#flops.

DIAMOND NIGHT, the working title, is directly pulled from VOWWOW's song of the same name. VOWWOW/BOW WOW is diesel's second favourite band, depeche mode being the first, and i really wanted to use this title at publication. the song itself just didn't fit this portion of diesel's life, and there are lyrics from it i do want to draw inspiration from elsewhere, namely:

バックミラーに ghost of you

声すら嗄れはてて かき消される high way

(roughly translated to "ghost of you in the rearview mirror/even my voice becomes hoarse, drowned out on the high way." lyrocs source)

instead, i used lyrics from DONCHA WANNA CUM/Hangar 15, which is off their album "III" and written by the beloved genki hitomi - as evidenced by the song being entirely in english and having a more western pop rock sound than when kyoji yamamoto was the lead vocalist. (side note: rei atsumi is underrated and he's never done a single bad thing with a keyboard.)

stay close tonight (click link, go to 26:36) was also nearly chosen for title inspiration, given that i had this concert on repeat for half the writing process. i could actually write an entire post about VOWWOW and diesel's love for them but we're not here for that!!!!

while this fic is included in the Heartbreak Hotel AU universe, it is exclusively canon to my diesel muse and has no intended bearing over mango's telling of their own story, and takes place many years prior to the events of the HHAU. this made writing this piece fun; i had the opportunity to increase the depth of my muse without extensively plotting with mango.

i like the idea of going scene by scene with a few cuts. the fic opens here:

The boat rocked underfoot as Dallas throttled up to full speed the moment they cleared the marina's last NO WAKE sign. Up in the bow seating, the Diamond Dolls shouted at him for the sudden acceleration, two of them sliding right out of their plush seats and onto the pink mahogany hull. The Grand Craft had been modified heavily from its original design, practically rebuilt, and outfitted in chrome, white, and baby doll pink to match the Cadillac. It screamed Diamond Dallas Page, right down to the way the stern bench seating was upholstered with genuine leather - Something Dallas upkept meticulously.

dallas coming in hot as usual. i grew up on boats and love writing about them, the water, and everything in between, and i had a difficult time focusing on the actual story when all i wanted to do was ramble about the setting. my uncle moved down to clearwater many years ago and has traveled all over the world, and i actually did "consult" with him regarding swanky, popular boat manufacturers in the '80s-90s down in florida. "consulting" being saying "hey, chris, what were the most bougie boats you'd see down there back when you were in miami?" followed by an answer that was probably three hours long. i love my uncle and his undiagnosed ADHD very much. we meet our protagonists:

Tan body glistening in the beautiful Florida sunset, the Diamond Studd lounged against that leather, head tossed back and limbs spread wide. Across from him on the mid-deck couch, Vinnie Vegas squinted through his sunglasses and internally mourned his wind tossed hairdo. […] Vegas had only bounced for Dallas for about three months before he was brought into the Diamond Exchange's fold, and these excursions were one of the many benefits. He kept feeling self conscious about the injury scars marring his leg, hyper-aware of his body at all times, trying to mimic Dallas and Studd's body languages; he hadn't spent a hell of a lot of time on beaches in Michigan, admittedly. Too busy on the assembly line or the basketball court.

i wanted to paint a picture of the outsiders that no one is used to seeing. the diamond studd, comfortable in his own body, relaxed contrasted against vinnie vegas, tense, self conscious, frustrated with inconsequential impacts on his appearance - irritated by the lack of control, enough so that he can hardly enjoy something he loves in theory and would love in practice if he could fret less. he's trying to mimick ease instead of trying to be at ease; mine and mango's diesel muse is also autistic, and i try to be mindful when writing scenes like this. i do not think this is funny or cute, and i want to express to the reader that diesel is negatively impacted by his neurodivergencies and physical disabilities, including his leg injury. to cap out this section, vinnie invents his own excuse for rarely hitting the beach: work. he loves the water, doesn't mind the cold, and his knees greatly benefit from swimming... but, having not medically transitioned before this point and standing out for being an absurdly tall beanpole (and clocked as some flavour of Gay™ by peers), he was rarely comfortable enough to go. again: something that improves his quality of life, barred from him.

Behind Studd, the luxury vessel's wake frothed like two great, white wings folded behind him. He would've looked like he was diving down from the heavens if he wasn't so relaxed, chest bouncing each time Dallas rode someone else's wake to make the girls scream. The wind caught his laughter and threw it to Vegas as it whipped by, and he tried to prop his forearms across his thighs and sit forward comfortably while squaring his shoulders. It was hard to lean back when traveling backwards at nearly forty miles an hour.

this is so self indulgent, man. my dedushka used to throttle up to full speed whenever he could, and i always imagined the white water wake as a pack of wolves chasing the boat, trying to play with it. i'd lean over the stern, right next to the engine, and let the high-pressure water beat the shit out of my hand, imagining that i was playing with the wolves as they leapt up from the wake, trying to catch up to the rotors. i was going to write something like this into diesel's internal narration, but he's too tense in this fic to let his imagination wander.

vegas is also ogling the studd's body, especially his (perisex, cis) chest. to him, this is the pinnacle of manhood. everything he wants to be, everything he's trying to be, and it deifies studd. studd's also sitting at the stern near the transom, whereas vegas is seated across from him with his back to the cockpit. they're both going in the same direction at the same speed, but vinnie's doing it in reverse. his path forward has more unknowns and more unseen obstacles, and he feels uncertain, ill-prepared, and nervous, but he is genuinely content to allow dallas to guide him onwards. he doesn't have to look over his shoulder to know dallas is navigating them safely through open water.

Plus, soreness was starting to creep across his chest, the adhesive tacking the silicone sheeting over his scarring starting to itch from sweat. He rubbed his hands together and dug his left thumb into his right palm, smoothing in circles through his gloves. He was still getting the hang of cutting the medical grade squares into sheets and applying them with what was basically bandaid glue, but it did the job: Kept the scarring down, kept the sun off. He just hoped his chest would look like his partners' by the end of this, he was starting to get twitchy about the muscle mass he lost during the first few months of healing. Four more months, and he'd have spent a year in Florida. Four more weeks, and he'd be back under the knife. It was giving him anxiety. Panic attacks. Just thinking about it was making him sick and it definitely wasn't from Dallas's careless handling of the banjo-style wheel, and he still had to fly back home tomorrow and see his mom and-

surprise! dallas funded his top surgery recently! TRANS RIGHTS!! i think this element speaks for itself and helps contextualise his mood, here, and it's followed up by some more dysphoria, and a direct confirmation that vinnie trusts dallas. even when his thoughts are beginning to race and anxiety starts manifesting physiologically, his faith in dallas never waivers, and he affirms that to himself as a self-calming technique.

"Hey." Vegas jumped. His eyes came back into focus on Studd's package, no surprise, but when Vegas lifted his eyes to his face, the Studd wasn't looking at him. He cupped a hand around his mouth and raised his voice. "Hey! Yo! Dallas!"

Vegas turned around to look at their captain as well, slapping the utility box behind him a few times for good measure. Dallas throttled down gently, flashed the now murderous Dolls a winning smile, and turned round to drape an arm over the back of his seat. His hair had mostly escaped from its pilfered scrunchy, definitely Tori's, and started framing his face in dirty blond corkscrews. That smile was worth a million bucks. "What's up, baby? Want the radio turned up? Not likin' the view?"

"No way, man," Studd snorted, voice lowering back to its regular volume. His slow drawl was surprisingly soft spoken, and he waved a hand to shoo away Dallas's concerns. "Get your lead foot off the gas, Diamond. I wanna enjoy the salt water spray, not get power washed. And yeah, why don't you turn it up? Gimme something that bumps."

"Anything for you, guy," Dallas saluted and cranked one of many knobs on his instrument panel. At the twangy sting of Slinky's opening notes, Studd met Vinnie's gaze and rolled his eyes.

"That Dallas, right, brother? I like Link Wray too, but that ain't bumping. You mind?" His many rings glittered like the sun on the sea as he wiggled the fingers of one hand at Vegas then motioned for him to get up. Vegas raised an eyebrow but still stood, taking a moment to steady himself before rounding the mid-deck seating and marching right up to the cockpit. Dallas had already vacated after dropping anchor, sitting between Lee Ann and Kimberly and trying to placate them before they decided to throw him overboard. It didn't look like it was working. Leaving Dallas to his small army of mutineers, Vegas cranked the station dial right to WCMQ-FM and looked back towards the stern as the first chorus of Sandunguera threatened to blow out the speakers. Studd dropping his neck back onto the plush headrest was the best indication Vegas got that his job was done.

*clutching my arm rests* i fucking love studd and dallas's dynamic i'm going to gnaw on sheet metal. /j i'm not even editing this part down, mainly because i think we all deserve to watch dallas be eaten alive. back on track, we come into focus on one of the studd's many assets. some narrative foreshadowing for vinnie's upcoming surgeries, more dysphoria, and an example of the ease with which razor identifies, disrupts, and attempts to alter vinnie's disordered thinking. my uncle used to operate a bar on long island in new york and would ask me to burn CDs for specific crowds. slinky and sandunguera were both requested by him on different CDs, and sandunguera was a hit amongst cuban americans. WCMQ-FM/Z 92.3 is a fort lauderdale/miami station run by the spanish broadcasting system. this is one of the ways i express the setting without bluntly writing it down. onwards:

"Vin! Baby! The bar's right behind you." His boss waved at him nonchalantly from the den of vipers. Yeah, good luck with that, pal.

"Not enough limes in the world to save you, boss," he mimed throwing a hand of cards at Dallas. To his credit, the blond threw his head back and laughed, his wife elbowing him in the ribs. All passengers aboard knew the Studd would start bartending when the time was right. Head shaking, Vegas sauntered back to his seat and ignored the sun glinting off Studd's teeth.

i love u vinnie vegas and diamond dallas. i love u kimberly. not much to say about this beyond the way dallas has created an environment where the studd is in a position of control regarding alcohol, where he'll never be offered a drink or obligated to witness other people drinking unless he initiates it. he's the house dealer here, not dallas, not kimmy, not the dolls, not vinnie. it helps him be responsible and self-moderate, and razor responds positively to situations where he has the opportunity to look out for other people. keeping alcohol consumption reasonable is a group effort, here, not something razor has to undertake alone.

"No seats left with the Dolls, Vegas?" He teased, oozing over the bench seats more, seemingly never running out of ways to increase his size. Vegas winced, crossed his legs, crossed them the other way, tried to fix his hair, put his feet flat back on the deck. Surgery was still on his mind and he shook his head, sitting back with a deep exhale. He had to reposition his arms when he ran his hands through his hair, the pull deep in his still-numb pecs uncomfortable more than painful. At least he was starting to regain sensation here and there, but it was the scars on his pelvis that seemed to have had their nerves permanently severed. The waistband of his garish board shorts chafed them but he hardly noticed.

"Fit my fat ass up there? No way. Poke somebody's eye out with my knees. Nah." The response was deflecting and, as the jazzy sounds of Las Van Van faded into the Cubano radio host's voice, Studd lifted his head and pierced Vegas with a stern stare. He felt like one of those preserved butterflies on display - Or maybe something a little less pretty, like a beetle, or without so much armour, like-

SURPRISE AGAIN! vinnie had top surgery AND a hysterectomy (as well as vaginectomy)! TRANS RIGHTS. vinnie has more than just gender dysphoria and also struggles with body dysmorphia, something that's excessively common amongst athletes. this applies not only to his injuries, but to his own perceived size, and the studd being so much broader than him is difficult for him to deal with occasionally, despite the height difference. he's dysmorphic about the fat content on his body, especially as it begins to redistribute now that he has access to HRT intended testosterone. even thinking of himself as a bug under scrutiny falls victim to compulsive heteronormativity and dysmorphia simultaneously, where a butterfly is too effeminate for comfort, yet a beetle is much too masculine to be achievable.

"White Diamond for your thoughts, chico?" That deep, smooth voice was suddenly beside Vegas, the storage unit behind him popped open. He was so caught up in his own thoughts he only belatedly processed his stablemate stand and cross the distance between them in one massive stride. His meaty, powerful thighs were right next to the Las Vegas transplant's face, and he wanted to take a bite of that sun kissed skin. […] most other boaters passing them with a wide berth. Probably didn't want to have to offer such a big group their blow, some real Southern hospitality.

Swaying with the waves like the ocean was his second home, Studd whipped up the cocktail in under a minute, straining it into one of the crystalline glasses Dallas stocked his mini bar with. Everything was dropped back into the cooler seemingly unceremoniously, the table folded back into the box, and the lid slammed shut. He was expertly juggling two cocktails in one hand and a cigar box of honeyed cherries in the other, dropping down beside Vinnie heavily.

studd initiating the alcohol consumption on his own terms, from the timing to the drinks mixed, and he mixes them himself, decides who gets what when, and when everything gets packed back up. as mentioned in another post, i don't project scott hall's real world alcoholism onto his fictional characters, but do embrace a narrative depicting substance dependency and the struggle against becoming addicted.

vinnie's dysmorphia continues at full speed, accompanied by the "i want to be him" thoughts' best friend: "i want him." i'm cutting out most of the intimate portions because they're self explanatory and the fic can speak for itself. this entire section depicts the amount of trust vinnie has in razor as well as the power dynamic between the two of them this early in their relationship, and i recommend reading the fic if you've come this far into the director's cut but have yet to do so.

also: wealthy boaters in florida avoiding the garish, bougie boat full of gruff men and attractive women because they don't want to share That much cocaine was, allegedly, an actual phenomena. fascinating.

[…] [The Diamond Studd] tasted like salt, expensive cigars, and hot vinyl[…]

hi slater i painstakingly created this flavour profile to appeal to you, specifically. if i could send you a tea that tastes like this i would [+a little gunpowder tea in the mix. BANG!]

He wanted to shove the Studd down and ride him to death, but that was usually what people thought of him. Sunglasses starting to slide down his nose, Vegas licked his lips, barely able to meet the brunette's eyes. His brown hair looked like a dark halo, and Vegas was acutely aware of how much of a mess his own hair had to look. It'd been a long time since he let his hair grow out this much and he was having trouble taming it, but, hey, he wouldn't mind if the Studd was fucking with it, although Vegas would prefer to be twisting his hair around his fist while he screwed him into the sand-

we return to desireville for a brief moment to bring you: vinnie's thoughts course correcting from the indoctrinated, heteronormative "you are girl and PiV/submissive intercourse is what you want" to "i'm Me and i want to dominate this man within an inch of his life."

as a disclaimer: people, whether they be intersex, cis, trans, what have you, are welcome and encouraged to want and pursue whatever kind of sex they want, including not having sex at all. my narrative does not imply that trans men who bottom are inherently subverting or invalidating their gender, nor being heteronormative. for vinnie, being dominant and topping a man, explicitly, are things that have been gatekept from him due to his AGAB, genitalia, and own body image and confidence issues.

Embarrassment suddenly caught up with Vinnie. He felt like he had heat stroke. The song on the radio was loud and quiet at the same time, the surf mocking him, just like the ladies and Dallas all laughing-

"Hey," the hand left his chin and slapped his cheek gently. […]

this, and the rest of this paragraph, depict the studd identifying and disrupting vinnie's anxiety. it was really important to me to depict a young diesel struggling with his OCD and dysmorphia, and the invasive, disordered thinking, and anxiety that come with it. the next section contains a depiction of internalised transphobia, which i will be discussing, as a warning.

"Uh," he stuttered, cleared his throat, tried to get the octave of his voice back down to where it should be. "Uhuh. Yeah. Look- […] -I'm nervous, okay? Mom and I are good, but people back home are going to recognise me, and they're going to remember me as the wannabe-transsexual beanpole who used her Rez card to strong arm the school district."

He hadn't even realised the pronoun slip until it was too late and he cringed, hoping none of the girls heard. The last thing he needed right now was another one of Dallas's Queens trying to be his life coach, and any of the Dolls present were liable to snitch. […] "I just- I don't feel like I'm playing with a full deck here, you know? The odds are stacked against me. And, whatever happens, I still gotta psych myself back up for the cut again. You know how scary that is, Ramon? Five surgeries in two years, if you include rebuilding my leg, and now they're going in and fucking it up even more-"

vinnie and his mother maintain a very close, positive relationship all throughout her life, and none of his career choices, identity, or presentation ever threaten that. he always sends money home, always takes care of her, and invites her to participate in his life whenever possible. the rest of his community in michigan, though... he isn't as comfortable with. he was always awkward and disconnected from other natives having not grown up in the culture, his ojibwe father having passed away young. he went to tennessee, kentucky, and germany for basketball and college, went into long haul trucking, and always explored the leather and gay communities outside of detroit, not wanting to risk making his mother's life harder. he was still entitled to certain rights and accommodations as someone holding tribal registry, including telling white lies to play on the boys' baskbetball teams due to the lack of girls' ones.

he's more concerned with one of the dolls overhearing than he is concerned about engaging in self deprication, however; dallas employs drag queens as cosmotologists, stylists, consultants, whatever need be, and they generally treat vinnie like he's their little pup in need of some training and guidance. he also hires trans and intersex people for various positions, and i have notes for writing in his club's intersex transfem bartender in the future >;3c

on a more serious note: vinnie has a healthy degree of respect and fear for major surgery, and is already planning to undergo yet another massive procedure while still recovering from his most recent ones. he's has extensive repairs on his injured leg with mixed outcomes, in part due to the initial emergency surgery being less than ideal. i've had numerous major surgeries myself, and have more in my future. each one is harder than the last, and most of them occuring within a span of only nine years. recovery feels like you've been shoved back to square one every. single. time, and you fight and claw and work your way back to something better... knowing, as soon as you do, your surgeon's going to ask you to schedule the next surgery.

vinnie is disabled. his leg injuries disable him, insufficient medical intervention disables him, ongoing treatment disable him. both of his legs experience chronic pain, inflammation, and recurrant injuries, and he's a massive, heavy, athletic man - it takes a toll. now, he's preparing to undergo mixed method phalloplasty, which will demand that grafts be taken from his thighs and mons pubis region. he isn't eligible for full MLD but doesn't want to undergo RFF nor methods grafting from the torso due to visible scarring and potential loss of hand dexterity. as a disabled person: it is scary, putting your body through major surgery that will further complicate your quality of life, potentially forever in the rare event a severe complication arises.

"Whoa, whoa, okay," the Studd cut him off […] Hand carefully avoiding the scars, he cupped his still impressive pec and massaged it tenderly. […] "You're a powerful, sexy, perfect man, you hear me? Anybody got a problem with you, you call me, Vegas. Tch. […] I'll Diamond Drop 'em. Drop 'em like the ugly, desperate, jealous little flies they are."

Unable to fight the laugh that seized him, Vegas squeezed the Studd's thigh and shook his head. "Who booked you a flight, handsome?"

welcome to gender affirmation city, baby!! he loves vinnie. so much he's going to detroit with him whether he knows it or not. horniness incoming:

Eyebrows shooting up, Studd stole Vinnie's drink in a clatter of gold and diamonds, polishing it off and swiping an ice cube to crunch into bits. His mouth was so hot it melted almost instantly. Vegas wanted his tongue to melt in the Studd's mouth like that and, post-op, his cock-

when the . when tbe gender affirming surgery... affirm ur gender. i'm again cutting some softcore porn below because it is self explanatory, and if you want to read vinnie's bisexual thoughts and dallas being jumped by women you'll have to click the link up top

"Daddy-o, baby, who else? You think he'd risk losin' you to the 313?" This was news to Vinnie. […] Studd didn't seem as interested, both his hands falling to Vinnie's tight waist, thumbs tracing the lines of the four pack he was slowly working on. "Besides, I never gamble with sentiment. You're all mine, Vegas."

nicknames for dallas include "dally" and "daddy-o/daddio" and i love that for him. "the 313" refers to detroit's area code when dialing a detroit phone number, and this turn of phrase is commonly used to refer to specific regions. this area code is actually a sister code to NYC's 212, LA's 213, and chicago's 312. at the time, almost all phones used rotary dialing, and the easiest codes to dial were reserved for regions with the highest telephone density in the US.

and possessiveness and intimacy, because they help vinnie feel less dysphoric and dysmorphic, razor flat out thinks he's hot, and he's extremely attached to his best friend and loathes the idea of him going at something so serious and intimidating alone. after some fumbling:

[The Studd] was sliding into him, pulling him, fitting their bodies together seamlessly. If anything, they fit even better now than before, and Vegas had no where to put his hands but in Studd's hair, the stubble on his jaw, the twin earring to Dallas's dangling from his ear. […] His breath was heavy in [Vinnie's] ear, voice a deafeningly quiet earthquake. "I gotta give you a sexier name before I show you off on hometown turf, boy."

vin's finally able to enjoy his body a little bit, to like the way it feels when another person touches him. post-op, he doesn't have to feel uncomfortable about his chest touching someone else's. post-op, he doesn't have to feel as uncomfortable and scared when his groin and genitals are interacted with, even if there's more work to be done. razor's someone he's been deeply intimate with pre-op, and is the only person thus far that he can compare pre- and post-op physicality with. this is hugely affirming for vinnie.

and my favourite thing about my razor muse overall: he named him diesel, and that's the name the gambler formerly known as vinnie vegas took for the rest of his life.