i started keeping track of all the lore details ali louis bourzgui drops for david. i now release it unto the world for your reading pleasure:
obviously this is non-exhaustive and i will do my best to update it if/when more tidbits come out + feel free to comment/rb with anything i missed!
ali has said he has a very extensive backstory written down but probably will never release the bulk of it bc so much of david's appeal is his Mysterious Vibes </3
BUT ANYWAY. info organized to the best of my ability!
AESTHETICS:
HAIR: “I think David is hiding behind his hair. Deep inside, he's a hurt individual who is running from himself, so his extravagant costume and glam-rock look is actually him hiding his true nature, even from himself.” Broadway.com
NECKLACES: “I like to think that David keeps the keys from all the places he's lived during his many years on Earth. He likes to pretend he doesn't hold on to the past, like he's moving forward, but he's very sentimental and he just refuses to look at that. If he did then I think everything would be fixed.” Tony’s Instagram Takeover
CLOTHES: His top/end of show jacket has 2 gold chevrons on it reflecting the fact that Ali imagines David served about a year in the military during WW1 (1917-1918). + David used to have a black vest bedazzled/embroidered with stars (🥲) that he wore during Brother, but it was cut even before the previews began. Tony’s Instagram Takeover
MUSIC: His favorite type of music is classical from the 1910s because he was around for it (again, sentimental). + Cello music specifically is reflective of “the inner world of David's mind: stuck in the past, but deeply longing for a future that's fixed.” (Ali talks a little more about cello music helping get into the David mindset here) + His favorite Resident Lightweight (Ali’s band) song would be Nostalgia. Tony’s Instagram Takeover
VOICE: “I worked on figuring out a combo of [Kiefer’s] voice, my voice, and different rockstar voices to create a different sound. I wanted him to feel like he's actually a 97 year old inside of a 20-something year old body.” It Takes Two
RELATIONSHIPS:
SEXUALITY: “I think that even in his human life he was queer- personally- and then when he becomes a vampire, you reach a certain level of immortality where it doesn't even matter. You could call it pansexuality or, like, ‘yeah, everything's attractive to me now, I've lived for so long I don't even need labels’.”
“It’s not even always about sexuality… he finds Michael and Star both attractive, but he also sees them as siblings, and he also kinda wants to be their leader or their father figure. It's this crazy combination of him just wanting to be everything to them– it's multiple facets of attraction, so I think it's better to not pin down 100% his feelings as this thing, because I don't even think he's 100% sure”
“I also think he grew up in the 1920s, so I'm not sure he ever fully admitted anything to himself or discovered that about himself. Now that it's the 80s, he's starting to hear labels, but he's so far into this vampire realm that do labels even matter? I don't know. But he's definitely attracted to both Star and Michael from my point of view."
^ All from The Contending interview
MICHAEL: “David has gotten to the point where he's searching for anything he finds beautiful, and he sees himself in Michael, this wounded individual who instead of taking power into his hands is letting the world kick him around.” Broadway.com (+ “David spent a lot of his life that way, too, but he became a power-hungry individual who kicks the world back.”)
STAR: “Star is the only character that gets to see the human inside of David.” The Contending
From Maria: “She was in a bad way and David was there for her, so she feels like she owes a lot to him.” PIX News
Star is his “favorite of them* all” (*the people he's turned) Tony’s Instagram Takeover
THE BOYS: Marko was the first one turned, then Dwayne, the Paul (“we needed a drummer really bad and this guy was really cool and good at it”). Tony’s Instagram Takeover
PERSONALITY
“He's patient because he's immortal. Every moment is not that big of a deal to him, so there's this boredom about him that is kind of passive-suave. And when something excites him, it really excites him. So he'll go from this numbness to being really intense and not blinking and locked onto something, like a predator.” WWD.com
“At his core, he's a really broken person who used to be really good. His whole thing is that he wants to fix people, which he doesn't realize is him running away from himself. It's empathy that's been tainted. He cares so much about looking for people that he sees himself in and he wants to give them this gift so they can free themselves from whatever situation they're going through.” It Takes Two
Everything beautiful and special in human life is made so by the context of it having to end- so to vampires nothing is special and everything is boring. Survival Jobs (paraphrased)
“There's a really hurt boy in there. He is the lost boy. There's something he's running from that he's making everyone else's problem. And I don't think he realizes what he really needs is to let go.” Survival Jobs
“It's been fun to find how [humanity] slips out of him and how much he chooses to let people see, and how much he's hiding from himself. A lot of it was leaning into the vulnerability, the hurt– David is the lost boy of them all, he's so lost in 90 years of running from himself.” The Contending
David was human “like 90 years ago”, has some major trauma from his human life that he thought turning into a vampire would fix, but years later he's still running from it and is convinced that by making other vampires he can fix them. He's so preoccupied with fixing others and he's never looking inward. Survival Jobs (paraphrased)
“He’s looking for this sense of family and he's gonna do anything he can to force this idea of family and surround himself with love in kinda a violent way.” PIX News
“I think he's been trapped in America his whole life, personally. That's why he is the way he is.” The Contending
"David thinks he's saving people from their mortal fate." The Roundtable
“There's a confidence to David where he has this mischievous thing that he's so bored with life after having lived so long that he kinda looks for ways to mess with the mundane. If something is super regular or built in as a human thing, he's just trying to mess with that stuff.” It Takes Two
i'm sure he's phrasing everything in such a personal manner in order to be respectful to the actors that came before/will come after him but sometimes when he's talking about His Thoughts on david it reminds me of:
“I promise not to beat you, except when you deserve it.”
I have a sickening vision of the future where this line comes back at a moment where Dunk has to get violent with Egg to in order to save Rhaella in the middle of Summerhall.
As it goes up in flames around them. Dunk so torn between his duty and what he knows he has to do, so distraught at the sight of his friend committing such an act.
He remembered being so happy to see him. Even now, just knowing that Ilya had made the trip to the hospital filled Shane with a tingly warmth. Shane was completely in love with him.
He would hit his head all over again just to be alone in that quiet hospital room with those careful fingers and those concerned eyes.
What I saw as a queer person: it's important to remember how to love and feel loved the way you did it when you were younger and didn't have all this shame and guilt around love and yourself, and when you tap into how easy it always was when you were a kid, you feel so free you literally can fly, without a shame, without a guilt, because you deserve it just by existing, like kids do
People on the internet: uuuh it was about him getting over his feelings for Mike
Nope. It was about him getting over his shame for loving Mike. Loving his family. Loving himself.
It was about HIM, and his experience as a gay kid.
Experience all queer people share to some extent, that straight people would never understand fully, okay.
forced caretaking as a trope i think is like cocaine to people who know they need to be taken care of but have mental blocks in the way like yeah please do gently force me into a state of vulnerability so my body learns it is a safe thing to feel around you
This has gotta be a hit with the girlies who have always wanted something terrible to happen to them just so people realize they're in more misery than their outward appearance lets on
Summary: When Bob’s cold leaves him a feverish, sniffling mess, the Watchtower’s noise becomes too much. He finds refuge in your care—tea, gentle touches, and quiet comfort, soothes his aches. You tend to him without hesitation, his presence a warmth you cherish as much as he does yours.
Word count: 1.2K
You hoped Bob felt better soon.
His cough had sounded rough, like sandpaper against wood, when he knocked, barely audible, at your door. When you opened it, he was swaying in place, bundled in not one but *two* blankets, shivering despite the layers. His eyes were glassy, his nose pink, and his hair a wild mess, as if he’d been running his hands through it in frustration. He looked lost. Guilty. Endearingly pathetic.
“I think I’m dying,” he rasped, voice barely holding together.
You blinked. “It’s a cold, Bob.”
He sniffled, pitiful. “What if it’s a Void-cold?”
You arched a brow. “Pretty sure the Void doesn’t do colds.”
He didn’t argue. Just shuffled past you, a sad, oversized, blanket-wrapped giant. You sighed and closed the door, watching him collapse onto your couch like he’d forgotten how to exist in his own body. One leg flopped onto the coffee table, one arm wedged under a throw pillow, the blanket bunched around his waist like a half-hearted toga.
“All right, drama king,” you said, fond despite yourself. “Stay there. I’ll get tea.”
“I can die on the couch,” he muttered, theatrical but weak. “It’s fine.”
“You’re just congested.”
Bob cracked one eye open. “Same thing.”
But the second you moved, he made the most heart-wrenching sound you’d ever heard, somewhere between a groan and a whimper. It was the sound of a man losing his favorite blanket to a tragic laundry mix-up.
When you returned, tea steaming in one hand, a cool cloth in the other, Bob had untangled himself slightly. He was sprawled awkwardly, still unsure how to fit his lanky frame into comfort. He reached for the tea with both hands, cradling it like a lifeline, and took a sip with a groan of relief.
“You’re a mess,” you said, settling beside him and pressing the cloth to his forehead.
“I am,” he croaked, leaning into the touch. “But I’m your mess.”
Your heart stumbled, caught off guard. He had a knack for saying things like that, quiet and raw, slipping through your walls like they were made of paper. You brushed back his hair, damp from fever, and among the dark strands, those stubborn golden threads gleamed, like sunlight refusing to be dimmed. His sigh was so relieved it stung your chest.
“Too much noise upstairs,” he mumbled. “Ava and John were fighting. About forks.”
“Forks?”
“She thinks he’s stealing them.”
You shook your head, fingers still in his hair. “The New Avengers’ greatest mystery.”
Bob’s lips curved into a tired smile, small but real, the kind that didn’t quite light up his eyes but wanted to. “I didn’t want to be alone,” he admitted. “When I’m sick, it gets loud up here.” He tapped his temple, hesitant. “In my head.”
Without hesitation, you reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Then stay. Let me be your quiet.”
His throat worked, and something flickered in his fever-bright eyes. “You always are,” he said, voice fragile. “The good kind of quiet.”
You shifted gently, guiding him to lay his head in your lap. Your fingers moved through his hair, warm and soft, and Bob melted, all that height and strength surrendering in an instant, going pliant with trust. His breath shuddered out, heavy with relief.
“This okay?” you asked, thumb brushing his temple.
“Best I’ve felt all day,” he murmured, eyes already fluttering closed.
Silence settled over you both, not heavy but easy, like a shared breath. Somewhere in the distance, the Watchtower clamored, Alexei shouting, Yelena snapping back, but it faded to nothing in this small, quiet space. Bob’s hand curled loosely around your wrist, as if your pulse alone could keep the Void at bay.
“Can we stay like this forever?” he asked, not entirely joking.
“Depends. Are you gonna keep breathing like an old radiator?”
“I have a deviated septum,” he said with mock indignation — immediately followed by a snotty sniff that completely ruined any illusion of dignity.
You burst out laughing.
He smiled at the sound, eyes still closed. “Best medicine,” he muttered.
You stayed like that a while, your back curled into the corner of the couch, Bob draped across you like a fevered, oversized cat. You scrolled through your phone, letting him doze. Occasionally, he muttered nonsense, something about “evil silverware” or “Bucky giving him attitude,” but mostly, he slept.
Then, without warning:
“M’gonna sneeze.”
You looked down. His face had gone slack, nostrils twitching like a panicked rabbit. But instead of sneezing immediately, he tensed up and started muttering:
“Cucumber. Cucumber. Cucumber—”
You blinked. “What are you—?”
“Cucumber. CUCUMBER—ah—Cucu—CUH—”
He turned sharply away and *unleashed* a sneeze that shook the entire couch, sent two tissues flying off the coffee table, and made you flinch like someone had set off a proximity mine in the living room.
“…Bless you,” you said, wide-eyed.
Bob flopped back into the cushions like he’d been hit by Thor’s hammer. “That was the sneeze of death.”
“It was very impressive.”
“I think I saw the Void.”
“Oh my god.”
He sniffled, somehow both heroic and tragic. “If I die from this cold, avenge me.”
“I’ll tell Alexei,” you said solemnly. “He’ll demand a twenty-one gun salute and call you ‘his brave American comrade.’ Yelena will critique your funeral outfit. Ava will phase halfway through the service just to avoid making small talk.”
“Perfect,” Bob sighed, dramatically wiping his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie like an absolute menace.
You tossed him a tissue. “You barbarian.”
“But your barbarian,” he said, blowing his nose loudly, voice muffled and somehow still smug.
You groaned. “Stop saying stuff like that when you’re leaking out of every facial orifice.”
But it was no use. He just grinned up at you, glassy-eyed, cheeks flushed, hair sticking out in five directions, and somehow, *somehow*, even like this, even looking like an escapee from a Victorian sanatorium, he still managed to look like your whole heart wrapped in too many blankets.
You stood slowly. “I’m getting more tea. Don’t die while I’m gone.”
“I make no promises,” he croaked after you, flopping dramatically back into the couch like a swooning character in a particularly tragic 1800s play.
When you returned, he was upright again, barely, a sprawling tangle of limbs and blankets that had half-fallen off the couch in your absence. You handed him the tea, but instead of drinking it, he set it gently on the side table like it was a sacred offering.
Then he opened his arms.
You blinked. “What.”
He looked up at you with the saddest puppy eyes known to man. “I need to be held. For recovery.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You're unbearable.”
He patted the empty space beside him like a man trying to sell you beachfront property in a flood zone. “So’s this fever. But we’re both staying, right?”
You hesitated.
Only for a moment.
You curled up beside him, adjusting the blankets until they cocooned you both. Bob immediately pulled you close, tucking his face into your shoulder with a low, contented sigh.
“Thanks for taking care of me,” he whispered, hoarse but sincere. “You always do.”
You smiled against his hair, still mostly black, but with a few stubborn golden strands glinting near your cheek, like the sun hadn’t fully given up on him yet.
“Someone’s gotta make sure you survive your man-cold.”
“It’s a heroic battle,” he murmured, already drifting.
“They’ll write songs about me.”
You stayed like that well into the evening, tangled in warmth, and wool, and shared quiet. His breathing evened out. The tension in his shoulders melted.
And even as he snored softly into your collarbone, you thought, There was no place you’d rather be.
