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Alterative views The Royal Armouries_10- “Armour Detail” by Dave Turner

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“Today we delivered a set of three Ash counter stools to a fairy tale cabin in the woods on the South coast of Cornwall. The beautifully made little Oak framed cabin is being let out as a Cornish getaway, and the stools take pride of place along a waney edge Ash kitchen island!…..”

Also known as Couter Jack and sometimes referred to as Gullah Jack Pritchard. He was an African conjurer known for aiding a free black man named Denmark Vesey in planning a large slave rebellion that would become known as Denmark Vesey’s slave conspiracy in 1822. Gullah Jack was a slave to Paul Pritchard in Charleston, South Carolina. Little is known about his background, except that he was of Angolan origin and was shipped from Zanzibar to America under Zephaniah Kingsley’s direction. Using his Africa-based influence, Gullah Jack recruited African-born slaves as soldiers for Vesey’s plot and provided them with charms as protection against the buckra (Whites). He is also said to have used his spiritual powers to terrify others into keeping silent about the conspiracy. Historians believe Jack’s strong African culture contrasted against Vesey’s preaching, and helped attract many of the slaves that joined the revolt.

Read more at http://www.conjuredoctors.com/gullah-jack.html

Friend or Foe [Lafayette x Reader]

Length: 2457 words

Genre: FLUFF

TW: Nada

A/N: I got a tad bit carried away with this one >< I live for Jealous!Lafayette huhuhuhuhu. Most of my stories on Lafayette has a hint of a jealous/angry Frenchman. 

The night was dark, and the only source of light was the streelights that stood on the side of the streets. It barely luminated the streets, but it was enough. You made your way to the local bar, on your way to meet up with your couter, Gilbert. Unknowingy, you smiled at the thought of him. Your favourite, and perhaps everyone’s favourite Frenchman, the man who has captured your heart.  

“Hey!"   

You were in the middle of turning to the source of the voice when a group of men in red coats whisked by you, knocking you to the ground. A surprised gasp escaped your lips as you stumbled, your ankle twisting in an awkward position. "AHH!” you yelled, hearing the crack in your ankle, and falling on the ground.   

“Miss! Are you alright?” a man kneeled beside you, a gloved arm on your upper arm. 

“I think I hurt my ankle,” you responded.   

“I’m sorry. I tried to warn you-" 

"It was my fault. I wasn’t fast enough,” you laughed, shaking your head.   

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