writes.

  Writes fanfiction. 

  Or reads fanfiction.

  Or cries over fanfiction.

  Or maybe both. Both never sounded bad when you were Satan's favourite porn writer and reader, with hopes and dreams and a trustworthy Pumpkin Spice Latte and desire to die by your side. 

  Let me introduce myself, my name is Carolina Herrera and today I will make my debut as a WWE diva. It's like a dream come true! I've always wanted to be a WWE diva and now that is happening I can't stop squealing and jumping around! Yeeh-

  Someone clicking their tongue in the background could be heard in the dim-lit room, and the narration stopped. In that moment, no one could've been sure what felt scarier- the fact that the flow came to an abrupt end (and not even forces like homeboy Willy Shake were able to reconnect sometimes with the mystery that is inspiration), or the fact that a mere existing thing was about to critique the work of the century.

  It was certain that anyone could feel it in the atmosphere, from the beads of sweat that shook it to the left, then to the right, then back at it to the top of Carolina's forehead, the lamp that was struggling to keep the 20 year old on the path of light and sanity and the rest of the things she couldn't quite pinpoint on her list, squeezed between references, fangirlings and comebacks she thought about three days after a fight. It was a fight between dominance, ambition, and a bucket full of hormones, one would say. 

Has she regressed to her thirteen year old phase again? There was no point, it was no Wednesday.  

  "Too unprofessional," they said, "there are other things that could be ridden in chapter six and I'm not going to waste this in the prologue."

  Shick shack shock, who said that, a few words that were scribbled in a rushed manner on the notebook next to her in order to soothe her nerves. She tried thinking about it from a radical point of view - if she was a number, who could have said that? All the clues were here. Red hair, bones made out of frozen coffee and will to live under nine thousand-

  Oh, wait, it was Carolina Jambala making sounds to herself. The one who was about to hit the charts with her new story, maybe hit that high note on that one Alicia Keys song, hit that one point in life where she won't cry if they play I Gotta Go My Own Way at her highschool reunion-

  As I was texting my best friend suddenly I bumped into a wall, falling straight on my as-

  Nope. Or should her? She wasn't sure what choice to make - stay mediocre, or offend a British person.

  Different slangs be forgotten, she was not going to be mediocre in her first Wattpad work. She deleted the last three letters of her work, and replaced them with the initials of banana urges and an extra m just in case.

  Alright, it was fair enough, she decided. Or it felt fair enough.

  Or she hoped it did. Poor girl hadn't slept in four days and the effects were starting to dance around her brain with her favourite pimp red stripper heels (damn, where she put those), and coffee was the last . Her eyes skimmed over her work once again just as she felt her eyes drop it low and another sip of her drink was ingested into her muscle cavity. 

  Damn it, Carolina! Watch where you are going! I looked up and I was met by the wonderful blue-grey orbs of Roman Reigns. God this man is built like a wall I swear. He helped me to get up and I blushed.

  The author of her own defeat sighed once again with tired eyes and slumped shoulders. It was not enough, it felt too basic. Description was the one thing she felt good at and there it went backstabbing her behind her back. The knife was still holding on. What was description supposed to be, she wondered. A line had to be drawn, but where?

  Damn it, Carolina! Watch where you are going! I looked up and I was met by the wonderful sky-coloured grey seeing spheres correlated with seeing that held pools of states, emotion, and sense of Roman Reigns. God this man is built like a wall I swear. He helped me to get up and I blushed.

   Either that or blue-grey cheeto-like eyes. Who even knew anymore.

  "Fair enough," she sighed after coming up with the final conclusion. The philosophical pudding stays, and:

  This fanfic thing was hard as fuck. 

  "Oh, Jobooty, why can't I be a WWE star?" 

  "Carolina, the heck are you doing?" her best friend's voice echoed in the hallway close to the basement in which the irresistible fanfiction writer tried her best to provide for her over 10,000 online followers. Not that she liked to brag about it. The five footer liked to believe she had principles, honour and the ability to swallow her pride, so showing off a number of angsty square faces who bugged her 24/7 about updating and crying over how unrealistic her fiction was... yea, no thanks.

  It's called fiction for one reason, y'all, she would say, as her hand swiped to block yet another eleven year old social justice warrior with perfect grammer and deep desire to pick on the 20 year old.

  Oh no no no no, don't let her know you're writing again, Carolina's mind snapped at her, ready to bring on the torches and the angry peasants that lived in the darkest corners of her thinking muscle, which guaranteed, more or less, one small panic attack. 

  And by small she meant a small loan of a million panicked thoughts.  

  As quick as she could, she opened another Word document, hoping for another blank page and a few rushed words from the keyboard to trick her careful brown-eyed best friend. She started typing some 'snajfnaa pls dnt judge me girl ok i'm just minding my buesniess here i'm not doin-'  but she didn't notice the words already scribbled on top of the page.

Your wrestling match 
By Admin Carolina 
word count: 18,239 words

  She looked at the word count, having no idea when she wrote that. Was that when Joan took her out that Thursday and made her try this new cocktail and they ended up discussing the political aspects of Ambrollins?

  Well, to her it seemed decent enough to give it a read while she was being spied on again.

  "Dean,"  the two-toned ninja moaned out, wrapping his legs around his lover's waist and clutching tightly to his biceps, "more, please."

  "Say what you want me to do." Dean growled, letting his hand travel down to Seth's already hard member. "Beg for me kitten."

  ...or not.

  Oh, frosty chicken nuggets, Carolina jumped out of her skin. That seemed to be the wrong document.

 A gush of wind could be felt behind her, and the back of her head was speared by a pastel pink manicured hand. The brown-eyed shadow of judging was back at it, and our Roadrunner might as well just predict what was about to be said. 

  "Tootsie rolls, I thought we've been over this. You need to train. Not make a fangirl story." 

  The red-haired one hundred and something pound of muscle took a side glance at her work, the ending piece elaborated in three impactful words - #DeanTopsLOL  and wondered if it was safe to say that was no fangirl story. 

  Without being obvious (Lord of the Rings, she hoped), she moved her mouse and opened the lesser of two evils, coming back to her most recent work. With the precision of a snail, she turned around and tried to wink with both eyes in hopes to distract her bestie from the situation.

  "And I thought we've been over this too. It's not a fangirl story - it's a small distortion of reality that follows up the path of my destiny."

  Seeing that her friend didn't even bother to sass her back, she could feel her estrogen levels rising up. She needed to Superman Punch a wall to feel womanly again, and as fast as possible.

  "Girl, all you do all day is standing in front of that computer. It's like you don't even have a stomach." 

  "You come into my house-"

  "We share this."

  "You come into my basement, you insult my anatomy-"

  "At least now I have new interests!" she stood up, puffing out in the frustration of being too broke to hit a wall, "or do you want me to go back to my Trump phase?"

  Joan's eyes were probably close to popping out of her head. "Don't even mention that again. You know, a girl getting into adulthood is supposed to dream about young, fresh meat not some orange shriveled dick."

  Carolina mimicked her best friend's action, rushing out of her seat to cover Joan's mouth in worry. "Shh, don't say bad words. Let's focus on the future."

  After she made sure no blasphemies were sure to come out of her friend's mouth, Carolina let her hands fall by her sides and sighed. "You have to admit the dude would make a great sugar daddy. It could get my book published and even sign me into the WWE with a small loan, c'mon Joan, he's basically-"

  "Trash in human form." Joan cut her off.

  The red-haired future diva tilted her head to the side and shrugged.

  Damn, she got her here.

  "Do you have any idea how triggering it was to hear you moaning 'Deport me daddy' in the middle of the night?"

  She tried to laugh it off, boy she tried. The mere awkwardness that made it sound like a broken 80's record didn't exactly help Carolina in her quest though.

  "A...ha ha... I kinda forgot you were...hoo boy," she stopped to scratch the back of her head, muttering 'oh pippity peep that was some slip' under her breath.

  Jaione crossed her arms over her chest, "Yeah, it's not like you eat pozole at my mother's every Christmas." 

  "So, training you say?" 

  "Your bones are giving up on you. Sweeten up." she paused to scrunch her nose while staring in the distance,  "And by that I don't mean rub honey all over yourself just like you did for your ex-boyfriend cause it took me weeks to get that thing off the sheets."

"You're such a hypocrite, it's almost like you didn't eat the same thing off that girl's-"

  With a tight smile, Joan slammed the cup on her bureau, little sprinkles of cinnamon spilling from the mix onto it, "Arroz con leche."

   She smiled,... like... she did an actual action. "I love you, blessings to your family, the reason human relations were invented was to create you, Jo my goddess-"     

  "Not what you were saying on your last chapter of your rant book."

 "C'mon, Joan, live a little! We'll be great WWE stars someday. Have faith in my story."

  "You know, trusting a fictional piece that includes you having a four-person gangbang with the Shield to imitate reality seems pretty tricky to me."

   Her face dropped,"Ok... now you are just bitter. I'll let you know that my fanfiction contains deep references and historical symbolism that are references to another future references that are referenced and will happen in my story." 

  Seeing the perplexed look on Joan's face, Carolina sighed, trying to remember that she wasn't speaking to an intellect as great as hers. "It's really deep and realistic, okay? With lots of unique stuff that's going on over there." she managed to explain. With the help of frantic hand movements leading to everywhere of course. 

  "Over there in your vagina?"

  She bit back the offended gasp that was about to slip from her mouth,"I'm pure, thank you so much!"

  And it was true. Carolina was a stainless individual, white and innocent. Yes, maybe she sinned from time to time, yes maybe she read one or two porn priest alternate universes from time to time, yes maybe her fap record presented a few errors every new moon (and she'd swear on all her Shield posters that it didn't have anything to do with those A/B/O things she found out of ... boredom on AO3), but overall she was one pure individual.   

  "And what's it called?" she rolled her eyes. The fact that Joan had forgotten about the title of her fingers-crossed almost finished piece of literature was both annoying and so, so typical. It was almost like... she didn't care? The thought itself seemed impossible, so she shrugged it off.

  "My Journey To Become A WWE Diva." 

  "Oh, now I understand, very original indeed..."

  "Trust the fic, Joan. It will come in handy. I just wrote about our tryouts."

  Tryouts, her inner voice snickered.

 "Shut up." she said before her brain printed the whole document.

  "Never." her homeslice countered as she twirled, a piece of writing appearing by magic in her hands which ended up on her workspace once again,  "Oh yeah, about coming in handy." 

  If we were to get philosophic and be reminded of our great ancestors and their writing power, in their words, upon seeing the piece of paper, the protagonist of our story could say that she was...

#shook.  

  JOHN CENA FLICKED MY VAGINA

  I met @DaddyJCena recently , my name is Carolina Fromage (@CJambala) and this is my Chicago Comic Con Meet & Greet story.  I met him September 12 of 2014 and it was horrific. He was rude, not classy, and he lost a long time Cenation member that day. I walked into the $69420 Meet & Greet and say  'hello' and he replies with 'fat' and I shook it off  because I thought I had heard him wrong. As I approached him and asked him to do my pose he stared at me blank face. I continued talking 'you saved my life' I say. 'You're the reason I'm alive today' . He looks me alive in the eye and says ' You'll die soon enough fatty'  and then whispered 'obesity'.  I started crying  never felt pain like this and he started laughing and said ' are you crying, stop it, stop it fatty' and he flicked my vagina. The photographer took the pic after he did the hustle loyalty and respect thing on my vagina and I headed out of the M&G section and that's when Cena started speaking whale to me. I still can't believe this happened. I cried tweeting this. I wish this weren't true but John Cena is, in fact, a terrible person. Thank you. 

 "Explain."  

 "You know, this is pretty easy to explain. I was just messing around with a bunch of memes and -"

    No sooner Carolina had tried to finish her sentence than her phone rang, earning a look of curiosity from her best friend, to which she urged Joan to answer.  

Joan obeyed, picking up the IPhone 6s that lay on the table, untouched from three weeks prior. "Hello... Yes, she's here. Yes Fromage is her real name. Of course sir. Yes." she widened her eyes, "What? O... Fine, we'll be there eight AM sharp. You too sir."

  "What? What is it?"

  "Ok, throw me in the trash and call me Roberta..."

  Carolina slapped her friend's chest, impatience being obvious on her features. "Joan!"

  Despite her paralysed state, Joan tried her best to stutter out the last words, "We just got a call from Paul Levesque. He wants us at the NXT tryouts by tommorow. Your fucking-" she took a deep breath and flicked the locks that fell over her face, "your fucking vagina flicking story worked. Dude, my hands are shaking." 

  The redhead shrugged, not even phased by her best friend's affirmation, "I told you. Trust the fic."

   Deeeep breath... try not to cry...

  So, a one hundred and twenty pound blue-eyed disaster just told you that you got an audition with world's most famous wrestling promotion because of some porn fic she's writing on a child website.

  Welp, seems legit. 

  "Trust the fic." Joan repeated with a weary expression upon seeing Carolina's face, coming up with a realisation that should have hit her from the beginning of their road to dream fulfilling.

  This could either be the best experience of their lives, or the weirdest thing that might ever happen to them.

  But knowing Carolina, the fiery five foot blood haired warrior in front of Joan's very confused eyes, it was a high chance it was going to be a strange mixture of both, just like the clay Carolina applied on her face like she was about to join a military camouflage movie at any second.  With her last breath and eyesight that was not full of mud, in her best smoking-addict impression, she muttered: 

  "Joan, get the hammer. Left drawer in the kitchen, above the cookie cutter collection."

  Where did she even-  nevermind. 

  Her best friend sighed, "Whatever force you're up there, please save us." 

A/N: This chapter was posted before the election, aka before me ever imagining that Trump's gonna be a president. My prayers go to all of you guys and I hope you understand I meant no offense to any Americans or POC with my terrible joke. I apologise.