1. Molasses to Rum from 1776: explains the triangle trade as well as the hypocrisy of the revolutionary era on the topic of slavery
2. Sit Down John from 1776: the apprehension of moderates to declare independence during the continental congress
3. But Mr. Adams from 1776: the declaration of independence (this is partly on here bc it’s about jefferson wanting to bust his nut)
4. Non-Stop from Hamilton: the formation of the federal government, the constitutional convention, and the federalist papers
5. Cabinet Battle #1 from Hamilton: arguments between federalists and democratic republicans over assumption, excise taxes on whiskey, and slavery
6. The Room Where It Happens from Hamilton: the dinner that jefferson hosted which decided assumption as well as where the capital would be located
7. The Election of 1800 from Hamilton: the election of 1800 would lead to the creation of political parties
8. Alll American Prophet from Book of Mormon: the formation of mormonism and its westward expansion
9. Rock Star from Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson: the anti-elitist sentiments that would lead to an increase in populism as well as how jackson’s anti-elitist populism contradicted with his own superiority complex
10. Corrupt Bargain from Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson: the bargain which got JQA elected during the tie breaker for the election of 1824
11. Populism Yea Yea from Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson: the rise of populism and jacksonian democracy
12. Ten Little Indians from Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson: the awful awful treatment of native americans (especially during jackson’s administration)
13. Someone In a Tree from Pacific Overtures: the treaty of kanagawa and the “opening” of japan
14. The Wild Wild West from Harvey Girls: westward expansion and the wild west
15. Paint Your Wagon from Paint Your Wagon: the california gold rush and westward expansion
16. A Peculiar Institution from Civil War: the awful awful treatment of slaves
17. The Glory from Civil War: the civil war in general
18. The Ballad Of Booth from Assassins: john wilkes booth’s assassination of abraham lincoln
19. The Ballad of Guiteau from Assassins: charles guiteau’s assassination of president garfield because he wanted to place chester a arthur in power so his faction would reap benefits of patronage
20. The Bottom Line from Newsies: business owner’s cost cutting methods which often disenfranchised the workers
21. The World Will Know from Newsies: the organization of labor unions against big business during the gilded age
22. The Ballad of Czolgosz from Assassins: leon czolgosz’s assassination of president william mckinley because he felt the working class was oppressed
Tell me, how am I meant to forget
when I can’t accept anyone else’s arms
to protect me, when the thought of being
engulfed in someone else’s pulse
steals my breath away?
How was it so easy for you to leave
when I was begging you to stay?
Today Donald Trump is honoring former president Andrew Jackson. Jackson pushed for the Indian Removal Act, forcing Native Americans westward past the Mississippi River. He became wealthy from being slaver owner.
According to scholars, one in four cowboys in Texas during the golden age of westward expansion was black; many others were Mexican, mestizo, or Native American—a far more diverse group than Hollywood stereotypes would suggest.
The photos in an exciting new exhibit, “Black Cowboy,” at the Studio Museum in Harlem, suggest that that many common conceptions of what an iconic American looks like are wrong. Read more about the exhibit, and see more photos here.
Summary: reader is getting a tour of her new job at the Avengers tower, but happens to be the only one who notices an oncoming jet, about to crash into the building.
Word Count: 1767
Warnings: I don’t even think I swore :o
A/N: Hey guys! I know a took a bit of a break from writing. Thank you to those of you who were supportive. That meant a lot to me. Anyway, I’ve had this idea for a while, and I felt like getting it down, finally. I’ll turn into a mini-series and go off there based on feedback. It’s mostly an Avengers fic, but there will be subtle Bucky parts, too. Enjoy💛
“And finally, the backup IT quarters. This is where all the out-of-building tech goes on, like our jets, safe houses, comms. It’s also a backup for our in-house systems. Makes things a lot easier.” Roland says.
Our small group nods in awe, twirling around, gazing at all the Stark technology like we have been since the beginning of our tour. “Many of you will be here, managing things that occur outside of the building.” Roland, our guide, continues, beginning to walk through the quarters.
We follow him like lost puppies, all seven of us. In our short introduction to each other, I had gotten three names: Henry, Mya, and Dania. I hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to the others, but I hope to soon. I want to have a good relationship with my coworkers.
We pass by a row of beeping silver computers, all with what look to be radars on them. In the centre of the radars are large, slanted As on top of a blueprints of different buildings, signifying the Avengers buildings. There’s nothing on the radars.
Roland clears his throat and I see him straighten his posture.
“Good morning, Mr. Stark.” I immediately stiffen, whipping my head from the computers to the group. Walking out of a glass room, a man with a manicured beard and a cup of coffee in his hand nods at Roland. It’s him.
“Mornin, Roland. These the rookies?” Tony fricking Starkloosely gestures his mug towards our group. His presence has earned the same reaction from the rest of us as mine, everyone staring wide eyed and silent. I grip the strap of my large purse.
“Yes, sir. Just giving a tour of their new workspace.” Mr. Stark nods, giving us each a look. When his eyes reach mine, I swallow and nod in respect at him.
“I don’t bite, ya know.” he cocks an eyebrow at us, sipping his steaming coffee. Still, none of us move. The blond-haired boy that can’t stop rubbing the back of his neck is the first to speak.
“It’s an honour, Mr. Stark.” he croaks. We nod, a few people—myself included—murmuring our agreements. He smiles like he’s praising a child for saying the alphabet and turns back to Roland.
“Hey, you mind checking the supplies for B12?” he asks. Roland nods curtly. I lean back into the row of computers and feel the heel of my hand press into something. I swallow and ignore it, pushing off. I can’t turn from the conversation while I’m the presence of Tony Stark. I’m not that stupid.
Roland looks like he wants to say something, but before he does, he turns to us.
“Um, why don’t you guys take a look around?” he smiles, “Just don’t touch anything.” Everyone slowly scurries off, but not before peeking in astonishment at the billionaire in our presence. Roland turns back to him and begins discussing something privately. I chew on my lip nervously and realize I’m the only one left standing. I should do something. I begin to pivot on my ankles in search of something to look at. I look down at the table of computers, each of the radars the way they had been when I saw them. There’s nothing on them but the constant circles exiting the centre point. My eyes pan over the room, at the bluntness of it all. At all the seriousness. The Avengers rely on so much just from this one room. It’s almost terrifying, knowing I’ll soon be one of those few people that the Avengers rely on. I even get a silly little thought: like we’re almost the silent heroes. The ones helping the Avengers behind the scenes when they don’t even know it. I shake my head at the thought. Hell, I’m just tech support.
I’m about to push off the table and look around when a mark on the computer in front of me catches my eye. I look down at it and furrow my brows. A small triangular shaped icon is heading for the tower. The side of the computer flashes with information:
Contact: 1489 MPH
I tilt my head curiously. The jet belongs to the Avengers, as it’s registered into the system. I frown as I realize something. That’s odd. They should be slowing down. I look at the building in the centre of the radar and recognize the blueprint, bird’s eye view of the building as the same one I’ve seen at every fire emergency map in the tower. The computer must be monitoring this building. 1279 mph until contact. I swallow.
They should be slowing down.
I frantically look at the screen. The jet isn’t heading to the landing site on the east of the building. It’s coming in through the west, by the bio labs. They’ll collide right into the side of the building. A wave of terror runs through my stomach. They don’t intend on landing. They plan on crashing.
I back up and look to Roland and Mr. Stark, still conversing.
“I just think that my office is a bit cramped…” Roland gestures. I need to tell them, but I can’t seem to find my voice. I inhale and straighten up.
“Um.” I blurt. They turn to me, cutting their conversation off. I close my eyes for a moment and open them again. “There’s-there’s a jet coming in.” I breathe. Tony stark smiles and nods his head.
“Yeah, that’s probably Cap coming back from Wakanda. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”
“But—” I begin, but he’s already turned away, walking into the glass room with Roland. I exhale in frustration and look back at the screen. 924 mph until contact. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. I need to do something. I need to do something now, because there’s less than three minutes until contact. I have to change the jet’s course. I pan my eyes through the room, looking for the jet control. Computers flash and think and whir. The room is too big to go searching for the jet control system. There’s no time.
My hand reaches out and digs through my black purse, past my makeup bag, notebooks, and all my toiletries. My fingers reach all the way to the bottom of the bag to the most important thing I carry in it. My skin brushes metal and I pull it out. My USB, a small inconspicuous thing. I step to the computer and jam it into the open port on the side of it. The virus is in effect immediately, a pop up appearing on the screen, asking whether or not to accept the program. I press “Ok” and drag the window of the radar to the corner of the screen with the mouse. Pulling up the program, decrypting codes to get through the firewall, it takes less than twenty seconds to get to the control panel of the jet. A blaring alarm begins to erupt from the speaker above my head, making me wince. But I’ve done this before. I’ve heard similar alarms before. I’ve learned to drown them out.
“What are you doing!?” a voice says in panic behind me. It’s Mr. Stark. I curse under my breath as I pull up the destination of the jet. I’m so fired.
The destination is the tower, the forty-second floor bio labs. I begin to look for a place to redirect it, looking back up at the radar. 334 mph until contact. My breath hitches. Forty-five seconds. I whip through locations for the jet to land at, noting that the jet needs to be at least forty miles away from the building to keep it from being effected. It’s already too close and too fast to be able to land at the tower. It’s going to have to crash land.
I don’t miss the commotion behind me as Mr. Stark realizes the alarm isn’t just because I’ve plugged a virus into his system, but because a jet is about to level the building. He approaches a panel of computers, but they’re just static. “The system is comprised.” he says grimly, stunned.vI chew on my lip, cringing. Thirty seconds. I take a deep breath until I spot a public water park. I quickly do a background on it, making sure it’s still closed and no one is on the property. I breathe a sigh of relief as I redirect the destination of the jet to the water and bring its speed down. Gasps erupt around me. I look up from the computer and see that diagonal to us, an aircraft’s smoke fogs the window. My eyes widen. That was too close.
I feel a pair of eyes on me. Ripping my gaze from the window, I realize Mr. Stark is staring at me in shock. My jaw clenches. The adrenaline is still in my system.
“There’s gonna be a crash landing in the Westward Water Park. The property is clear, but there’s still people on the jet.” I say. All evidence of uncertainty has disappeared from my voice, the same for my head. I turn back to the computer and reopen the virus, backtracking its effects. The sound of static on the computers seizes, and once I’ve uninstalled and blocked the program, I unplug the USB and return it to the bottom of my bag. The room is silent as I catch my breath that I hadn’t noticed I’d been holding. Mr. Stark clears his throat.
“Right.” he says, turning back to the panels. My eyes look around the room, trying to be okay with everyone’s gaze on me. They don’t know what happened, I’m sure, but they’re trying to understand. “Roland, get them outta here.” Mr. Stark says. I turn to leave when his next words make my heart sink to my stomach. “'Cept for you.” He doesn’t have to clarify who he’s referring to. I stop in my tracks and pivot. The new employees scurry out of the room, giving me wide-eyed, “You’re screwed” looks. I purse my lips and look down as Mr. Stark flicks through the jet’s status. It’s evident once it’s crashed, as alarms begin to beep and ring from his screen. He silences them.
“I’m sorry.” I say quietly. My voice echoes through the room, making it project louder than I spoke. “I didn’t know what else to do.” I look up, but he doesn’t seem to be listening. “Are the people on the jet okay?” I say nervously. He turns and shakes his head, but not in response to my question. It’s more like a shake of surprise.
“Person.” he says. “Only one. One very big, green person.”
This key just arrived in our mailbox amongst the regular bills and cut-out coupons. It’s from Room 223 of Westward Ho, which stood where Ace Palm Springs now stands in the mid to late 60s. (HoJo was the middle man in between the two). Some do-gooder dropped it in the mailbox, some 30 odd years late. Thanks, stranger, it’s home now.
When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.
The story that was supposed to be about time-travel, but is really a stealth AU of the first two seasons where Talia’s a struggling single mom, Peter’s the eponymous teen wolf, and Stiles, Scott and Lydia…are time travelers (so that part’s not totally inaccurate).
Stiles is a sphinx, and he’s winging his way to visit his buddy Scott when a storm drops him in Beacon Hills, the craziest, crankiest, coldest place ever. And somehow, he ends up with a bunch of werewolves.
Peter Hale, thirty-four, shady but successful human lawyer, knocks on his nephew Derek’s door one night because he’s just been bitten by a werewolf. Somehow, this ends up being a lot more awkward than one would expect.
Stiles gets a job as a hospital orderly and finds himself becoming strangely attached to the catatonic man on the long-term care ward, and finds out that there’s a lot more to Peter Hale than there seems…
Peter’s heard people talk about what it felt like when they saw their mate for the first time, from those who actually believe in the mystical bullshit. Like a magnet, like gravity. Peter just feels… sharply curious.
After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.
Stiles is too curious for his own good, and he can’t help himself, so he joins a website advertising to be a good place for “kinksters.” He just wants to be nosy and see what total strangers are up to. Then he meets Peter, who wants to be called Daddy.
Stiles can’t really talk anymore but, with Peter, he realizes he doesn’t have to. Even if their spoken communication consists of one swear word and stuttered syllables, they understand each other. And that’s what counts.
Commander Stilinski looked like he fell out of a propaganda video, his armor still smoking as he pulled off his helmet and handed it off to First Officer Argent. He had a few bruises down his neck but his smile was bright.
“Glad to see you safe and sound, Mr. Hale. I’d hate for Derek to lose a member of his family.”
“I told you,” Derek snapped at his superior, “he’s not worth this, Commander.”
After being abandoned by Scott, Stiles feels empty and tired. Sick of life. Until Peter re-enters his life and makes him want to live again. All of a sudden he’s not so alone anymore…and neither is Peter.
Stiles doesn’t mean to sneak into the Hale wedding, and he certainly doesn’t mean to have cliche coat-room sex with the bride’s uncle, but what had happened, happened, and it wasn’t like he could just leave. At least, not until he got to have some of that cake.
At the end of a strained relationship, crime novelist Stiles chooses to hide from the world inside a bar with far too many motorcycles outside it for comfort. Here he’ll meet the man of his dreams, eat food and propose marriage, all within the first five minutes.
Peter doesn’t know who this kid is, but he’s cute and looks like he could use a break. So he feeds him. He’s not expecting a marriage proposal, but with what comes after, he doesn’t really mind.
This is the story of how Peter gets married without technically dating anyone.
“You can bring your boyfriend with you,” Talia says. Peter stops giving Henry more bits of dried fruit to stare at his sister “Boyfriend?” “Of course!” Talia gestures at Stiles who looks around behind him with wide eyes. “I’m sure the whole family would be interested in meeting your young man.”
Stiles shows up at Peter’s apartment, drunk and horny. Peter almost does the right thing—before it all deteriorates into a voyeuristic power game and Stiles has a mind-shattering orgasm. Things snowball from there.
Peter is a simple saloon owner on one of the outer planets between the Aaru Belt and the Olympus Galaxy. He’s done with trouble. Done with adventure. So fucking done with rustlers. That is, until a cute young outlaw named Stiles wanders into his bar. Peter has this problem where he can’t seem to resist charming narcissists (perhaps because they remind him of himself). And when said narcissists turn his life upside-down, the worst part is he’s not even that upset about it.
“Dear god,” Peter snorts. “Alphas and their obsession with bodily fluids. Do you really find the narration of biological processes arousing?” “You mean you’re not into the idea of smelling like me for days after this?” Stiles grins. “I don’t know about days. I’m sure the birth control hormones will flush it out after about twenty-four hours.” “You—what—I thought it suppresses your heats how are you—?” “I like sex. So I take the pill that gives me shorter pseudo-heats. I’m still infertile. You gonna cry about it?”
(Or the one where Peter is a strong, independent Omega who don’t need no Alpha, but maybe he starts to like having Stiles around anyway).