RULE OF FOOLS

it seems the least little shove would land us there, that only the slightest repugnance of our bodies we no longer control could drag us back.

[dvnhams]

meet david dunham.

— basics.

Name: David Lionel Dunham

Age / D.O.B.: 37 / February 5, 1986

Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality: Male, he/him, so deep in the closet they'll need a hydraulic crane to extricate him.

Hometown: New York, NY, USA

Affiliation: Media

Job Position: Founder and Editor-In-Chief of Disruptor, an independent, online political publication.

Education: Bachelor in Political Science, Master of Business Administration

Relationship Status: Don’t fucking worry about it (single).

Children: None

Positive Traits: Calculating, ambitious, and persuasive

Negative Traits: Untrusting, untrustworthy, and unpredictable 

— the long and short of it.

David Dunham is an arrogant, irritable little man whose patience is proportional to his small stature. He’ll decide how he feels about you within the first few seconds of meeting you and treat you accordingly for the foreseeable future. If he likes you, he’ll be straight with you – warts, pus and all. If he doesn’t, he’ll be the politest bastard you’ve ever met. You don’t know where you stand with him and you’re not sure you want to. But you need him. If you're in media, you need him. If you're in government, you need him. Law enforcement, white collar crime, whatever – you don’t only need him to like you, you need him to give a shit about you. You know he holds the power to make you or fuck you in his hand, and by god, does it sting. 

— a (very) brief history.

Son of the infamously disgraced former U.S. Senator and convicted felon Robert “Bobby” Dunham (and if you think that’s a mouthful, wait ‘til you see what’s on his rap sheet). Something of a pariah in the political sphere. Something of a big fucking deal everywhere else.

Succeeds two older siblings who have already done the “I-am-not-my-father” song and dance for a seat at the congressional table and failed spectacularly, so. The bar for success in this family is underground. He could be a poli sci professor at NYU and still have the better-looking resume of the three, all things considered. 

Got his big break in journalism for helping blow the whistle (not a euphemism, fuck you) on his old man’s many misdeeds circa the 2010 midterms, because the public eats up a good et tu, brute narrative like dinner at Le Bernardin. The family? Not so much. He’s still not invited to the annual holiday retreat in Davos.

Founded Disruptor, a sensationalist, tabloid-esque political news website, soon after he realized there was a buck to make from people that treat politics with the same reverence and precariousness as they do reality television. It’s like TMZ for people with GEDs and extra numbers to their usernames on Twitter. So, TMZ. 

Considers himself “politically neutral,” which is a diplomatic way of saying he likes tax breaks more than he likes human rights. But like, fuck the police, boo systemic oppression and all that; his convictions lie at the intersection of provocative and profitable. 

Has too many fucking skeletons in his closet to condense into a few bullet points or less. Buy him a drink or take him out to dinner first – he won’t be any more likely to tell you about his childhood trauma or whatever, but at the very least, it’ll give you a hell of a story to tell your friends. 

— potential connections / plots.

LIE WITH DOGS, GET UP WITH FLEAS: Having no discernable moral alignments means David’s in bed with some seedy people, figuratively and literally. Corrupt politicians, media adversaries, bankers with their hands in dirty money…his network reaches far and wide, and if you do find yourself in his alliance, he gives as good as he gets – but only if the get is good.  DON’T EVER TAKE SIDES AGAINST THE FAMILY: Remember his dad, Bobby Dunham? Yeah, so, it turns out that getting busted for white-collar crime really threw a wrench in the whole “American family political dynasty” thing they had going on for a while in the early aughts. Now the only two things the Dunhams have in common with the Kennedys are daddy issues and a handful of nepo-liticians who tried and failed to redeem the family name. Please, give David his failsiblings and relatives from their mother’s old money side of the family who look down their noses at them for being such national fucking embarrassments. BURN THE MIDNIGHT OIL: Disruptor is notorious in the industry for its aggressive, no-holds-barred approach to political journalism, so if that sounds like something that aligns with your career goals, they’d be more than happy to have you in the ranks. Executives, editors, reporters, photographers – any and all positions are open for applications. Teamwork makes the dream work, and all. WOULDN’T IT BE FUNNY (IF YOU LOVED ME): Very few people on this earth genuinely like David. Even fewer are good people. He needs some real, sincere relationships to fuck with his head and make him question whether he actually takes joy in being a piece of shit or does it out of some disgusting, deep-seated need for human connection. whocanneverbesure.gif

[dvnhams]

✵ alan please

Send ✵ to be judged by the man that hates everything.  

Their first impression of your muse: "When did they start inviting HSDA members to the Correspondents' dinner?"

Current impression: Oh, you cocky little fucker.

Are they attracted to your muse?: Maybe, if he were ten years older and into twinks.

Something they find frightening about your muse: How far he's able to fit a hand up Julian Berkeley's ass and make his lips flap like a muppet.

Something they find adorable about your muse: That sense of wide-eyed, liberal optimism one only gleans from working for a blue governor in a blue state.

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?: No.

Would my muse go on a date with yours?:  No.

One word my muse would use to describe yours: Smug.

Would my muse slap yours if they could?: Probably. Alan can slap him back, if he'd like.

Would my muse hug/kiss yours?: With the crushing force of a growing media empire that could tank his career on a whim.

[dvnhams]

✵ 🤪

Send ✵ to be judged by the man that hates everything.  

Their first impression of your muse: "Mommy, why does he have lizard eyes?"

Current impression: Needs a fucking haircut.

Are they attracted to your muse?: Don't be gross, Lev.

Something they find frightening about your muse: It's still the lizard eyes.

Something they find adorable about your muse: His wife.

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?: No.

Would my muse go on a date with yours?: Don't be gross, Lev x2.

One word my muse would use to describe yours: Obnoxious.

Would my muse slap yours if they could?: He has and will.

Would my muse hug/kiss yours?: Not in a million years, bud.

[magnoliamemes-deactivated201906]

Send ✵ and my muse will answer the following.  

Their first impression of your muse:

Current impression:   

Are they attracted to your muse?:  

Something they find frightening about your muse:

Something they find adorable about your muse:  

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:  

Would my muse go on a date with yours?  platonic/romantic:  

One word my muse would use to describe yours:  

Would my muse slap yours if they could?: 

Would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

[travvma]

Kieran Culkin as Roman Roy (02.07)

[dvnhams]

@hstarke:

"iMusic?” With the look on Hans's face, he might as well have just asked David if he’s wearing crocs and socks. It's not his usual thing, but he doesn't really have a usual thing. Music stopped being something he pays attention to a good decade ago — too much focus needed, too much trouble to hear the lyrics right. Clubs serve him just fine, only beats which are relevant and matched to an ambiance. He supposes David's bossa nova is a fair enough way to fill their atmosphere — despite the fact The Girl from Ipanema would spit on their faces if given the chance. “Oh shut the fuck up, you’re a billionaire. You wouldn’t have to see the kid if you didn’t want to.” He wonders if that’s how Dunham Senior stumbled into fatherhood, to begin with. “Shit, that’d beat the queer rumors, if anything.” 

There it is: the big rainbow elephant in the room. He'd been wondering how long it'd take Hans to pull it out of his ass since he stepped over the threshold.

"Ah-huh. You got a source for those?" Deflection is the name of the game and David's a gold-medal champ, so. Sorry, Mr. Starke. Better luck probing him for a reaction next time? Or not. Hans can always just go fuck himself.

David sets his glass down and topples sideways onto the couch, twisting around 'til he's peering over at Hans through one squinted, discriminating eye. "I have a feeling it's the same guy who used to beg me to jerk off with him on molly."

[dvnhams]

@hstarke:

Are they fucked up enough for this? Maybe not, but they're on their way. All that they'd shot and snorted and swallowed kicking in all at once. It's always a dicey game they play, toeing the line of a friendship that welcomes honesty and one which does not. "It's good to have someone who's there," he shrugs. "That will see all of my bullshit and still not want to leave. He likes me despite all the bad shit I am and that's big, buddy." Hans points to himself, "He knows I'm this guy." The guy who needs vicodin to cope and whiskey to fall asleep. The guy who lies for living, and wounds to survive. The guy who's stuffing his system with poison, spewing profanities with a man who's just as rotten. "He'd prefer I wasn't, yeah, but he knows I am. And he's there, for when I'm good or when I'm fucking degenerate. I'm fucking self-aware enough to know I need that." Beat, and a hefty sip from his glass. Not wine, thank you very much. "Like I said — maybe you should try it."

"What, you're gonna give Daddy the satisfaction of being the only Dunham without an heir?" He asks. Half friend, half instigator. "I had a kid 'cause I wanted to. But if I were you, I'd be multiplying like rabbits."

Ah, sincerity. His mortal enemy. David makes a retching noise into his glass, eyes rolling back in his skull as though possessed by the ghost of his father's last marriage. Now, in Hans's defense, did David set the bait for him? Absolutely. He just didn't think he'd, you know, fellatiate the hook while he was taking it.

"Happy to hear it, champ." He dons a mean little smirk as he crosses a leg over the other. "Just. Hope your prenup is as rock solid as your dick is right now, is all. You sound like a handful."

Know what? David knows exactly what's killing his vibe tonight. It zaps him right in that moment, a full-body electric shock: there's no fucking music. They've been rawdogging this bender without so much as a sonata in C major, like a couple of fucking peons. For shame. "Hey, Alexa," he calls out, "play Getz/Gilberto on iMusic."

Okay, she replies. Playing Stan Getz and João Gilberto on Apple iMusic. Not exactly what he asked for, but fuck it, who cares. He's not about to get up and find his phone.

He swirls his wine around as those gentle bossa nova melodies start to melt from the speakers. "'Bout that. Got my tubes tied sometime between Dad's sentencing and James's second kid." Really sours the flavor profile of his Ribera Del Duero, the thought of him and fatherhood intermingling. The Dunham Dynasty would've died with David if he had any say in the matter, but he doesn't, so. Boo. "Last thing I need is another court showdown, disputing-the-paternity-of-some-stripper's-kid edition."

[heavensghost]

The opposite of a haunting is something very lonely, Katie Maria

(by @heavensghost)

[rylandgrac]

SUCCESSION | 3.05 Roman Roy + 😟

[jamesdunhams]

a derisive scoff leaves him but it does so with softened edges in a way that it could almost be confused for a good-natured chuckle. almost. " so it works now? that's fantastic news. " it’s a new decade. maybe david can do more damage to the family and procreate. maybe then he might understand the depth of his mistakes.

“ the ugly brother says to the handsome brother, ” james adds on to the end of david’s sentence, punctuated with a smug smirk as he turns around to face david. luckily he didn’t see david disposing of the baggie. “ but hey, there you go, ” he says, “ something your interns can write about. ” it was the kind of thing that would flood his twitter mentions over night: ted cruz & james dunham, dated or related. “ you look like you need the confidence boost. ”

he points to david’s jacket with a downward tilt of the head. “you’ve got something on your jacket. ”

[dvnhams]

"Yeah, nice try," David says with the deftness of a little brother that's been burned one too many times by the ol' there's-something-on-your-shirt-just-kidding-here's-a-finger-in-your-face trick. He responds by sweeping the coke dust off of his lapel and towards James – if he's lucky, it'll give James some sort of contact high that causes him to repeat the events of the 2004 Unity Dinner in Boston. How would you like that, motherfucker? He thinks. No Daddy Dunham to bail you out when you inevitably make a jackass out of yourself in front of all the important people. Again.

But while they're on the topic of important people: "So, what's all this about, then?" He asks, gesturing to James's general everythingness with a wave of his hand. "If you're looking for a glory hole to suck the DNC chair off through, the powder room for politicucks is actually down the hall and to the left."

[dvnhams]

@hstarke:

Long beat, as Hans appreciates the sheer magic of a barebacking quip flying well over David's head. Likely for the better, anyways -- neither of them truly want to see that conversation through. The door does almost hit him square on the brow, but he dodges it swiftly. "We're wearing the same fucking thing." Like the Upper East version of the penguins in Madagascar. "Welcome to the club, Tweedletwank."

"You done or—" A glance downwards, and to said counter. It's unclear what the right answer is.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," David snipes, unable to conjure up a better retort to Hans's (woefully accurate) observation. "At least mine doesn't come in a matching set. You're salt, he's pepper, sprinkle the both of you on some pâté and watch a rainbow shoot out of Larry Fink's ass after he's had a few."

He sighs. The outburst doesn't make him feel any better; now he's down his happy powder and his last dregs of patience. "Yeah, actually, I am. Just blew the last of my blow, so unless you brought your lunchbox with you from home, we both get to fool around in Sober Town tonight."

[leemalkovich]

@dvnhams​

“Smash.”

They’re staring at an egg-shaped thing, a head, which couldn’t have been all that more compelling if it still had a nose. The two men find themselves powdery high, and whisky blissful. It’s not their first round — of games, or buzzers.

He catches David out of the corner of his eye — and acts quick, snatching his nose away between index and middle-finger. “Time to donate to the less fortunate, innit, love.” 

He’s lucky Lee didn’t do it with a knife.

[dvnhams]

Don't fucking touch me zaps David's body like a live wire, his shoulders hiking ever-so-slightly as he masks his discomfort with a laugh. Even blitzed, sudden contact turns him into a wild, cornered animal, caught in a bear trap and clawing his way out with blood beneath his fingernails.

It's a good thing he's too drunk to start snapping like one.

"Funny." He paws at his nose where Lee brushed it with his thumb. "Might need to lend one of these guys some nutsack, too. I mean – fuckin'...Adonis over there is looking pretty fuckin' cold."

[anaismurad]

@dvnhams​​

“David!” Anaïs exclaims as she approaches, both palms coming to rest at each side of his stubbly face. “You look especially dashing tonight.” He looks exactly the same as he always does. As for herself — less fabric and more skin, though still within her usual relinquished way of dressing. She’s a little late, but— “I do hope you saved your very best dirty joke for me.”

[dvnhams]

"Agh, gross, your hands are fucking cold," David replies, removing said hands from his face with a level of care he doesn't afford much else in life. He doesn't say so aloud, and he'd sooner let a President Berkeley send him to the gallows before admitting it, but he's relieved to see her. Genuinely. "Still marinating on that one. I've seen more tiny dicks tonight than I did over four years of undergrad."

[juliecartcr-deactivated20231114]

Julie moves through the crowd slowly, attempting whatever emotion is meant to be provoked by the Grecian pieces decorating the room but failing miserably. Her most recent attempt in wishy-washy contemplation is cut short as she catches sight of a line slowly forming in the handicapped bathroom. The queue is no pressing concern but she decides to intervene, anyway, on the off-off-chance the person inside may need attending to. (That, and she's just bored.)

She nods, once, at the woman next in line before rapping on the door. The sight that greets her is neither welcome nor pleasant, but not unusual. She’s never quite managed to form a solid opinion of David Dunham in their several rounds of little scurrying fights at the police department, and while she can back down tonight, she doesn't, thinks she can use the stimulation.

"You were holding the line," Julie snaps, waving to the line of — well, just three people now, which defeats the necessity of her sanctimonious rage — and doubles down, "You couldn't have gone to the men's room? It's only a hop and a skip away for you."

[dvnhams]

Oh, goody. It's David's favorite lady cop. His lips bunch into a pout at the sound of her stern mom-voice, eyes glimmering with mirth. "I am so sorry," he addresses the small crowd of non-people, hand over the cavity in his chest where a heart should probably be, "for abusing my able-bodied privilege to occupy the only handicap bathroom in the building. My asshole burns in solidarity with you and your invisible fucking wheelchairs."

He lets the door swing shut on his heel as the next person in line steps forward to (reluctantly) claim the porcelain throne, swooping to murmur in Julie's ear as he passes: "I just made that up. I was actually in there snorting blow. Here." He slips the crumpled plastic baggie into her hand and gives her shoulder a firm pat. "In case you feel like handcuffing me tonight."

[greatmortality]

babygirl you are strange and offputting

[arlofleming]

When he stumbles his way through the hall to the stairs, a few gins down, Arlo isn't exactly looking for the other man. He just saw some stupid fucking boring shoes and a tiny form. But isn't he always, in some small way, looking for David?

He starts banging on the door mostly to be annoying, but as he does so, the ideas of bathrooms floating in his mind, he decides that if he doesn't piss immediately he might actually implode. Deliberately, he doesn't say his name, some part of him understanding that the moment David hears his voice is the moment he stays in this bathroom the whole night.

Knowing this, as soon as the door is pushed open, he shoves his foot by the frame. Crushing his foot probably won't deter David at all, but at least he can be a victim then. "There's no way you shit in public. You're definitely one of those who have to wait til you get home to do it."

[dvnhams]

That gives him genuine pause, if only because it's the last thing he expected Arlo to say after being accosted by his semi-coked up boss. "You think about my shitting habits often, Phlegm?" He volleys back (lamely) with. "S'fucking weird, even for you."

David's taking up space in this bathroom out of sheer spite, now, indifferent to whether Arlo actually needs to take a leak or not. He roots himself in front of the sink and takes stock of his reflection in the mirror: pupils slightly dilated, skin tinged a blotchy red, hair glistening with the faint sheen of pomade. Looks like someone who could use another drink or four.

"You don't happen to have any..." He wiggles his fingers vaguely in Arlo's direction. Could mean more coke. Could mean pills. Could mean some rope to tie around his neck and save him the agony of further interaction with a French 'person'. "Off the record, but you know. You're free to fuck off if not."

[dvnhams]

closed for: @lizdunham location: the brooklyn museum

There's a special sort of joy, or maybe it's pride, to be found in the idea that David is the last person at least five people in this gala want to see tonight. The fact that two out of those people are related to him is just an added bonus.

He finds Liz, as one would expect, by the dessert bar, still sober enough to wear an expression of absolute disdain when she locks eyes with her little brother from across the buffet table. That makes one of them. "So, funny joke I just thought of," David says in lieu of a greeting, plucking a petit four from its tray just to play with it. "Three children of a disgraced American senator walk into a gala..."

That's it. That's the joke.