Chapter 1: Sneak Preview
Chapter Text
A warm welcome to all humans, subhumans, domhumans, switchumans, nonhumans, marauding fleshbags, and all other non-hamster creature types.
The year is 2043, and you are now sitting in America, the land of the spinning wheel and home of the greasy McBurger. Ancient fluorescent lighting burns your eyes. The room you’re in is an office in a 140-year-old brick building that may or may not have traces of asbestos and lead paint. The owner of this building refuses to disclose such details, but you need the money, so you shrug and say, “If I die, I die” like a good little lemming.
You work in this office because, although you don’t know precisely what your job is, you’re living your dream regardless. Trust me. They said so, so it must be true. Who is They, you wonder? Stop asking questions, that’s who!
On the bright side, you were very productive today. You’re up to date on all your e-mails, phone calls, bookkeeping, and even your boss’s endless caterwauling about bad employees. Deep down, you think your boss’s only hobby is complaining, so that’s why they keep bad employees around. It’s not your problem because you’re a good employee, so you get to watch your favorite podcast in your downtime.
OK, so maybe it has more to do with the fact that it’s two-thirty in the afternoon, and your boss always spends half an hour on the toilet around this time. His diet isn’t great, so you exploit that. Oh yes, you exploit your boss’s weakness, because it’s the only “gotcha!” you got. It’s not much, but you’ll take whatever you can get.
You grab a paper cup, pour yourself a steaming cup of dirt-flavored coffee someone else brewed three hours ago, and take out your palm projector. Don’t forget to use your state-of-the-art earpods. Although they’re wrong and should feel bad about themselves, your coworkers aren’t that into wrestling. You’ll have to be considerate and indulge in your hobby alone now.
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Stone Cold Steve Austin invited Jeff Probst to Stunnercast on today's program. Fans around the globe tune in. These men are considered titans in the entertainment industry, permanent pixel fixtures with which to improve the mind, body, and spirit of the collective human species. They never age. They never fade away. They announce they’re doing a thing, and people still show up. Remarkable, right? Steve and Jeff can be seen talking, although their mics aren’t on yet. The show’s scheduled to start in two minutes.
There is a live chat box on the right-hand side teeming with activity. Most comments speculate about the topic of today’s show. It was rumored ten years ago that Jeff Probst would finally be retiring, so people worldwide rapped and speculated about to whom his esteemed career would be bequeathed. Cody Rhodes was overwhelmingly the number one answer. He was already president of the United States for one term. A year after that, he hosted the Tonight Show, a job that’s considerably harder to get than a stint in the Oval Office. Dude even hit Patrick Mahomes with a Cody Cutter off an El Paso 7-Eleven rooftop and into a dumpster like a true hero. If anyone could host Survivor, Cody Rhodes could.
However, people quickly forget that Jeff Probst said, on no uncertain terms, that he would host Survivor as long as he lived. He was booked for at least 60 more seasons, because he hadn’t aged a day in thirty-six years thanks to the patented, limited supply marvel of nanosculpting, a youth-prolonging, vitality-preserving, Rich People Only type of thing. Stone Cold covered nanosculpting exhaustively on his show and got a fat sponsorship. Most pre-Y2K-born wrestlers opted into nanosculpting for revitalization and longevity benefits and continued to please the 10% of consumers who were also nanosculpted and hated change. It was the highest paying demographic in the world, so of course it was a sponge for pandering.
Jeff and Steve are adjusting their microphones. The show starts in thirty seconds now. Before it does, though, remember one thing. In America, there is a long-standing tradition of running commercials that have (seemingly) nothing to do with the product being pushed. There is also a tradition of disguising commercials as something else: a game show, a talk show, a news clip, a podcast…
Well, maybe this won’t be one of those times, you think. You hope. After all, Jeff Probst is a trusted household name. What could possibly go wrong?
“Is this thing on?” said Steve, testing his mic. It was good. “You good, Jeff?”
“I’m good, Steve.”
“Aight. Let’s get this damn thing started. Welcome back to Stunnercast. I’m your host, Stone Cold Steve Austin,” said Steve, gesturing across the boardroom table. “Today Jeff Probst is here with me. You might know him as Survivor’s Only Host.”
“Just call me the SOH, even if Cody fans beg to differ,” a prideful Jeff proclaimed, prompting room-wide laughter from all two cameramen.
Steve casually cracked open a beer like it was his own house. For all anyone knew, it was his own house, and for anyone who knew Steve, that wasn’t his first beer today. Steve was most likely home or in an office like yours, because no one has spotted a wrestler in an airport since Mufasa Mondsanto “invented” teleportation apps. Here’s how he did it. First, Mufasa purchased the code and prototype app from a working-class man named Rick Kapalka. Rick could only afford one thumb drive and a library card, so he spent his life reading every programming and engineering book he could get his hands on until he cracked the code to teleportation. A year later, his life’s work was appropriated by the corporate gangsters of the Mondsanto clan. Mufasa took full credit, and Rick’s name was never uttered again.
Rick did get a measly buyout for one million dollars, but he blew it all at the casino in a matter of months. Legend says he’s found his way back to the library, where he’s now buried in his twenty-seventh book on how to win poker tournaments. Don’t you think it’s a little late for that, guy?
You catch yourself in this mostly irrelevant train of thought because you’re bored. Steve and Jeff haven’t said anything interesting for a solid ten minutes. Sometimes podcasts are like that. It’s a shame, too, because your helicopter boss won't be occupied by porcelain forever, and the stream is live, so you can’t skip ahead to the good part. You pout, you wait, you sigh, until…
“So yaoi,” said Jeff, jerking you from your boredom. You know what yaoi is, but it’s the last thing you ever expected Jeff to say on a wrestling podcast. At first, you wonder if he misspoke, until he keeps going, that is. “It’s a genre originally from Japan. It’s romantic, often steamy stories about two male characters falling in love.”
“What,” said Steve. Then the live chat flooded with “What” chants and “Yaoi?” questions.
Jeff, eager and shameless as ever, keeps talking. “Traditionally, it’s written by women, for women, to empower women, and that’s what Survivor’s all about. My team and I are pleased to appease our couch queens.”
Steve slams his can on the table and says, “WHAT,” even louder. The livestream’s dam bursts with “What” chants, though mentions of the Golden Lovers and the Shield faction trickle down, unlike economics.
Jeff, who has never been phased by the word “What” in his 97 years of living, keeps talking.
“Yaoi, like Survivor, is all about dominance and submission, feeding an intense hunger, and grabbing at victory with big, meaty… hands. Furthermore, like wrestling, yaoi is about stories filled with emotional tension, deep trauma, wholesome comfort, forbidden romance, dramatic confessionals… all the greatest things.”
The “What” chants in the margin keep flooding in. Thousands of people are tuning in to this live trainwreck of a conversation, mostly to see what Steve Austin does. Thousands more are tuning in still because Survivor plus Wrestling plus Yaoi equals… What? One overzealous fan copypasta’d “If Seth and Roman don’t kiss on an island, we riot!” about twenty times already. You wish someone would put that on a sign and hold it in front of a crowd. You can’t do it yourself because you haven’t been able to afford a Monday Night RAWR ticket since the economy died back in twenty-something-or-other. Your brain was scrubbed with soap and water to ensure you wouldn’t remember the finer details, or at least that’s what your mom and school told you.
“Not to mention,” said Jeff. “One guy, the seme, is usually the tougher, bolder type, where the other guy, the uke, is usually the more sensitive, vulnerable type. Sometimes they switch roles. Depends on the story.”
“Like a tag team,” Stone Cold finally said. “But instead of winning belts, it’s what? Two men making whoopee in the ring without their wives’ permission?” He inhaled the rest of his beer, crushed the empty can against his titanium-plated skull, tossed it behind his shoulder, and grabbed another beer.
“Or three,” Jeff says, gesturing toward an authentic, framed, autographed photo of the old Shield faction he had by his side. Steve rolled his eyes. “But that’s neither here nor there. Tell me, Steve, are you a seme or an uke?”
“Look, Jeff, if you don’t stop making up hocus pocus lala words and spreading the yow-ee agenda, I’m going to have to open up a can of whoopass on your corporate shilling behind.”
That was rich coming from a professional wrestler, especially a prehistoric 90s one, so Jeff, entirely unfazed, declared that Stone Cold was probably a seme. “Hypothetically, you would insert your “whoopass” into The Rock’s “candy ass” and voila! All American Yaoi.” The grin on Jeff’s face was unbearable. He was proud of what he was saying.
The side comments go berserk, and Steve, frozen like a buffering video, stares down Jeff like he’s criminally insane. The instant that bastard tried to say one more word, Stone Cold flipped the table between them in a motion that could only be described as Herculean. Then he hit Probst with a Stunner for the one-two-three. The chat What 'sploded!
Probst, gleefully playing dead, lay face down on cruddy beige tile while Steve got in his face. “Let me tell you somethin’, son—if The Rock ever comes at Stone Cold Steve Austin with yaoi on his mind, I’m gonna take my size 13 boot, turn that sumbitch sideways, and stick it right where the sun don’t shine—and that’s the bottom line, ‘cause Stone Cold said so!”
His glass-shattering theme hits, and the jabronis in the comment section chant “what what in the butt” for old time’s sake. Some comments are vile, twisted, entirely homophobic, and written by the same three people repeatedly. Outside of that needless circle jerk, you find a wide array of emotions expressed, from highly amused to confused to damn near outraged. Try as Jeff might, the people were not putting yaoi together with Survivor or wrestling, except for the devoted, ever-speculative Shield fans. They are the upper echelon of culture and taste, it seems.
Steve grabs two more beers and drinks them simultaneously over Jeff’s prone form, blobs of beer foam freckling the host’s blue polo shirt. Jeff grins against the dirty tile, wrestling having little effect on his survival. After all, nobody wins Survivor more than Jeff Probst does, and that’s the bottom line, because the tribe has spoken. That’s been true for 84 seasons now, and by the power vested in every snuffed torch in Survivor history, Jeff rises like a phoenix from the ashes.
“Wow, Steve. Big move. But you know what? You’re still in the game… and I’m not done explaining.”
What started as a simple podcast-style interview turned into Jeff’s gay little fanfiction, and Steve wasn’t drunk enough for any of it.
“Picture this, Steve—yaoi is like Survivor alliances. Everybody who’s anybody picks a role. Someone like Roman Reigns, for instance?”
OTC chants come flooding in. Most Shield fans are either in a tizzy or have reached nirvana.
“Let’s propose that Roman Reigns is an uke.”
“More nonsense words,” Steve slurred, having had this word defined for him once already, but the beer had already erased its meaning from his short-term memory. “Fine, Probst. Enlighten us. The hell’s an ookay, and why is Roman Reigns one?”
“With pleasure,” said Jeff, all shit-eating grin, no mercy. “Uke. It’s the tag team partner who’s quieter, a little on the sensitive, vulnerable side of things, but still has an inner strength. Like Roman Reigns, he acts like he calls all the shots on the surface, but deep down, he’s letting someone else drive the vote.”
The chat chants “What” and “That’s a spoiler!” one after another. One little spamling keeps posting OTC is UKE like a cheerleader. One naysayer declares that Rollins is the uke, but nobody pays attention.
“You sayin’ Roman Reigns—granted he is Rocky’s most girly-lookin’ cousin, with all due respect to Ms. Jax—THAT Roman Reigns, our Tribal Chief, the company’s top dollar baller, lets some jabroni blindside him right where the sun don’t shine?”
“More or less,” said Jeff.
“Roman Reigns, Paul Heyman’s favorite retirement plan, the man who speared the plague, the crowd pleaser, the cure to all the worlds cancers, the YTC, the OTC, the ABCDEFGTC, the supreme savior of all that is good and holy in wrasslin’, lets someone else mount his damn… “vote” like a bitch in heat?”
And the chat goes, “That’s a spoiler!” three clapping hands emojis. “That’s a spoiler!” three clapping hands emojis.
You could almost hear the word “What” echo across the globe now, or maybe that was your boss finally flushing the toilet, so you needed to hurry this up. Man, this is wild. You don’t want to miss any of it, but you’re starting to get paranoid. Still, you watch. How can you not?
Jeff, dead serious, continues to cook. “And the ‘seme’—the one taking charge, such as Roman’s old Shield mates, or even you, Steve—”
“Watch it,” said Steve, with damn near murderous intent. Making a yaoi out of a corporate consumer product, such as The Rock’s cousin, was one thing, but Steve was retired. The only uke he would acknowledge now was his beer. And make a bitch out of his beer he did, cracking a fourth can on camera now and inhaling every drop in one long gulp.
“The seme,” Jeff continues, “is the one who slams his social game down, makes bold moves, maybe even drags and goats the uke at the final tribal council like a boss.”
“Like a Final Boss?”
The Rock’s Final Boss theme hits, and an inebriated Stone Cold is itching to fight. Rock “The Rock” Rockson enters the room slowly, as though basking in a crowd he thought was there. He could feel their energy in his soul, though, and that’s all the people’s plastic boss needed to perform his best work.
“FINALLY… The Rock has come BACK… to Survivor!”
The comment section is a mixed bag now. Some fans were old Rock stans, many were still chanting “What,” but strangely, the comments turned into vitriolic complaints about Rocky not attending Wrestlemania 41. People were still mad about that after 18 years. Their anger was old enough to graduate from high school and get a job. Let that sink in.
The Rock’s sunglasses gleam for the camera, and out from behind, he grabs an ancient artifact from a putrid, degenerate age—the fabled YAOI paddle, the last one in existence. Made in America. He slaps it against his palm, giving a drunken Steve the people’s eyebrow, and grinning like a politician.
Then Rocky turns to the camera and he says, “that’s right, jabronis. This fall, outside Honolulu, BBS and JAW bring you the ultimate showdown: Survivor: Wrestlers at War! Eighteen of your favorite WWC Superstars—one island, one bedazzled belt, and one chance to lay the smackdown on starvation, betrayal, and Stone Cold homophobia!”
“Stone Cold don't phobe for no homo, Rocky! I have half a mind to take Jeff’s torch snuffer and…”
But The Rock shushes the drunken threat, because a projector rolls the sneak preview we’ve all been waiting for: wrestlers failing to build shelters, Dirty Dom getting crushed by Nia Jax, Seth Rollins laughing maniacally in a rocky cove confessional, Asuka proudly boasting that she’s the champion, so obviously she’ll win. Then a clip shows Roman brooding handsomely in the campfire light, long majestic hair framing his pretty face, while Seth’s confessional laughter continues into the next scene.
“And the first confirmed contestant? The Tribal Chief himself, The Rock’s cousin, whose star power rattles the cosmos. The most dominant needle pusher in entertainment history… Roman Reigns.”
Cue a dramatic shot of a gorgeous, shirtless Roman with water droplets glistening down his tattooed pecs, looking cold and proud for the camera as waves crash behind him.
Then Probst chimes in with, “get ready for alliances, betrayals, blindsides, and perhaps a showmance worthy of a needle pusher and, dare I say, a visionary?”
“What? Now wait just a damn minute,” said Stone Cold. “How can a Rock Bottom push his needle into anyone? I thought the whole point was The Tribal Chief taking it in the Tribal Cheeks?”
The Rock put a friendly, no homo, arm around the very sloshed and scarlet-tinted rattlesnake and declared, “not that kind of needle, brother. But our indoctrination of Stone Cold Steve Austin into Basic Yaoiconomics is complete.”
Steve Austin shoved The Rock away and said, “Rocky, you best take that yaoi hand of yours and put it on Cody’s soul instead before I grab a steel chair and go hog wild!”
The livestream cuts to black then and there, and a heavy metal rendition of the Survivor theme drops like the people’s elbow. Suddenly, a new Survivor logo adorned with ropes, steel chairs, and flaming palm trees slams upon the screen, cracking the black background behind it. Jeff Probst’s voice, superimposed over the guitars, announces, “Survivor: Wrestlers at War, coming to you this fall, only on BBS.”
The live stream, chat and all, finally ends there, and you guess correctly that the entire feed is downloaded, reposted, and spread across cyberspace for the world to see. It was World Wrestling Corporation’s first collab with the writers of its new sister company, Japan Alternative Wrestling, hosted by the Burnett Broadcasting Syndicate of wholesome entertainment.
Sponsors included Hawaii’s leading fast food chain, Poke Mononoke. Despite sounding catchy, it did not do well in Japan for some reason; regardless, a Poke Mononoke sponsorship was the cost of doing business in Honolulu, so WWC agreed much to JAW’s disappointment. They were also sponsored by Connect to Disconnect. You download the CtD app, and for a nominal fee, it gently reminds you to put down your device. You know better than to fall for a scam like that, but if the average person were as smart as you, CtD wouldn’t be a mega sponsor of major televised events, would it?
You were swept away by the bizarre drama you witnessed, so much so that you missed your boss’s return. He taps you impatiently on the shoulder, knocking the wind out of you, and your palm projector falls to the floor. The video skips to the next video, an ad pushing volcanic ash for skin care.
“Care to explain yourself?” your boss grumps grumpily.
No, no, you do not. Who in the entirety of human existence can explain what you witnessed during your unsanctioned break?
“I was researching… something,” you say, unbelievably lame. “You know. Work stuff.”
“Work stuff doesn’t involve earpods and personal projectors, you worm.”
He knocks your untouched coffee to the ground, cold, bitter, and dusty as the creases on his forehead. Then he tells you to clean it up and walks away. You sigh and grab some paper towels, wishing you could walk away for good, but jobs are important, even if you are merely paying bills and tithing to a zombie economy with your puny tax dollars.
Even so, you now have a season of Survivor worth watching, even if it was weird. It’s been 84 seasons. As far as you know, no two men on Survivor have ever hooked up romantically on screen… until now? What was up with Roman Reigns being such an uke?
And what in Macho Man’s name will you do between now and the season premiere? You are so hooked that you want another hit of that yaoimania right now, but you must pick up your palm projector and wipe the coffee you didn't get to choke down off the cold, hard floor. It sucks and you hate it, but you also remember that this, too, shall pass.
Chapter 2: Season Premiere
Notes:
If this fic reads like a simulation of a prole watching Survivor, that's intentional. You can make a sim out of anything if you put your mind to it.
Chapter Text
You’re home now. After a warm shower, you brew some tea and watch Stunnercast again. This time you’re able to focus fully. You recall Roman Reigns, a solid crowd favorite among titans. Titans are higher-class Hall of Famers, and they’re all nanosculpted and beloved worldwide. Stone Cold Steve Austin is the titan your grandpa liked, and Rocky’s the titan your mom loved, but grandpa despised.
Shoot, Seth Freakin’ Rollins is a titan, and the most relatable one storyline-wise, in your humble opinion. Nia Jax, Dirty Dom, and Asuka are all titans, too. Wow, you realize, this cast is stacked. It must be an all-titan cast. While titans are wrestlers, most are not involved in current storylines. Once they would have been the lot who were retired, or close to retired, but since they presume to outlive us normies by Macho Man knows how long, they must play some role in global pop culture.
It took you a minute to recall, but yes, you do like Roman Reigns. You love him, and you’re sure Seth loves him, too. Sure, he faded into obscurity after the economy died, because it wasn’t his problem. Cancer was his problem. He threw all the money he had at that problem, until bam, cancer was cancelled.
In the American gambler’s perception of reality, there is a belief that only three things ever solve problems: money, more money, and propaganda-fueled elections that generate, well, money. Rarely does this work in anyone’s favor, but lucky for Roman Reigns and the rest of us, that gambit worked this time. The odds were the same as winning Megabillions Fatstacksjumpingjacks, approximately one in 420 million, and Roman still did it. He killed cancer.
You remember that the headlines were nuts. Remission is Out, the Cure is In! Roman Reigns Spears Cancer! Hurrah For Uwa! Flawless Victory, The Tribal Chief Votes Cancer Off the Island. Ok, you made that last one up, but it was dope. All humans who have, would have, or have ever had cancer know who Roman Reigns is and are grateful for his philanthropy. It was an exceedingly rare instance of a celebrity doing something that benefited everyone. Not even poor people like you get cancer anymore. Knowing that, Roman’s become a personal babyface to you, but an outrageously offensive heel to the medical industry, at least the part of it that’s more concerned with profit than saving lives.
Now it’s come to your attention that your precious new messiah might be queer. The implication that something was going on between him and Seth Freakin’ Rollins stirred something within you. You were captivated but also confused. You knew this was probably shocking to the average person, but something about it felt almost… banal? You should be shocked. You’re surprised that Jeff said the quiet part out loud. You’re amazed that ancient boomers like Stone Cold and Rocky went along with it. That’s pretty much it, though. Seth and Roman are always together. To you, asking if they're boyfriends is like asking if a bear shits in the woods.
Earlier you asked yourself what you would do between now and the season premiere of Survivor 84. You were going to watch old footage of two dreamy nanosculpted titans whose relevance peaked nearly two decades ago, that’s what! You say you’re doing it for research, but honestly, you’re only doing it for pleasure. Wrestling is the only thing that brings you joy now.
Weeks go by. The summer is gross and hot and bugs the size of your hand poke through garbage cans outside. It smells of sour milk and old cigarettes. Cybercars, cybertrucks, and scooters are everywhere. Smog is in the air. Balls of crumpled paper blow around like tumbleweeds. You have not stopped thinking about Survivor or wrestling. It’s your happy place.
More weeks go by. The weather is milder. Your boss is out on medical leave to get his colon replaced. Leonard takes over, and Leonard is a pushover. You have gained access to watching wrestling at work!
Before you know it, the big day is here. You're comfortable at home and it’s time to watch!
Jeff Probst stands in an antique white gymnasium ring, wearing a singlet and headgear worthy of an amateur wrestler. He’s grinning from ear to ear like he always is, luring you into his world because you’ve grown tired of your own. He says, “Welcome to Survivor: Wrestlers at War. I’m your host, Jeff Probst, and eighteen titans who’ve all competed for gold in WWC will join us here on Season 84.”
You see images of familiar figures. The genius of the sky, Iyo Sky, does a graceful backflip from the top of a cliff and into the ocean. An image of Rhea Ripley, covered in mud, howls in fury beside strands of tall grass. You see Dirty Dom chewing gum in your face and want to cut off his stupid, ugly mullet. And wow, wow wow wow holy crap is that? It is. You just saw Cody Rhodes! You did not know Cody Rhodes would be there. He’s usually so busy. Holy guacamole, the hype is real.
Cut to two boats with two groups of people. One is flying a vermilion flag that says キズ KIZU. The other is flying a turquoise flag that says ライオン RAION. It seems production has already divided everyone into two tribes. The camera zooms in on Roman first, who is wearing a vermilion tank top and black pants, per the show’s regulations. He’s got stray strands of hair whipping about as he stares majestically into the horizon. His voiceover gives testimony.
“I only ever turn up to be the greatest at everything I do,” Roman said, glazing himself like a damn donut. You love this stupid, sexy idiot so much. “Why would Survivor be any different?”
Cut to the turquoise team. In contrast to Roman’s plain tank top, Seth wore a ruffled shirt, turquoise of course, with a rhinestone collar. Easily the fanciest shirt on the boat. What a peacock! There’s also Becky Lynch in a turquoise tunic and black leggings, flaming red hair, and the world’s prettiest smile. You read that she and Seth divorced a few years ago, but Becky gave testimony and declared excitement over seeing everyone again, including Seth. She got you hyped, but low-key, you are mad that Seth’s on her tribe and not Roman’s. You know you're jealous for no good reason, but you cope.
The last Survivor to give testimony before they hit the shore is Asuka. Her turquoise hair is layered on pink lowlights, and she’s shown sitting propped against a boulder, trees, and the beach visible from behind. She’s pumping her fists in the air, dancing and bobbing her head back and forth with hype and zazz. This girl always has a song playing in her soul. She proudly declares that she will be victorious. “Asuka is the champion. Sabaibāgēmu ni wa watashi ga kachimasu.” Her smile is infectious and has you cheesing so hard that your face is twitching, and it hurts, but you can’t help it. This might be the greatest day of your life right now.
“Come on in, folks,” said Jeff, and everyone walked up the beach and toward their respective platforms. “Gosh, when I look at you all, it’s like Homer wrote a sequel to The Iliad.” Production prompts them all to laugh, so they do. Not one person said, “He did. It’s called The Odyssey,” because they’re not as pedantic and anal-retentive as you. “Warriors and mythic beings, gathered here today in my playpen. What a time to be alive!”
“Thanks for having us, Jeff. You look great for a man who’s almost a hundred,” said Cody, wearing a turquoise dress suit and black tie.
“Wow. Please tell me how I look a hundred years later, Cody. We’ll have a reunion show.”
Ugh. Ok. We get it. Nanosculpting. Blah blah blah.
Some rich people have nothing better to do than rub how great their lives are right in our faces. Couldn’t they go back to advertising yaoi or something? The Internet exploded over that, but so far, the show has been giving you crickets. It was only the beginning, and editing gave Roman and Seth some individual attention, so it’s coming, right? Just one little hint that it's coming?
Jeff was handing everyone their buffs. Team Kizu is all dressed in vermilion, and Jeff hands buffs to Charlotte Flair, Iyo Sky, Liv Morgan, The Miz, Randy Orton, Rhea Ripley, your precious Roman, R-Truth, and Sami Zayn. Then he walks over to Team Raion and hands buffs to Asuka, Becky Lynch, Bianca Belair, Cody Rhodes, Dominik Mysterio, Kairi Sane, Kevin Owens, Nia Jax, and Seth Freakin’ Rollins. Then they head in opposite directions toward their respective camps.
Cut to Team Kizu. They hike ten miles through lush green wood, the air mild and seasonably dry. Halfway up the trek, they come across a fork in the road and a tree mail station. Iyo approaches the box and says, “mite mite! Tree mail.” She unrolls the parchment like she will read it, but says “just kidding” and hands it over to Rhea instead. Uncomfortable laughter ensues. It’s not that she can’t read it if she tries. You know her English has gotten much better over the years. It’s just that production's got jokes. Bad jokes.
“Stop!” Rhea commanded; her eyes fixed on unraveled parchment. “You will need supplies to enrich your new home. Flip the hourglass on the table and follow the trees marked with yellow arrows. You have ten minutes to grab everything you can. One item per person. Go!”
The crew that followed them shouted “go,” and before the tribe could even deliberate, they had to book it if they wanted supplies. Everyone was running, exclaiming about various items that mattered. You heard “flint!” and “tarp!” and “machete!” and “rice!” Everyone had an opinion, especially wrestlers of culture who watched Survivor back home.
Sami first reached the supply “shop” in the clearing, arriving in eight minutes, meaning he had two minutes to choose. There were nine contestants and twelve choices. Everybody got one choice each. Some options were good, like rice and flint. Others were deceptive, like a single bar of hotel soap. Comforting? Yes. Survivor-oriented? No. It was a test to see who could think like a survivor, and Sami passed with flying colors when he grabbed the flint.
Shoulder to shoulder, two beefcakes named Orton and Reigns emerge, both opting for high-calorie options. Randy grabbed the rice, and Roman hauled a bushel of half yellow, half green bananas on his mighty shoulder. Rhea hit the scene next and made a beeline for the machete. Then Liv grabbed a pot, and Iyo grabbed a tarp. Six choices were made, six were left, one of which was water purifying tablets. The others were salt, one fishing net, instant coffee, a useless bar of hotel soap, and comforting blankets.
Charlotte Flair selected comforting blankets. Being the spoiled queen that she is, it didn’t occur to her that she might have to purify her water while she’s out here, and you think that’s hilarious.
This left The Miz and R-Truth, two of the oldest guys in the game, who arrived with 30 seconds to spare. Miz didn’t think. He saw fishing gear, he grabbed it, meaning if R-Truth didn’t come in clutch, they’d be gambling with sketchy water for a month.
“What do you think, Little Jimmy? Anything good left?”
R-Truth’s hand hovers over the salt, and you’re about to start screaming.
Then he paused, and his voiceover gave testimony. “I think Joan Rivers messed up when she grabbed them blankets,” said R-Truth. “And that’s when Little Jimmy says yo! Ain’t nobody gonna grab the soap? I don’t want to smell no musty ass wrestlers all month long. But then I said, "Wait, Little Jimmy, what’s that next to the soap?”"
R-Truth grabs the purification tablets with three seconds to spare, and your diaphragm shoots the breath you’ve been holding like a cannonball. You’re almost in tears from stress and laughter.
That was Team Kizu’s supply run, a technical success thanks to the flawless teamwork of R-Truth and Little Jimmy.
“I grabbed the Alka Seltzer, y’all.”
R-Truth knew that it wasn’t Alka Seltzer. He just didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.
“Alka Seltzer?” said The Miz. Then he noticed what R-Truth grabbed and his face went ghost white. “Holy crap. How did we miss that?”
“We don’t need that,” said Charlotte. “Do you honestly believe they would make us drink dirty water? We’re not peasants.” This was her way of saying she wasn’t wrong for grabbing the blankets, because Charlotte never admits when she’s wrong. She’s the type of queen crumbled nations are made of.
“It’s Survivor, Charlotte. You never know what they’ll deprive us of,” said Rhea, machete perched on her shoulder like a damn broadsword. For the nerds, she was larping for the camera. She even stated that her character class was barbarian. For the normies, it was random money shots of Mami being Mami. Iyo crashed her photoshoot, cheesing and pointing at herself with the folded tarp between her knees. You reckon her character class is thief, because she’s stealing the show, and you love it.
Cut to Team Raion, same predicament—ten minutes to grab the right things.
Seth grabbed flint, Becky the machete, Kevin the fishing net, Nia the rice, Cody the tarp, Bianca the purification tablets (much to your goddamn relief), Asuka the bananas, Kairi the salt, and then there was Dom, who had one job. His job was to grab the last correct item, and one choice was overwhelmingly superior to the rest: the cooking pot! What good were rice, salt, and boiling water without a cooking pot?
What did he grab instead, though?
The fucking bar of hotel soap, that’s what!
You’re so mad, yelling at the TV like you’re about to jump through the screen and Riptide his sorry ass.
It got worse when he gave testimony.
“I can’t believe nobody grabbed that pot,” said Dom. He was proud, relishing in screwing people over this early in the game. It wasn’t the smartest move. You didn’t know which of his dads would be more disappointed, Rey Mysterio for creating a shithead, or Eddie Guerrero for creating a dumbass.
You had to hand it to Dirty Dom, though. That was an excellent heel tactic. You can see why that would work in wrestling; however, unlike wrestling, foolish heels tend to get voted off Survivor. You check social media, and two Survivor titans named Rob Mariano and Sandra Diaz-Twine are both dragging Dom’s sorry ass live on their respective watch parties. They’re the two greatest heels in Survivor history, reenforcing how badly he fucked up. It’s fun to watch on the side.
“Dude grabbed what?” said Kevin Owens.
“Who grabbed the cooking pot?” said Cody, telling on himself. He looked around and realized that no one did. He instantly regretted grabbing the tarp. As much as he wanted to drag Dom, too, he felt partially responsible for the fuck up. That’s why he’s the only president you ever liked.
“Rhea-chan no kareshi wa bakadayo,” said Asuka to Kairi, who nodded. The camera panned to Seth, nodding in agreement.
Then the camera panned over to Bianca, whose voiceover gave testimony.
“I don’t know what Dom’s thinking,” said Bianca, then the camera cut to her sitting in the woods, turquoise crop top with sparkling pink lips in the middle. She picked up the box of tablets and said directly to viewers, “I saw this and knew Jeff wasn’t playin’. We’re not just any old people who wandered in off the street. We’re professional athletes and performers. We’re expected to think and perform at a higher level, and Dom’s out here like huh huh, let’s grab the soap, Beavis. And don’t get me wrong. I love soap, and I’m worried as hell about what a month out here’s gonna do to my hair, but this is Survivor. We need to cook rice.
“If you ask me, Dom’s already tryna cause problems around here.”
Cut back to the post challenge, two miles up from where they collected their items. Bianca walks and talks with Asuka and Kairi.
“I’m so mad. I’m already about to vote Dom out,” she whispered to them both, a budding alliance in the making. Nia overheard that and decided she wanted the same thing, carrying this bag of rice for no reason now.
“I’m going to crush Dominik,” Nia said, in testimony.
Meanwhile, the camera cuts back to Team Kizu, the first to arrive at their camp. Most titans feel some type of way about Roman Reigns, having a string of bitter exes so long now that it would make AJ Lee blush, especially considering her husband was one of them. Be that as it may, beneath his soap opera, entitlement, narcissism, and abuse was a man capable of being a beastly workhorse with endless stamina, so he spent hours helping gather bamboo for the shelter.
Roman, Randy, Rhea, and Sami were all at work assembling the base and structure of their shelter. This is where Rhea’s machete was featured most heavily. Liv and Iyo worked together weaving pandanus leaves for the roof. The tarp would do double duty to waterproof their shelter. The Miz and R-Truth took fire and water duty, respectively.
Charlotte was the only person shown not working. Instead, she helped herself to one banana and swam in the ocean.
In contrast, Team Raion was behind Team Kizu. They only had the floor of their shelter and one fire built. For supper, they ate green bananas and yellow guavas.
Everyone huddled together and used Cody’s tarp as a blanket, men on one side, women on the other, with Seth and Becky in the middle.
Amicably, Becky told Seth, “fancy meeting you here.”
“It’s almost like we’ve done this before,” said Seth. That’s when Nia shushed them, and you couldn’t be happier for it. You love Becky, but you did not tune in to see her flirt with Seth. You’re impatient and want Roman lying in her spot already.
Editing skips ahead two days to their first immunity challenge. Team Kizu appears to be the stronger tribe, well fed on rice, bananas, fish, and flirting with Mami. To Team Raion, they were vermilion villains who were way too cocky. Seth, Cody, Kevin, and Dom are all glaring at Roman, the proudest cock of all, not to mention the biggest challenge threat. His raw strength and stamina were not to be trifled with.
Jeff explains the challenge course. On his mark, the two teams each grab a 300lb log, which they drop in front of a 30ft wall climb. Then they slide down an incline, and once the team’s all there, they work together to drag a 400lb crate across 500meters of sand, where two people dig deep in the sand for five keys, four bad, one good. First team to find the good key and open their crate wins.
The challenge starts neck and neck and stays deadlocked through the log run. When they climbed the wall, though, momentum crawled for Team Kizu. Roman, Rhea, Randy, and Sami scale the wall, with tiny Liv on Rhea’s back, and tiny Iyo on Randy’s, a utility move. Miz and R-Truth are a bit slower but manage on their own. Charlotte brings up the rear with utmost faith in her strength. Compared to the average human, she’s a beast. Compared to her fellow wrestlers, she’s slow and mediocre, and Team Raion is already dragging their crate across the sand by the time she’s done.
Jeff called the match as Iyo and Liv barely began to dig for keys.
“Raion wins immunity!”
Seth’s team is a pile of shouting, hopping hugs, and Roman looks like he’s going to commit murder on live television. Becky holds her tribe’s tiki head immunity statue like a baby, and Charlotte gives testimony.
“So now we’re going to tribal council,” she said, “But no one on my tribe is talking to me.”
This is where you nod off, because episodes of Survivor are like three hours long now, and you work first thing in the morning. You figure it’s a foregone conclusion that Charlotte’s getting voted out first. If anything spicy happens, it’ll go viral.
Hopefully, you think, they address yaoi next week, because they sure didn’t say shit today, and that’s very annoying.
Chapter 3: Your Attention Starts Slipping, Until…
Chapter Text
You wake up the next day to catch the tribal council with the foregone conclusion. Maybe that’s a little cynical of you, but your brain feels like mush, your eyes feel like sandpaper, and you have a crick in your neck. It’s been 666 days since you last had an alcoholic beverage. Cursed numbers scare you, so although you’re proud of yourself, you’re also trying not to think about it. Furthermore, it pisses you off that, despite abstaining from alcohol, eating vegetables, and scooting to work rather than driving, you still feel like you’re ninety years old some mornings. You remember the days when your body didn’t always feel like this, and you long for them. Maybe that’s why all the talk of nanosculpting on TV makes you bitter.
You decide to watch Charlotte with divided attention first. You only have thirty minutes, but it’s enough to watch Survivor on your palm projector while you brew coffee, brush your teeth, drink coffee, brush your teeth again, take a quick shower, and get dressed.
Since you’re multitasking, you barely register Charlotte wandering down the beach, complaining that no one will talk to her, not even The Miz, who was clearly on the outs. She was also annoyed that R-Truth could not get her name right. There was an entire montage of R-Truth calling Charlotte a bunch of names, most of which don’t ring a bell, but you hear Joan Rivers, Donatella Versace, Heidi Montag, Meg Ryan, and even Priscilla Presley, but not once did the name Charlotte come to him.
It broke Roman when R-Truth couldn’t name Charlotte.
“Maybe I’m going to Hell for this, dawg,” said Roman, laughing in testimony, a stunning waterfall in the distance behind him. “But Truth could not name Charlotte. He could only name the class of botched plastic surgery recipients who she belongs to. I feel kinda bad, but at the same time, I can’t stop laughing."
He shrugged and said, "Just got that damn Boomer humor, I guess.”
Rhea was shown laughing awkwardly. You remember her generation was slightly different from Roman’s, enough that their sensibilities weren’t quite aligned. You wonder if this might become an issue.
In the next shot, Rhea is given private testimony, rocks and trees on a sandy beach behind her. The bottom left-hand corner reads RHEA RIPLEY Eradicator.
“Normally, it’s not cool to pick on someone’s appearance,” Rhea sighed. “But in this case, Charlotte lacks self-awareness and has no desire to be a team player. Although I disagree with their crusty old man jokes, I understand their sentiment and agree with it. We don’t respect her, because she doesn’t respect us.”
Wow. Mami’s more feisty than you remember.
Then Roman’s testimony is back, same waterfall, but his hair is down now, and he looks so fine. In the bottom left-hand corner, it says ROMAN REIGNS Tribal Chief.
“Joan Rivers don’t do shit around camp,” said Roman. “I’m the Tribal Chief, and I cannot have false royalty strutting around my island, acting like we live to serve her highness. I’m not about serving nobody. I’m the Tribal Chief. You gon serve me, if anything.”
“I’m just saying, Charlotte,” said Roman, back at camp with the others now. She made the mistake of approaching him to form an alliance. “I’m up in here running on oh, four hours sleep since we got here, lying awake in a shelter I built. Randy, Rhea, and Sami pitched in and helped me put that together. Our hands bled together as we worked until nightfall, but where was Charlotte? Not even helping Liv and Iyo weave the roof, that’s where. Even the tacky ass Miz with his bumper sticker trunks built us a fire, but The Queen couldn’t find us so much as a damn stick in the woods. Pathetic.”
“It’s not like anyone asked for my help!” Charlotte howled at Roman, then she stormed off down the beach.
“I’ll never forget,” said Roman, back in testimony. It was now an isolated seat of rocks on a green hillside. Roman had his form-fitted vermilion tank top on in this shot. “It was Charlotte Flair versus Moonsault Barbie, and Charlotte gets called a Nepo baby. Like, aight, a lot of us get flak for that. I’m Sika’s son, and I’m Dusty’s kid. I get it. But Charlotte loses it and says, “I’m the best Nepo baby.” That got my attention like, sis. We don’t go there, remember? Next gen wrestlers have a code of honor.
“For instance, I’ve talked all kinds of smack about Randy Orton. For being a poser, a bootlicker, for wearing assless chaps, and for that corny shit he does with his arms before he tries to hit people with the RKO, but,” Roman pauses to laugh and rub the creases on his brow. “I have never told Randy Orton I’m a better Nepo baby than him. Like?? Who says that?”
Roman continues to laugh and shake his head, and although the gripe seems petty, you support Roman’s intent to vote her out, so you don’t care.
When the Kizu tribe arrived at Tribal Council, Jeff explained the torch system and how fire represents one’s life in the game of Survivor.
“Iyo, what’s life at camp like? Tell me what’s happening.”
“What is happening, Jeff. We need to win challenges.”
“I know that’s right,” said Roman, pounding his fist into his palm, several others nodding in agreement.
Then Iyo said, “Charlotte and Rhea fight too much.”
“What?” said Rhea. “That was just a workout. Besides, she’s going home tonight. What difference does it make?”
“Wow, bold statement,” said Jeff. “I wonder if it’s unanimous. By show of hands, who plans on voting Charlotte out tonight?”
Roman, Rhea, Sami, and Randy immediately raised their hands. When no one else responded, Roman whispered to R-Truth, “yo, raise your hand if you’re voting out Ms. Rivers.”
“Miz Rivers? When did Mike get a new stage name?”
“Don’t listen to Roman, Truth,” said The Miz. “He’s a dictator with a chip on his shoulder. When has he ever done anything good for anyone?”
“Yeah,” said Charlotte. “He just wants me out because he’s jealous of my popularity.”
The diabolical grin on Jeff’s face might lead one to believe that the tables were turning on Roman in this special Survivor rap battle, but Charlotte wasn’t attracting favor from the others. In fact, even Iyo laughed at her delusional statement.
“Why can’t you let personal feelings go, Roman?” said Charlotte. “This is Survivor. Why are you so fixated on drama in the ring?”
“Don’t turn this on me,” said Roman. “I’m here to work, fight, feed my tribe, and get us to the end of the game. Meanwhile, The Queen over here thinks this is spring break and we’re here to wait on her hand and foot like a bunch of damn simps. I didn’t sign up for that.”
“That’s right,” said Rhea, backing Roman up. “The game is still early. We’re one tribe, not one person. I stand by my tribe, which can dominate this game if we only make the right moves. I don’t know about any of you, but Roman was a much better team player today than Charlotte. Keep your hand down if I’m wrong.”
Iyo raised her hand like it was math class in high school, so Jeff called on her.
“I change my vote to Charlotte,” said Iyo.
“Whoa, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Charlotte, you’ve attracted some animosity. What is it about you that’s put off so many of your tribe mates?”
“Like I said, Jeff. I’ve been in business for decades. I’m a titan, same as these guys. As long as I’m around, I’ll always be The Queen.”
Jeff shrugged and said, “All right. Well, with that said, it’s time to vote. Iyo, you’re up.”
Iyo is shown walking up the ramp toward the voting booth, and immediately she writes シャーロット and Shārotto in larger letters above it. You wonder why production didn’t assist her with the spelling of Charlotte’s name, or maybe the choice to be obvious about her vote was Iyo’s.
Roman’s vote was shown next, but he said nothing as he held up Charlotte’s name. He shook his head with an attitude, cracked up laughing, and submitted his vote.
One contestant casts their vote after the next, and then Jeff grabbed the urn containing the votes once they were done.
“OK, I’ll read the votes,” said Jeff. “First vote, Rhea.”
Wait. Rhea? Not Roman? You must have missed whatever fight Iyo was talking about when you took a five-minute shower. Man, having to multitask before work sucks.
“Second vote, Charlotte. That’s one vote Rhea, one vote Charlotte.”
What if Charlotte was the only one who voted for Rhea?
“Third vote, Rhea.” Oh crap, maybe not. Rhea glared at that. Maybe that was Liv’s handwriting? You recall that those two have a history.
“Charlotte,” said Jeff, holding up Shārotto シャーロット。 ”That’s two votes Rhea, two votes Charlotte, five votes left.”
The fifth vote was for “Miz (Rivers)” which Jeff interpreted as a vote for The Miz. Miz looks up at Truth, incredulous with betrayal, or was Truth being stupid for laughs?
Then Jeff read the sixth vote, Rhea, then Charlotte was the seventh vote. Jeff pulled out the eighth vote, and it was for, “Charlotte. That’s four votes Charlotte, three votes Rhea, one vote Miz, one vote left.”
Dramatic AI-generated stock music fills the screen, and the wrestlers are laser-focused on Jeff. His hand hovered over the urn containing the final vote. Rhea stopped breathing for a moment, but Roman cupped her massive bicep and gave her back a rub. Jeff peered down at the final vote, and with sardonic flair, he stated that the first person voted out of Survivor: Wrestlers at War was, “Charlotte. That’s five votes. That’s enough. You need to bring me your torch.”
Charlotte, lips pursed in anger, brought Jeff her torch. He snuffed it and said, “Charlotte, it’s time for you to go.”
“Good luck, Liv,” said Charlotte, as though to say, “damn the rest of you, though.” Liv smiled and set her sights on Mami. She thought she knew how to handle Rhea even if she was on the bottom.
You don’t bother to watch the post-credits scene, because you’re already teetering on the edge of being late for work. You contemplate what you just watched as you hop on your scooter and take the strode’s designated scooter lane.
Your opinion on Wrestlers at War is so-so. It reminds you of a show called Deal or No Deal Island, in a way, where you watch pampered rich people complain about nothing on an island all day, but at least they must roll around in mud like pigs and gamble when they’re done. That’s what fosters engagement, pumps of glorious hedonism.
Speaking of hedonism, you visualize Roman Reigns bathed in mud from head to toe, then you imagine an equally muddy Seth Rollins pulling him into the ocean to clean him off. As mud slowly rolls down their backs and pecs, filth sucked away by waves, the two of them start sucking each other’s muddy faces, and you’re blushing. In the name of holy Macho Man, can your wandering thoughts please have mercy?
You, about to arrive at work hot and bothered now, wonder when the show will get to that part. Why did Stone Cold Steve Austin’s podcast randomly tease you like this? You’re obsessed.
---
Two more episodes play, week after tired, achy, pointless week, and you’re bored and unsure if you want to watch this seriously. It’s off-putting that Seth’s in a chummy alliance with Becky on Team Raion, but at least that makes sense. What in the May/December hell was the unholy alliance of Rhea Ripley and Roman Reigns all about?
She wasn’t about to cuck Jey Uso, another titan and one of the top five babyfaces in the history of the company, with whom she’d formed a power couple alliance in WWC canon. At least not with anyone other than Dirty Dom, her only weakness. Was it water under the bridge then? Did Roman acknowledge her as an Uce, too? You cannot believe how far behind you are. Your late-night deep dives into wrestling lore just got later. Sneaking peaks at work alone wasn’t going to cut it now.
You watch episodes two and three in short bursts when you have downtime at work. Much to your disappointment, Team Raion loses the second immunity challenge and votes Dirty Dom out, like Bianca wanted. This was after a cringey montage of him trolling everybody around camp.
He took several pairs of socks and underpants off the clothesline and buried them in the sand. He took the guavas everyone gathered and scattered them in the woods. Then he carved MAMI into the side of a tree, an action the Hawaiian natives online found deeply offensive. Suddenly, you realized, this show was gonna cost BBS extra. You wonder if Jey Uso had something to say about that, too. Eventually, Dom was assaulted by Nia Jax in camp, who kicked him down, sat on his ribs, grabbed his jaw, and threatened to make him bleed more than Becky. While he was down, Kevin Owens kicked him and demanded to know where his trunks were. Cody Rhodes stood there and watched.
That was the second episode, trash. The third episode was lame, too. They voted out The Miz before Awesome Truth could make a comeback. Editing made sure to lay it on thick that Roman and Seth were both aligned with powerful ladies. It’s almost more than you can stomach, but interesting enough, Jeff announces in Episode 3 that Exile Island was going into effect, where one member of each team would be taken to a tiny islet called Exile Island by boat, and they would spend an entire day there, two people, representing two different tribes, to shake things up.
Team Raion won that immunity challenge and thus got to pick both candidates for Exile. Cody, ever the hero, volunteered as a tribute, and he chose Randy Orton as his hot date for the first twenty-four hours of Exile.
The number of power couples one can form in fantasy booking is crazy. You hope in the coming weeks, before the merge, that maybe Roman and Seth whisk each other away to Exile Island.
Maybe you don’t have to wait long. After The Miz gets his torch snuffed, previews for next week’s episode roll in. You’re given grotesque images of fish guts and spider burgers, one shot of Nia in testimony gagging, then the camera’s fixated on two stoic, bearded titans, Seth Rollins and Roman Reigns, peering into each other’s souls as they’re about to face off in a gross food challenge. Finally, something palatable you can sink your teeth into.
You must wait until next week for that, but you know, at least you have something in life to look forward to now.
Starfire_Wildheart on Chapter 1 Sun 04 May 2025 10:10PM UTC
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Starfire_Wildheart on Chapter 3 Sun 18 May 2025 12:03AM UTC
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