Libertarians have to be my favorite quadrant of the political compass to make fun off because they're not overtly evil like Authoritarian Right they're just stupid. At best I'm convinced they just want to be able to buy something that the current political and economic system cannot allow them to have and at worst they're social Darwinists. If cletus the self proclaimed Libertarian wants to buy and Abrams, knock yourself out dude! It's a 500 gallon diesel engine so you'll have to fill it up. You'll need to figure out a way to transport it too you cause this ain't Amazon you're gonna need to make a deal with the local rail road to transport this. Oh and the munitions cost about half of what most Americans make in a year... per shell. So if you can figure all of that out you go right ahead and buy it. I'm sure the US government will give you a *great* interest rate on the payment plan too.Even more they just feel like the type of people you'd watch horror movies with and they'd say something like "I'd totally survive this cause I would just [INSERT THING THE MOVIE ALREADY MENTIONED WASN'T AN OPTION OR SHOWED HOW THAT WOULDN'T WORK]"
When the worlds of business, politics, and hair plugs collide, an unlikely love triangle emerges. President Donald Trump, tech mogul Elon Musk, find themselves entangled in a whirlwind of passion, power, and petty tweets. As Trump navigates his feelings for Elon's rocket fueled ambition as they plan on overthrowing of the world, he struggles to keep his ego intact... And his spray tan streak-free.
Set against the backdrop of Trump's chaotic presidency, with golf trips, and a White House diet of Diet Coke and Big Macs, this fanfic explores what happens when the art of the deal becomes the art of desire. Can love build the best wall, or will this triangle crash and burn like a failed SpaceX test launch?
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Chapter 1 : Art Of The Triangle
Donald J. Trump stood before the mirror, the golden frame glittering like his own self-image, larger than life and just as tacky. He adjusted his tie which was colored crimson and slightly too long, a bold statement of power and insecurity. His dewy tangerine complexion seemed to glow under the chandelier's light. A sunset orange hue that would have been romantic if it didn't look so uneven and splotchy.
He ran a hand over his hair, a masterpiece that defied gravity and logic. It was his iconic crown. An impenetrable fortress of thinning white strands that had been hastily dyed gold. Gold was his favorite.
Trump squinted at his reflection and pursed his lips into what he believed was a seductive pout but resembled more of a fish out of water.
"Tremendous," he muttered, his voice low and throaty. He repeats another affirmation to himself. "No one does it like me."
The room was prepared perfectly for tonight's meeting. A dance of power, passion, and poorly hidden desperation. The bed, draped in shimmering gold satin, screamed both luxury and bad taste. He had insisted it look "presidential," which to him meant something halfway between a Vegas casino and a dictator's palace.
Tonight was not just any night. Tonight, Trump would welcome the two people who had been occupying his mind lately in ways he didn't entirely understand.
Elon Musk, the mysterious billionaire with rockets, multiple baby mamas, and questionable automobiles. A love story was forming. One as big, bold, and ridiculous as Trump's ego.
He sprayed himself with cheap cologne. He wasn't used to such cheap grocery store brands but this presidential campaign was costly. He sprayed enough to be smelled from the next room and took one last look in the mirror. "This," he said, straightening his tie again, "is gonna be the best meeting in history."
With that, he headed toward the meeting, ready to charm, seduce, and possibly confuse his rivals-turned-lovers.
Chapter 2 : Power, Passion, Explosions:
The summit was set to be legendary. It was a secret meeting of the world’s most powerful men, gathering to discuss nothing less than overthrowing the world order. No big deal.
Their official purpose was clear: to discuss how they would reshape global power, re-align economies, and enforce a new world order under their combined control. The three of them being richer, smarter, and more influential than anyone else would lead the world into a new era. A “better” one as Trump liked to say, though no one was entirely clear what that meant.
The two men sat at a massive polished table, each surrounded by security and advisers. Trump, of course, was in the center of said table because where else would he be? He had insisted this meeting take place in a luxurious, over-the-top suite that only he could “afford.” Draped in so much tacky gold it almost made the White House look like a thrift store.
“Well,” Trump began, leaning forward in his chair, his grin almost too wide, like he was about to give some kind of performance. “We’ve both built empires—huge empires, right? But now? We need a bigger challenge. It’s time to take over the country. Turn America into a dictatorship. Totally under control. The people will love it. They don’t know what they need yet, but we do. We’re the smartest, the strongest. They’ll beg for it.” He paused, eyes gleaming as if he was trying to impress someone. “It’ll be hUge.”
Elon raised an eyebrow, his lips curving just slightly into that familiar, teasing smirk. “A dictatorship, huh? You really think they’re going to just hand you the keys?” He leaned forward, his voice low, almost like he was enjoying the thought a little too much. “I mean, I’m all for the control thing, but you might need more than just a tweet to pull this off. Maybe a few… rocket launches for credibility?”
Trump chuckled, clearly unbothered. “I’m telling you, Elon. People want power. They want someone in charge who knows what they’re doing. And we—we—are the only ones who can give it to them. I’ll take control of the media, the government, the economy. You know what I’m talking about.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting like he was sharing a private joke with Elon. “It’ll be like a billion-dollar reality show. And guess who’s the star?”
Elon let out a slow, deliberate breath, looking at Trump like he was sizing him up. “Oh, I know. You’re the star, alright. The shiny one, always in the spotlight. But you think the country’s gonna just watch the show and say ‘yes, please, more dictatorship’?” He shook his head, still smiling. “You’ve got to admit, this is starting to sound like something out of one of those movies. I mean, I’m all for the ambition, but ruling an entire country? Come on.”
Trump sat back, crossing his arms and smirking in a way that could only be described as proud. “You’re thinking too small. This isn’t about ambition. This is about domination. Control. The media? Under control. The people? Under control. Everything? Under my control.” He leaned closer, eyes practically glowing. “I’ve built an empire before. I know how to make them love it.”
Elon raised an eyebrow again, his eyes never leaving Trump’s. “Love it, huh? You really think people are gonna just fall in line because you tweeted something with all caps? You’ve got some serious confidence, I’ll give you that. But I’m not sure even you can sell that kind of ‘love’ to a whole country.”
Trump’s lips curled into an even deeper smile. “Oh, I’ll sell it, alright. I’ve made them beg before. They don’t know what they want—but I do.” His voice dropped an octave, leaning in just a little bit closer, as if the conversation had shifted to something more… personal. “And you, Elon… you’ll help. Won’t you?”
For a brief moment, Elon didn’t speak. He let the tension hang between them, his eyes scanning Trump’s face as if he was trying to decipher something—something deeper than politics. “Help?” Elon finally said, his voice just a little breathier than normal. “I thought you were the one who wanted to be in charge.”
Trump shrugged, his smirk never wavering. “I’ll be in charge. But you’re not so bad at… making things happen, are you?” He let his words trail off, his tone shifting, flirting with the line between business and something else entirely. Something more dangerous. “I mean, you’ve got rockets. I’ve got… well, everything else.”
Just then, a loud noise interrupted their moment—the sound of something high-pitched, followed by an explosion that rattled the room.
Trump blinked, then turned his attention to the window. “Is that… one of your cars, Elon?”
Elon’s face went from amused to mildly horrified, then he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Yeah, I might’ve overestimated the safety of my electric vehicles,” he said with a wicked grin. “But hey, at least they’re… explosive in more ways than one.” He winked, the irony of it all not lost on him.
Trump chuckled, leaning in again, this time with a little more confidence. “See? Told you. No one does it better than me. I own the car market. You’re still catching up.” His tone was playful, but there was an undeniable hint of challenge in it.
Elon raised an eyebrow, his lips still curling into a teasing smile. “Yeah, well, someone had to take it to the next level. You’re good at things that… blow up, I’ll give you that.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze lingering on Trump a little longer than necessary. “But I’m thinking bigger.”
Trump’s eyes locked onto Elon’s, and for a second, the conversation shifted, the political talk melting away. There was something else there now. The air was charged, something unspoken crackling between them. “Bigger, huh?” Trump said softly, his voice almost velvety. “What did you have in mind?”
Elon’s smirk only deepened, his gaze unwavering. “Maybe something more… explosive than a rocket.” He paused just long enough for the tension to thicken. “Something that… really gets the people fired up.”
Trump’s chest puffed out, clearly enjoying the challenge. He could feel the heat rise in the room—not from the bombed car, but from something much more dangerous. “You really think you’re the only one who can make things happen?”
Elon leaned back, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I know I’m not. But let’s just say I don’t mind sharing the spotlight… if you know what I mean.”
Trump chuckled, his grin widening. “I think I do.” He stood up, leaning over the table with a glance that was half-business, half something else. “Let’s make this happen. Together.”
Elon’s smirk grew, and he stood too, his eyes never leaving Trump’s. “Together, huh? Well, I guess we’ll see if the world’s ready for two egos like ours.”
Chapter 3 : Late Night Thoughts
The meeting ended, but the tension still hung in the air like smoke in a room. Plans had been made, deals struck, but there was something more between them, something unspoken, something that neither of them could ignore. It wasn’t in the words exchanged, but in the way their eyes lingered a little longer than usual.
Trump stood up first, adjusting his tie with his usual flair. “That was a great meeting. Tremendous meeting. We’re gonna do great things together, just wait,” he said, but his usual confidence felt thinner now. It was like something was distracting him, pulling his focus away from the task at hand.
Elon, ever the cool and collected one, slid his hands into his jeans pockets and gave Trump a smirk. “Sleep well, Donald. We’ve got a world to take over tomorrow.” His voice was light, teasing, but there was something hidden underneath it, something almost charged. Trump could feel it, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly was different.
They exchanged no more words, both of them heading to their separate suites, but the opulence around them felt almost pointless tonight. It was as though the grand luxury of their surroundings couldn’t cover up the strange tension that had formed. They both knew it. It was there, lingering. And sleep didn’t come easily:
Trump
Trump lay in bed, staring at the gold-plated ceiling, his mind racing. For years, he’d prided himself on never caring what anyone thought. He was the one people looked to for answers, the one who made the decisions. Everyone else? They were just there to admire him. It had always been that way. Always.
But tonight… Something was different.
He had been too focused on himself for too long. Everything had always revolved around him—his empire, his power, his world. But when it came to Elon? He found himself wondering what Elon thought. How he felt. That look in Elon’s eyes tonight—it wasn’t just admiration. It was something more. Something that made his pulse quicken. And it wasn’t from drinking his Third Diet Coke of the day.
Trump shifted in bed, trying to ignore the thought, but it wouldn’t leave. He had never cared what others thought. He’d never needed to. But this? This was new. And a little unsettling.
He grumbled, turning onto his side. Get it together, he thought. Who cares what Elon thinks? But deep down, he knew he did. The teasing smirks, the way Elon leaned in just a little too close, the way his eyes lingered—Trump had been around powerful men all his life, but this was different. He wasn’t just thinking about power. He was thinking about Elon.
Elon
Elon lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his usual smirk still on his face. He wasn’t the type to get distracted. His mind was always on his next big idea, the next step forward. The future.
But tonight? Tonight, something was different.
Trump had been… well, Trump. Loud, confident, always the center of attention. Elon had seen it a million times before. He’d never let it throw him off. But tonight, when Trump had caught his gaze across the table, something changed. He couldn’t quite explain it. There was something about the way Trump had been looking at him. Not like the usual bravado, not like the typical showman act. No, this time, Trump had looked at him like he was… interested.
It caught Elon off guard. He wasn’t used to feeling distracted, especially not by someone like Trump. But the way Trump had leaned in just a little, the way his words had lingered in the air—suddenly, all of Elon’s usual focus seemed a little out of reach.
He rolled onto his side, closing his eyes. This is stupid, he thought. You’re not distracted. You’re just playing the game.
But the truth was, he wasn’t so sure anymore. He had never cared about what others thought—until now.
Trump had gotten under his skin.
And for the first time, he wasn’t sure who was in control.
Now, both Trump and Elon are caught in the tension of something neither of them expected: Trump’s rare vulnerability about caring what someone thinks, and Elon, for the first time, losing his usual cool.
Chapter 4 : The Call To Pyongyang
The golden morning light poured through the penthouse windows, casting a glow on the extravagant breakfast spread. Plates piled high with bacon, eggs, and an excessive amount of steak gleamed under the opulent lighting. Trump and Elon sat across from each other at the table, still adjusting to the morning.
Trump, clad in silk pajamas embroidered with tiny “T”s, scooped food onto his plate like someone who feared it might vanish. “They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Nobody does breakfast like me. I make the best breakfasts.”
Elon, dressed in pajama pants with tiny rockets, lazily scrolled through his phone while sipping coffee. “Sure, Donald. I’m sure the best people are making your eggs.”
Trump chuckled and smirked, but a flicker of something unexpected tugged at him. Normally, he’d brush off a remark like that. But today, there was something different. Elon’s casualness, his cool demeanor—something about it had Trump feeling… off-balance. His mind tried to push it aside as he dug into his meal. “Yeah, these eggs are top-tier,” he mumbled, avoiding Elon’s knowing gaze.
Elon set his phone down with a teasing grin. “So, did we all sleep well? Or was someone up… thinking?”
Trump almost choked on his steak. He quickly wiped his mouth with a napkin, his voice sounding more defensive than usual. “Excuse me?”
Elon leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the moment. “Just saying. Long night. Lots of… tension.” He let the words hang in the air, his eyes catching Trump’s for just a moment too long.
Trump paused, his fork mid-air, and his chest tightened. For once, he didn’t have a quick comeback. The usual sharpness of his ego was faltering. Why was this so… different? He quickly shoved the thought aside, trying to keep his cool. “Tension? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Elon’s grin only deepened. “Sure, Donald. Whatever you say.”
Before Trump could say anything else, the conversation shifted to business. Trump grabbed his phone, dialing Kim Jong Un’s number with the confidence only he could muster. The line rang twice before the voice of the North Korean leader came on.
“You have reached Supreme Leader Kim Jong Un’s direct line. State your business.”
Trump straightened, puffing out his chest. “Tell Kim it’s his very good friend Donald J. Trump.”
There was a brief silence before the line clicked and Kim’s voice came through smoothly. “Donald. I didn’t expect your call so soon. Are you missing my letters already?”
Elon stifled a laugh, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. Putin, who had been silently observing, gave a barely perceptible sigh as he took another sip of his coffee.
Trump flushed, a little embarrassed but eager to keep control of the conversation. “Kim! My favorite little rocket man. Listen, I’ve got a big opportunity for you. Me, Musk, and the strongest minds in the world—we’re putting something together, and we need one last thing… firepower.”
Kim’s voice hummed thoughtfully. “Tempting. But why should I trust you?”
Trump grinned, his ego flaring. “Please. Didn’t I walk into North Korea like I owned the place? Didn’t we have beautiful dinners? Nobody’s ever done what I did for you, Kim. You know that.”
Kim chuckled softly. “Very well. But I expect some form of payment. Monetary or otherwise.”
Elon raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the spectacle. Trump, still unaware of the tension building around him, grinned widely. “Done. We’ll fly out immediately. My jet is beautiful. You’ll love it. I have the best jets. Everyone says so.”
Kim simply chuckled again. “I look forward to it,” he said, before hanging up.
Trump, delighted with himself, clapped his hands together. Meanwhile, Melania Trump sat in front of her mirror, frowning. Something was off.
Donald had been acting… different lately. More distracted, more preoccupied. And not with golf. Worse still? He was smiling. Actually smiling.
Melania knew that look. The kind of look Donald gave when he was obsessed with something—or, more accurately, someone. She wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or something else, but it unsettled her.
Determined to figure out what was going on, she opened Donald’s suitcase, which had already been packed by staff. She dug through rows of red ties and papers, expecting to find the usual. But then something caught her eye… Dear God it was two bottles of “bronzing” spray.
Just as she was about to zip herself into the suitcase for a quick escape from her thoughts, the door creaked open.
Barron stood in the doorway, his expression blank but tired. He’d seen too much in his young life. Too many strange moments. He locked eyes with Melania.
Without hesitation, she said, “Your father is cheating yet again. I’m sure of it. There cannot be another woman… Even though I used to be the other woman… - NEVERMIND that, zip me in.”
Barron blinked slowly, sighed heavily, and grabbed the zipper. Without a word, he zipped her into the suitcase.
Before leaving, Barron pulled out his phone and typed a message to his friend:
“Dad has made mom lose it again.”
He slipped the phone into his pocket and left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.
Chapter 5 : My Sootcase!
The jet roared through the sky, cutting through clouds like it was made for a reality show. Inside, the three most “powerful men in the world”—Trump and Elon—lounge in leather seats that probably cost more than most people’s houses. The hum of the engines and the soft gleam of gold-plated cup holders set the tone for what was about to unfold.
Trump, barely squeezed into his bright blue suit, was sprawled across his seat with that signature smug grin. “You know, no one does private jets like me. This is the best jet. Only the best jet for my men,” he boasted, turning to Elon, who was scrolling through his phone without a care in the world.
Elon glanced up from his screen. “Yeah, Don, it’s almost like you’re the first person to own a jet.”
Trump chuckled at his own joke, though Elon didn’t seem to notice. “It’s all part of the plan, Elon. Gonna have everything. The best power, the best money—it’s gonna be huge.”
Elon raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, still staring at his phone. “I guess we’ll see,” he muttered, grinning to himself.
Trump went on, clearly not picking up on any sarcasm. “I’m gonna control everything, man. Power. Wealth. It’s going to be the best.”
Elon finally put down his phone and sighed. “You’ve already got the world’s attention, Don. You don’t need to remind me. But about that whole martial law thing… What’s the plan there?”
Trump brightened. “That’s why we’re going to North Korea. Kim’s got the firepower, the militia—he’s the guy who can make it happen. All we need is some leverage to push the plan forward.” Trump leaned back in his seat, hands behind his head, clearly pleased with himself.
Elon rolled his eyes. “Right. Leverage. You mean letters.”
Trump’s grin only grew. “I’ve got more than letters, my friend. I’ve got history on my side. And beautiful letters.”
Elon snorted. “Yeah, Don. Beautiful letters. Real powerful diplomacy.”
Trump glanced at him, unfazed. “Believe me, these letters are golden. No one does letters like I do.”
While the two continued their banter, Melania Trump was in a much less comfortable position. She was hiding in her husband’s oversized suitcase, feeling more like a stowaway than a First Lady. The tight, awkward space wasn’t ideal, but it gave her time to think. Something was off. Donald had been acting strangely lately—warmer, more distracted, and too focused on his world domination plans. Something didn’t sit right.
The plane descended toward North Korea. Melania could barely contain her frustration. She knew she’d have to face whatever absurdity awaited her soon.
As soon as the plane landed, the three men disembarked. Trump was the first, waving to imaginary cameras like he was the star of a reality TV show. Elon followed behind, barely glancing at anyone as he fiddled with his phone.
Kim Jong Un’s staff swiftly took their luggage, leading them toward the luxurious palace that Trump would no doubt call his suite. The cold Pyongyang air felt like an eternity to Melania, but she was finally free when the door to Trump’s room opened, and she was discreetly lifted out of the suitcase. The door clicked shut behind her.
She barely had time to stretch before she heard an exaggerated gasp.
“Madam Melania!”
She whipped around, almost knocking her ridiculous hamburger hat off in the process. There stood Kim Jong Un, rummaging through Donald’s luggage like a raccoon caught in the act.
Melania quickly adjusted her hat, a mix of disbelief and annoyance in her eyes. “What are you doing?”
Kim froze, a stack of crumpled papers labeled TOP SECRET in his hands. He looked up, trying to act casual. “Oh, this? Routine security check. I can’t be too careful, you know. So many spies these days.”
Melania raised an eyebrow. “Spies… in Donald’s luggage?”
Kim gave a conspiratorial nod. “You’d be surprised.”
Melania sighed, too tired to press further. “Fine. Then tell me, what is Donald really up to? What’s this meeting about?”
Kim grinned. “Ah, so YOU don’t even know? That’s interesting.”
Melania folded her arms, a little frustrated. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, Kim. What’s going on?”
Kim finally shrugged. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I know. Your husband and his two loyal lapdogs—Putin and Musk—came to me seeking power.”
Melania blinked. “Power?”
Kim nodded dramatically. “World domination power. They want to reshape the government, enforce martial law, and turn the U.S. military into an unstoppable force. And my missiles and militia to back them up.” He sighed and shook his head. “Honestly, if I had a nickel for every unhinged billionaire with this same pitch, I’d have one nickel.”
Melania stared at him. “…So he wants to be a king?”
Kim smirked. “No, my dear Melania. He wants to be everything.”
She exhaled sharply, unimpressed. “Of course he does.”
Kim eyed her carefully. “But let me ask you something. Why are you here? Why sneak into my country like some fake Louis Vuitton handbag?”
Melania hesitated for a moment before lifting her chin. “I think he’s cheating.”
Kim raised an eyebrow. “Cheating? On you?”
“Yes,” she answered, her voice laced with suspicion.
Kim scratched his chin. “With who?”
Melania didn’t have an answer. But something was off about Donald. That strange warmth, that softness—it wasn’t like him. And it was creeping her out.
Kim leaned in closer, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Is Trump into… men?”
Melania recoiled, her pride flaring. “What?! No!”
Kim held his hands up innocently. “I mean no offense! But you must admit, the way he talks about Putin’s strength, the way he lets Musk insult him—it’s like a weird mating ritual. And those letters he sends me…” Kim flushed slightly as he touched his chin. “I’ve seen men look at women with less longing than the way he talks about Putin on horseback.”
Melania opened her mouth to argue, but paused. She didn’t know what was going on with Donald. Maybe there was some truth to Kim’s observations.
Kim grinned wider. “So, are you curious now? Wanna find out what’s really going on with your husband?”
Melania narrowed her eyes. “And why would you help me?”
Kim scoffed. “Because, my dear Melania, I don’t like being played. Your husband thinks he can manipulate me, that I’ll just hand over power because he shook my hand once. He’s mistaken. And frankly, I find you far more interesting.”
Melania considered it for a moment. Kim was unpredictable, but he was powerful. “Alright. If you help me figure out what Donald is really up to, maybe we can strike a deal.”
Kim extended his hand with a sly smile. “It’s a deal then. You and I, partners in espionage.”
Melania took his hand, eyeing him warily.
“Now,” Kim said, his grin growing devious, “let’s find out what your husband and his two lapdogs are really after.”
This version simplifies the dialogue, maintains the flirting tension between Trump and Elon
Sure! Here’s a more refined version of the dialogue, aiming for natural flow and humor while keeping the essence intact:
The jet roared through the sky, cutting through the clouds like it was made for a reality show. Inside, the three most “powerful men in the world”—Trump and Elon—lounge in leather seats that probably cost more than most people’s houses. The hum of the engines and the soft gleam of gold-plated cup holders set the tone for what was about to unfold.
Trump, barely squeezed into his bright blue suit, was sprawled across his seat with that signature smug grin. “You know, no one does private jets like me. This is the best jet. Only the best jet for my men,” he boasted, turning to Elon, who was scrolling through his phone without a care in the world.
Elon glanced up from his screen, a smirk on his face. “Yeah, Don, it’s almost like you’re the first person to own a jet.”
Trump chuckled at his own joke, clearly oblivious. “It’s all part of the plan, Elon. I’m gonna have everything. The power, the money—huge.”
Elon raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, still staring at his phone. “Yeah, you’ve got everyone’s attention, Don. But about that whole martial law thing… What’s the actual plan there?”
Trump grinned. “That’s why we’re heading to North Korea. Kim’s got the firepower, the militia—he’s the guy who can make this happen. All we need is some leverage to push it forward.” He leaned back in his seat, hands behind his head, pleased with himself.
Elon raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Right, leverage. You mean letters.”
Trump’s grin didn’t fade. “I’ve got more than letters, my friend. I’ve got history. And I’ve got some great letters.”
Elon snorted. “Yeah, Don. Beautiful letters. Real powerful diplomacy.”
Trump glanced over, unfazed. “Trust me, these letters are golden. No one does letters like I do.”
While the two continued their banter, Melania Trump was in a much less comfortable position. She was hiding in her husband’s oversized suitcase, feeling more like a stowaway than a First Lady. The tight, awkward space wasn’t ideal, but it gave her time to think. Something was off. Donald had been acting strangely lately—warmer, more distracted, and too focused on his world domination plans. She wasn’t sure she liked it.
The plane began its descent into North Korea. Melania could feel her frustration building. She was about to find out what kind of absurd plan her husband was wrapped up in.
As soon as the plane landed, the three men disembarked. Trump was the first, waving to imaginary cameras like he was the star of a reality TV show. Elon followed behind, barely glancing at anyone as he fiddled with his phone.
Kim Jong Un’s staff quickly removed their luggage, leading them toward the luxurious palace Kim had prepared for them. Melania, meanwhile, was stuck in the back of the plane, waiting to escape the claustrophobic confines of the suitcase.
Finally, the door to Trump’s room opened, and the staff carried in his luggage. Melania’s heart raced as she was discreetly lifted out of the suitcase and placed on the floor. The door clicked shut behind her.
She barely had time to stretch before she heard an exaggerated gasp.
“Madam Melania!”
She whipped around, nearly knocking her ridiculous hamburger hat off in the process. There stood Kim Jong Un, rummaging through Donald’s luggage like a raccoon caught in the act.
Melania quickly adjusted her hat, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing?”
Kim froze, a stack of crumpled papers marked TOP SECRET in his hands. He looked up, trying to act casual. “Oh, this? Just a routine security check. Can’t be too careful, you know. Too many spies these days.”
Melania raised an eyebrow. “Spies… in Donald’s luggage?”
Kim gave a sly nod. “You’d be surprised.”
Melania sighed, too tired to press further. “Fine. Then tell me, what is Donald really up to? What’s this meeting about?”
Kim grinned. “Ah, so YOU don’t even know? That’s interesting.”
Melania folded her arms, unimpressed. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, Kim. What’s going on?”
Kim finally shrugged. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I know. Your husband and his two loyal lapdogs—Putin and Musk—came to me asking for power.”
Melania blinked. “Power?”
Kim nodded dramatically. “World domination power. They want to reshape the government, enforce martial law, and turn the U.S. military into an unstoppable force. And my missiles and militia to back them up.” He sighed and shook his head. “Honestly, if I had a nickel for every unhinged billionaire who pitched me this idea, I’d have one nickel.”
Melania stared at him. “…So he wants to be a king?”
Kim smirked. “No, my dear Melania. He wants to be everything.”
She exhaled sharply. “Of course he does.”
Kim eyed her carefully. “But let me ask you something. Why are you here? Why sneak into my country like some fake Louis Vuitton handbag?”
Melania hesitated before lifting her chin. “I think he’s cheating.”
Kim raised an eyebrow. “Cheating? On you?”
“Yes,” she said flatly.
Kim scratched his chin. “With who?”
Melania didn’t have an answer. But something was off about Donald. That strange warmth, that softness—it wasn’t like him. And it was creeping her out.
Kim leaned in closer, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Is Trump into… men?”
Melania recoiled, her pride flaring. “What?! No!”
Kim held his hands up innocently. “I mean no offense! But you must admit, the way he talks about Putin’s strength, the way he lets Musk insult him—it’s like some weird mating ritual. And those letters he sends me…” Kim flushed slightly as he touched his chin. “I’ve seen men look at women with less longing than the way he talks about Putin on horseback.”
Melania opened her mouth to argue but paused. She didn’t know what was going on with Donald. Maybe there was some truth to Kim’s observations.
Kim grinned wider. “So, are you curious now? Wanna find out what’s really going on with your husband?”
Melania narrowed her eyes. “And why would you help me?”
Kim scoffed. “Because, my dear Melania, I don’t like being played. Your husband thinks he can manipulate me, that I’ll just hand over power because he shook my hand once. He’s mistaken. And frankly, I find you far more interesting.”
Melania considered it for a moment. Kim was unpredictable, but he was powerful. “Alright. If you help me figure out what Donald is really up to, maybe we can strike a deal.”
Kim extended his hand with a sly smile. “It’s a deal then. You and I, partners in espionage.”
Melania took his hand, eyeing him warily.
“Now,” Kim said, his grin growing devious, “let’s find out what your husband and his two lapdogs are really after.”
This version streamlines the dialogue to sound more natural while keeping the tone of light sarcasm and irony intact.
It's 15th February, which is apparently World Hippo Day, so here's an excellent hippo I saw at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs in Paris last year. It was designed by François-Xavier Lalanne in 1968–1969, and is in fact a bathroom in disguise! Its body opens to become a bathtub and its head flips up to reveal a handbasin.
You have to he careful about the Hozi evolution though because if you expose a hozi to the IPA and you also have a book in your inventory you hozi will evolve into a Hemingway instead
I personally love when you first start writing your OCs for fiction its usually some traumatic injury you give them and as you get older the wounds you deal are emotional and psychological. Forget losing an arm, you're gonna be plagued with mommy issues and the CPTSD to match!
falling down a rabbit hole trying to justify how freedom of speech shouldn't protect mis/disinformation using the McDonald's Coffee lawsuit as a standard send help!
what do you mean elon musk did a nazi salute on live tv at the united states presidential inauguration twice and is now erasing the evidence off the internet by replacing the footage with the crowd cheering instead?
would be a shame if people reblogged this, wouldn’t it?
I'm italian and there's something that people defending this shit don't fucking understand.
they think the “Roman salute” is something unrelated to nazis or fascists but the “Roman Salute” IS the fascist salute. It's not a different concept, it's the same thing!! It's not "good" because it doesn't have the word "nazi" in it, It's the same shit.
And to people saying "He is throwing out his heart to the crowd" tell me if YOU would do it at a 45 degree angle with your thumb tucked in and your fingers closed together. Personally, a throwing motion in my imagination has your palm completely open and your fingers spaced out
Regardless, This is what propaganda is, They do bad thing and then they say "no it good actually" and the population goes "Ok then it's all good" it's not all good, They're making you think it is. It sucks
Politicians gain power through the Ignorance of the people, don't trust people just because "They said it"
Look, if you don't get the urge to just bury your face in a belly and kiss it and knead it like dough and occasionally bite it a little, then I don't exactly think we're on the same wavelength
And no tumblr, I don't need tags. True believers will find this.
Juice is such an under rated drink. Like what happened after you achieve sentience that you just stop drinking juice? I just got some white grape and cherry juice and shits fantastic
