The Fault in Our Star Spangled Banner

by Sccipiccss26

Summary:

As Donald is torn between political duty and the risk of being outed by both his ex Jeffery Epstein and nemesis Crooked Hillary, secrets are exposed and his public, straight facade crumbles along with his political career. Will his love for bill be strong enough under pressure, or will he finally break? Will his lavender relationship fall along with everything else? This is Donald at his most vulnerable.

Notes:

I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. Pretty much just making this up as I go. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Forbidden fruits of a nonexistent labor

The night was dark, and full of terror.

Donald awoke in the night, sweat pouring down his face. The dream seemed prophetic, ominous and supernatural in nature. It was one of those dreams that stays with you in the waking world to haunt you.

There was no going back to sleep now, he decided. The warm antique wall lights in the whitehouse did nothing to deter the cold atmosphere of a house so divided.

He ate his McDonald’s earlier than usual, his makeup artist and hair stylist wouldn’t be up for a while either. Opening his computer, he checked his email.

“Dear Donald, we regret to inform you that news of your secret relationship with former President Bill Clinton will be leaked, along with video evidence of the infidelity you’ve committed against your wife. That is, unless you give 10 billion USD to the following location.”~Anonymous

“Where is the fbi when you need them? The secret service?! They should be protecting ME! I shall fire them later..” Donald thought to himself.

His facade of confidence and his ego could only hold back so much though, and tears began to stream down his face. The dam was breaking, he was about to lose everything, all that he had worked (inherited) so hard for.

He couldn’t help but to think of the good times, his times with Bill.

 

The days they would go golfing together, how he’d enjoy picking out the tightest pair of golfing shorts to impress bill out in the field, kissing him under the palm trees, the Florida sun illuminating the leaves to bring a glow of light that could only come from the golden hour.

The times they would go frolicking in the fields, the grass being up to their hips, Bill would wear overalls and a shirt with a beret, Trump would wear a peasant dress, and they would frolic while reenacting the famous scene from the sound of music. It was a love story for the ages, a time of restlessness that could rather ironically only be found in youth.

 

A time that Donald would forever mourn.

Unbeknownst to him, so does bill.

As the day went on, Donald went to bed knowing he couldn’t tell a soul about the email. He couldn’t even trust his wife, not that Melania really knew or tried to understand him. It was isolating, it was utterly dreadful, a melancholy only found in forbidden love.

**

Trump snuck out of the whitehouse, and went to the sketchy address the email said to go to. It was utterly deplorable to him. The house was old and white, the paint was rotting off of the beams, it looked like it was about to cave in on itself. After knocking 4 times on the musty, crusty door, a tuff of poofy greying blonde hair appeared, and it belonged to none other than Hillary Clinton!

“Crooked Hillary…” Trump growled under his breath. His palms, his fists, and orange knuckles turning white.

“Not now, Donald. Believe it or not, I didn’t have you come here to settle.. THAT business.”

“Then why the hell am I here? Why did you bother wasting my time?”

Believe it or not, Donald. I didn’t have your fat ass trek all the way here just to bicker about old times.” Hillary said, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke in his face.

“I would’ve had you come to fazbears, but the matter at hand is too delicate for prying eyes, and having you within a few feet of a.. small business doesn’t usually turn out well anyways..” Hillary said, motioning for him to come in.

As they walked, it was clear that the house was used as a front for larger operations. Maps and documents covered the walls, conspiracy theorist articles often among them. Locations of abandoned underground tunnels, and new potential locations for more Freddy fazbear pizza fronts as well.

“I had no other choice than to blackmail you, because I know you’re too lazy as it is to even do your job, let alone walk more than the length of a hallway independently. There’s been.. a development. Bill is missing.”

“Missing? The fuck do you mean missing? Isn’t it your job as his wife to look after him? You have access to all of these underground smuggling operations and you can’t even find your own husband? What is wrong with you?”

“Listen, Donald. I have more than just footage of you and Bill. If you don’t want your little meet and greets with the Vatican's children’s choir leaked, then you better shut the fuck up and listen. Both of our asses are on the line here, and I can’t stand even looking at you so I’ll tell you what. We’ll make this short and simple. I believe that someone in the whitehouse has initially obtained evidence of our.. operations, including things you’ve participated in. You need to find the mole. I think they also know where bill is, too.”

Chapter 2: Freddy Fagbears

Summary:

Basically a pizzagate conspiracy Freddy Fazbears crossover. This is an extra short one, so sorry about that. I mostly wanted an excuse to name the chapter.. what it’s named💀

Notes:

Also I didn’t have it in me to write more since my childhood cat died today. He had cancer and was 16. He used to follow me to the bus stop every morning as a kid, and a few times tried to sneak on the bus with me. He was a very good boy. He was 16. RIP Henry.

Roswell New Mexico has more than aliens. It also hosts a direct competitor against McDonald’s.. Freddy Fazbears pizzeria.

Pizza isn’t all that’s sold, either.

Bill was in the basement of Freddy Fazbears pizza, across from him were the stairs to the storeroom of the restaurant.

To his right, there was a seemingly endless tunnel, held up by beams that made it look like an old mineshaft. For all bill knew, it probably was.

The chains around him were tight, he was backed against a cold wall, and the only other sounds in the dark of the night were the whispers coming through the wind from the shaft.

That was his only indicator of the time of day, since he could at least somewhat hear the clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Nobody would hear him, especially since the walls were soundproof. A mouth he had, but he could not scream. A silent agony he would endure for the foreseeable future.

Bill looked up to where he presumed the moon would be, unbeknownst to him, Trump was also looking at the moon, thinking and yearning for him.

In his isolation, bill started singing, gently.

 

“Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars?”

*sniffle*

“I could really use a wish right now, wish right now, wish right now..”

But as time went on, Bill began to lose hope. His wife surely would take her time, since she only married him out of political convenience, and she doesn’t even like men anyways.

Suddenly, the door creaked. Long fingers with an even longer face appeared through the doorway.

It was..

 

Jeffery Epstein?

But he was supposed to be dead??