ax head


Early 17th Century Combination warhammer and warpick/six shot gun.  

Has six barrels concealed on it for six shots.  The head contains five barrels, their muzzles concealed by a hinged cover forming the edge of the hammer. The topmost barrel is ignited by a matchlock fitted on one side of the head, its mechanism concealed by a brass plate cut out and engraved in the form of a lion. The second barrel has a wheellock ignition system, the mechanism of which occupies most of the outer surface of the opposite side of the axe-head. There is a tubular extension to the pan of the wheellock intended to hold a length of match which would be ignited by the flash of the priming pan and then withdrawn to ignite the three remaining barrels. A sixth barrel, also hand-ignited, is concealed within the haft.

Part of the Royal Armouries Collection in the United Kingdom


“Fly or die!” cried the three-eyed crow as it pecked at him. He wept and pleaded but the crow had no pity. It put out his left eye and then his right, and when he was blind in the dark it pecked at his brow, driving its terrible sharp beak deep into his skull. He screamed until he was certain his lungs must burst. The pain was an axe splitting his head apart, but when the crow wrenched out its beak all slimy with bits of bone and brain, Bran could see again. What he saw it made him gasp in fear. He was clinging to a tower miles high, and his fingers were slipping, nails scrabbling at the stone, his legs dragging him down, stupid useless dead legs. “Help me!” he cried. A golden man appeared in the sky above him and pulled him up. “The things I do for love,” he murmured softly as he tossed him out kicking into empty air. 

A Clash of Kings → Bran II


“As Frodo was borne towards them the great pillars rose like towers to meet him. Giants they seemed to him, vast grey figures silent but threatening. Then he saw that they were indeed shaped and fashioned: the craft and power of old had wrought upon them, and still they preserved through the suns and rains of forgotten years the mighty likenesses in which they had been hewn. Upon great pedestals founded in the deep waters stood two great kings of stone: still with blurred eyes and crannied brows they frowned upon the North. The left hand of each was raised palm outwards in gesture of warning; in each right hand there was an axe; upon each head there was a crumbling helm and crown. Great power and majesty they still wore, the silent wardens of a long-vanished kingdom.”

Rare Slavic “Axe of Perun” Pendant, 10th-12th Century AD

Axehead pendants were popular in the late Viking age during the 10th-12th centuries and were mostly found in Western Russia and Southern Scandinavia. They were identified by some researchers as amulets representing an axe of the highest god of the Slavic pantheon, Perun, the god of thunder and lightning.

But can we talk about this gif for a second?
Look at it, they are so in character:

Martin Fremann (Bilbo): “I don’t know why I’m doing this, but fuck it, I do it anyway.”
Richard Armitage (Thorin): “I’m a very important dwarf, doing very important practice, because it’s important”
Graham McTavish (Dwalin): “I’m doing it wrong, but I pull this through until the bitter end.”
Adam Brown (Ori): “Look at me, I’m a cutie patootie!”
Jed Brophy (Nori): “Wheee~ I’m gonna need this for my next raid~”
William Kircher (Bifur): “I may have an axe stuck in my head, but I’m gonna show you spring chicken how to do this proper”

Perfect cast, Ladies and Gentleman.

Q: I have a philosophy question that could actually be answered in cosmere:

Ship of Theseus in cosmere. If I went and replaced every part of the ship, would it still - Cognitively - be the same thing?

What if I replaced everything and made a second ship out of the parts from the first one? What could somebody watching all of that from Shadesmar tell me?

A: You’re right, part of the design of the cosmere (which has some deep roots in classical philosophy) was an attempt to answer the Ship of Theseus question.

In the cosmere, part of the Cognitive–and even spiritual–aspect of a thing (particularly if it isn’t sentient) is delineated by the way that thinking beings define it. Per the old joke about the axe, if you replace your axe head and think of the new axe as “Your Axe,” then the cognitive and spiritual aspects of that thing will grow to reflect that.

If you replaced every part of your ship, and gave the sailors time to sail it, thinking of it as the same ship–it would become the same ship.

Reddit WoB

Wikipedia: Ship of Theseus

The Axe. Chapter 14 of You Are My Home.

This is chapter 14 of an extended AU piece called You Are My Home. Link to full text here: which in turn is part of my AU series: ‘Time Moves To A Different Rhythm’ link here:

Thank you for reading :) Han xx

Life at Lallybroch settled into a rhythm and within two weeks Roger was starting to feel like a member of the community, if not exactly a member of the family.

He was largely given simple tasks, ones that required physical strength but no great no-how and between them, Jamie and Ian had taken it upon themselves to try and teach him a few of the more complicated bits of running the estate.

Roger appreciated their help to a point but it was a blessed relief to be given the task that he could do alone for an hour or two. Roger braced his foot against the stump and drew the axe back over his head, he measured the distance with a squint eyed expression and brought the axe-head down with a crack. It lodged in the wood but didn’t split it.


Roger pushed a hand through his hair and glaring at the log.

“Did ye check the grain?”

Roger squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and willed the owner of that particular voice to please, please go away.

“I did.”

He called back, a false cheeriness in his voice.

“Then ye misread it.”

Jamie stepped up to the stump and peered down at the axe embedded in the thick piece of pine.

“Ye’ve gone across the grain rather than along it.”

“I … meant to create a mark for splitting it into smaller pieces later.”

Roger knew that he sounded ridiculous but in that moment he just couldn’t face admitting to Jamie that there was another thing he could not do.

“Ah. And are the smaller pieces to form a peg-leg for when ye lose a foot, bracing it just so beneath a swinging blade?”

Roger felt heat creep into his face and gave the axe a violent wrench, trying to free it. The wood creaked but held firm, keeping the blade trapped.

“Let me do it.”

Jamie moved to take the handle from Roger but the younger man refused to relinquish the tool.

“I have it.”

The strain in Roger’s voice was measured but Jamie could see perspiration starting to form on his brow.

“Ye’ll break the head off it!”

“I can get a blade out o’ bit … of … wood!”

Roger grunted, turning so that his back was to Jamie and heaving until the muscles in his forearms quivered.

“Just gi’ it here…”

Jamie dodged around Roger and grabbed the handle. Green eyes met blue with a challenge that Jamie has not expected to find within their depths.

“Let go.”

“No. You let go!”

“It’s my axe!”

“Ian asked me to chop the wood and that is what I’m going to bloody do!”

“Ye’re goin’ to butcher every log and leave them useless!”

“They only have to burn, not … decorate … ye skirts….”

“They need to stack and create…a decent…long-burning…fire to…”

Jamie stopped speaking, grinding his teeth. Roger was slim but he had the strength of a younger man, ill-refined and coarse but vital all the same and Jamie felt a glimmer of concern that he might lose this wee contest.

Roger meanwhile had never expected to hold on as long as he had against the older man and his anger was cooling as his confidence grew. He would not best Fraser in an all out fight, he knew that from the way the man carried himself, but pound for pound perhaps there was not so much in it between them…

Jamie felt Roger’s grip loosen and pressed his momentary advantage, forcing the handle down and then yanking it up with a sudden and brutal force. A muscle in his back screamed and the fingers of his left hand tingled like fire but he felt the blade give and all at once it swung free, the blunt tip of the handle flying up and smashing into Roger’s face with a crack that made Jamie’s stomach flip.


Roger let go completely and his hands flew to his nose which was gushing blood. Jamie dropped the axe and pressed a hand to the small of his back which was already swelling, the skin beneath his shirt burning fiercely.


“What the bloody hell?”

Claire ran across the courtyard, scattering the hens who had been pecking at seeds. Jamie had one arm around Roger’s shoulders and was limping, his left leg scuffing behind him. Roger’s shirt front was covered in blood and most of his face was the colour of a ripening plum.

“What happened?”

Claire demanded as she reached them and her eyes darted over each looking for potentially life-threatening injury.

“Just a wee tussle, Sassenach. I’ve jarred my back.”

Jamie grimaced and Claire’s eyes flew wide.

“A wee …?  Jamie! For God’s sake! Look at the state of you!”

She turned her gaze to Roger and her hand covered her mouth with a gasp

“What have you done to Roger?!”

“That was an accident.”

Jamie sounded indignant but also rather guilty and Roger gave a faint snort, causing fresh blood to trickle from his right nostril. Jamie glanced across at him, eyes narrowing to slits and Claire held up her hands.

“It doesn’t matter. Both of you go inside! Roger could you please help my husband to the surgery?”


Roger’s nose was not broken, but it was severely bruised and Claire sent him off with a compress and a fresh towel to mop his face before turning her attention to Jamie. He had been doing a sort of awkward lean against her bookshelf whilst she patched Roger up but the minute the door closed behind the younger man he gripped the edge of Claire’s examination table tightly and dragged himself flat onto his front with a low groan of agony.

“Oh Christ! Sassenach, if ye canna ease the pain, ye may need to shoot me.”

“Let me see.”

Claire edged up his shirt and laid her hand over the visible swelling just above the sweet curve where his arse began. It was at the very bottom of his scars and the skin was smooth and unblemished as goosebumps sprang up against her palm.

“I think it needs heat first, than cold.”

“Aye, aye that will be fine.”

Jamie murmured, eager for anything, hot, cold or other that might take away some of the pain. Claire made a hot compress of herbs and wrapped it in muslin cloth before placing it lightly over Jamie’s exposed skin. She started to tug his breeks down slightly to apply a second compress over the very base of his spine when she heard him chuckle

“If ye mean to skelp my arse for fightin’ wi’ the lad, ye may wish to wait a while, ken? I doubt I’d much feel it through the burnin’ in my back.”

“That’s a noble admission.”

Claire smiled dryly and pressed the second compress to his skin

“I wouldna wish ye to labour for nothing, Sassenach!”

Claire laughed despite herself and allowed her hand to settle on the warm, round swell of his buttocks, stroking lightly.

“What on earth did you fight about anyway?”

“Who’s turn it was to hold the axe.”

It was Jamie’s turn to smile dryly.

Claire dropped to a crouch beside the table, on eye-level with her husband and raised her eyebrows in silent question.

“He kissed Brianna.”

Jamie sighed finally, moving his arms to form a pillow for his head, turning to face Claire fully.

“I saw them walking the other evening and I could tell they had been speaking of Frank again, for the lass had that look about her and then just before they reached the gate, she tiptoed up and kissed his mouth.”

“So she kissed him then?”

Claire asked patiently and Jamie huffed.

“Aye, if ye like. But he pulled her close and didna seem too intent to get away so I dinna think we need to split hairs.”


Claire smiled and ran her fingers from his jaw, up through the thick tresses of auburn and gold, and a little touch of aged silver visible now too, gently massaging the back of his neck.

“I ken that it would happen, they look well together and the lad has behaved well enough but …”

Jamie licked his lip and glanced up at Claire with a look that melted her heart and stirred something more primitive in equal measure.

“I hated him a little for it all the same.”

“Jamie …”

“I ken it is ridiculous, she is a woman grown and it is natural … I ken it well Sassenach but she is still my daughter, my braw wee girl! And I feel as though …”

He took a deep breath and shifted his eyes away from Claire

“I feel as though I am maybe being punished for Frank.”

The words spilt out of him, hot and heavy in the light surgery. The smell of herbs and dried flowers suddenly clear in the silence that followed his words.


“He had the loving and nurturing of her for nine years and then ye brought her back to me, I have had her for nine years also but now I must give her up to destiny just as Frank did.”

“Oh, Jamie … I …”

Claire shook her head, unsure of what to say that would offer comfort.

“I shouldn’t mind it either, the Fae gave me you; mo Sorcha, mo nighean donn, and they gave me half my daughters childhood to raise her and to love her rightly and through their generosity I also have my son but for all that, the thought of losing Brianna to another man broke my heart a little and I behaved like an ass.”

Jamie smiled a little then and reaching out, drew Claire’s face toward him, his hand gently tangled in her curls. He kissed her cheek and then her lips and finally rested his forehead lightly against hers with a soft sigh.

“When I last spoke to ye of Frank I was vain and foolish. I asked if I must share your heart and I ken the truth is not so. Will ye forgive me for it?”

“Of course! You were just upset!”

Claire opened her eyes and found twin blue orbs observing her with a gentleness that she still could hardly believe possible, even after all the years he had looked at her so.

“Aye, but for stupid reasons. Brianna’s heart belongs to her, it is not for a child to give their heart to a parent and I was selfish to lament a thing I had no right to.”

“I think Roger will take care of it, if she chooses to offer it to him.”

“He best had, for I would kill any man who hurt her.”

Jamie spoke the words with a calm certainty that sent a small chill up Claire’s spine and she clutched his fingers tightly.

“Try not to kill this one without just cause though,eh? Or mame him!”

She smiled and Jamie grimaced

“It really was an accident.”


She kissed his cheek and stood up.

“Now stay there and do not move. I’ll be back to change your compress in a bit.”

“Your wish is my command, Sassenach!”

Jamie grinned and lowered his head back onto his hands, thinking about how exactly he was going to teach Roger all of the things his potential son-in-law would need to know.


A Place Called Sanctuary Part Four

Summary: To Jungkook, the apocalypse was a blessing–a blessing shaped like a nightmare for more reasons than one.


Parts: One /  Two / Three / Five

Warnings: Creepz. Bloodz.

Jungkook slammed the axe into the ground, sweat rolling between his shoulderblades as he lifted the hem of his shirt to drag it across his forehead and grease his fringe back with a layer of perspiration. He felt absolutely disgusting, but, luckily, the promise of a warm bath (one that you’d heat over a fire) tonight pushed him to move faster. But, for now, he dropped down next to the ax head for a break, resting his forearms on his knees.

He finally felt that he had enough branches for the time being, though he’d like to chop a few more before he set to dividing them up into smaller pieces so they fit in the wood shed and would be usable for the stove; but, for now, he could use a moment of rest. You were across the way, pulling the remainder of the usable crops from the yard while simultaneously tilling the land with the absolutely weirdest of your inventions–it was much like an old hand plow, except for you’d somehow managed to rig a bunch of them to your waist so you could drag them through the ground as you walked.  The first time you’d used it he had to go back inside before he busted out laughing in front of you. Now, he was used to it. He watched you reach over to the pocket in Anya’s jacket you used to store seeds and potatoes for next spring, your laughter echoing across the clearing as the wolf licked the sweat from your cheek. He didn’t realize he was smiling until Shadow let out a low snort next to him.

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