#Grain Handling System

[rajdeep-engineering]

 Rajdeep Pneumatic Conveying Systems: A Synonym for Quality

 When quality matters, industry leaders choose Rajdeep’s pneumatic conveying systems for their unmatched performance and reliability.

[daily-delight]

Enhancing Productivity: A Definitive Guide to Optimizing Grain Handling Systems

Grain handling systems play a pivotal role in the agricultural industry, facilitating the efficient movement and storage of grains from farm to market. Grain handling systems encompass a range of equipment and processes designed to handle, transport, store, and process grains such as wheat, corn, barley, and rice. With the ever-growing demand for grains globally, optimizing grain management systems is crucial for maximizing productivity and minimizing losses.

At the heart of any grain management system lies the grain elevator, a vertical structure equipped with conveyor belts or buckets that lift grains from ground level to silos for storage. These elevators are essential for transferring grains between various stages of production, from harvesting to storage and distribution. Modern elevators employ advanced technology to streamline operations and ensure the gentle handling of grains to prevent damage and maintain quality.

Conveyors are another integral component of grain handling systems, offering a flexible and efficient means of transporting grains within facilities. Belt conveyors, screw conveyors, and pneumatic conveyors are commonly used to move grains horizontally or vertically, allowing for seamless integration with other processing equipment. By automating the transport process, conveyors enhance productivity while reducing labor costs and the risk of manual errors.

Storage is a critical aspect of grain handling systems, influencing the quality and shelf life of grains. Silos are the primary storage structures, capable of holding large quantities of grains in a controlled environment. Equipped with ventilation systems and temperature monitoring devices, silos ensure optimal conditions to prevent spoilage caused by moisture and pests. Additionally, modern silos are designed for easy loading and unloading, facilitating quick turnaround times during peak harvest seasons.

Grain drying is another essential function performed within grain handling systems to reduce moisture content and preserve quality. Drying bins or towers utilize heated air or natural airflow to remove excess moisture from freshly harvested grains, preventing mold growth and ensuring safe storage. By expediting the drying process, these systems enable farmers to harvest grains at the optimal moisture level, maximizing yields and profitability.

In recent years, automation and digitalization have revolutionized grain handling systems, offering real-time monitoring and control capabilities. Advanced sensors and software systems allow operators to remotely manage equipment, monitor grain conditions, and optimize workflow efficiency. Predictive analytics and machine learning algorithms provide valuable insights into grain quality and storage conditions, enabling proactive maintenance and decision-making.

In conclusion, grain handling systems are indispensable assets for the agricultural industry, facilitating the efficient movement, storage, and processing of grains. By embracing technological advancements and best practices, farmers and grain handlers can optimize operations, minimize losses, and meet the growing demand for grains worldwide.

[acceleracers-baby]

Acceleracers Rant - Nolo Edition!

Okay- I’ve been thinking about Nolo A LOT lately. Especially since, according to the Acceleracers Wiki, Nolo and Tone were orphaned at a young age. This means that Tone has been taking care of Nolo since they were both pretty young- and if we’re going to continue to assume the Wiki is right, there was also a time when they were straight up just on the streets.

This honestly makes me think that after their parents passed, Tone was terrified that the Foster system would separate them, so he just did what he could to keep them together, even if that meant sleeping in his car for a few weeks before he could win enough street races to be able to afford steady housing for them. Nolo was probably still pretty young at the time too so I’m sure Tone was working hard to make sure that Nolo didn’t fully understand how bad their situation was.

Like, when Tone raced he was probably thinking “Damn, if I don’t win this, we might not eat tonight,” but to Nolo he was probably just like “Watch me smoke this guy, little bro!”

This makes Tone’s death hit 1000 times harder for me. Like this eighteen-year-old kid just watched his brother die in a firey explosion which I'm sure not only traumatized him but also left him without family. Sure, he has the Teku, but Nolo IDOLIZED his brother to the point where the thought of Tone messing up and crashing was unfathomable so he literally made up a nerative where Tork maliciously murdered his brother in cold blood.

ALSO if you think THATS sad- I just realized that the car that Tone is racing when he crashes in the flashbacks is SYNKRO!!! or at least it looks exactly like it. So that means Nolo took the wreckage from his brother’s fatal crash and spent countless hours rebuilding it from the ground up!! It EXPLODED and he rebuilt it!!! AHHHHH!!!

——— Thanks For Reading ———

[altomechpvtltd]

Pneumatic conveyor | Pneumatic conveyor manufacturer | Pneumatic conveying system | pneumatic material handling | bulk material handling

Enquiry : sales@altomech.com

Contact : 95851 31112

Website: https://altomech.com/pneumatic-conveying-system.php

[bhupatiengineering]

Storage Solution Providers in India - Bhupati Engineering

Bhupati Engineering is committed to providing high-quality products and services to its customers at competitive prices. The company's products and services are used by a wide range of industries in India, including agriculture, food processing, chemicals, and storage solution providers. Bhupati Engineering is dedicated to providing sustainable solutions that meet the needs of its customers and the environment.

[grubus]

Hi! do you have any svsss fic recs? I really like syonr and I'm curious about what you like to read!

*rubs hands together*

Alright alright. Now some of these are probably already well known, but still!!

I make no secret of this, but as Prim is my favorite author and very cool friend, I will HAPPILY recommend these first;

Masochism is probably THE qijiu fic of all time, absolutely adore it. It's set in their disciple era, with YQY just grabbing at whatever scraps he can even as SQQ tries to push the boundaries and see what will make him BREAK. So, so good. Happy ending!

Tarnished Gold is my favorite original Binghe fic, and I hope more people give it a chance. I think the summary scare some but it's GREAT! I love it! Binghe's thought process, the way someone perceives SY as GYX from an outside perspective, and omg LPM is such a great character in it...

of course I recommend basically everything Prim writes.

(Shen Yuan Voice) It's not gay if- by Nachtofthedead is porn. Just straight up modern time BingYuan porn. It is filthy and great and *thumbs up* love it. Bingge decides to play along with SY's delulu thoughts on gayness and everyone are happy.

The Many Trials and Tribulations of Ming Fan by The Feels Whale (miscellea) is great and I think often overlooked. A oneshot from MF's point of view on how to handle SQQ's wife beam, deeply funny to me. They also wrote-

Dust and Broken Grains , which is basically "Binghe discovers early that Crying Works" and it becomes a fix-it fic. but there's more to it than that!!! Love it a lot.

Celestial Afterglow by elanor_pam is just. So good. SO GOOD. It's hilarious, it uses the System in a way few fics ever does and it has me cackling every time I read it.

What Is Seen by CaveteDracones is a fix-it with a side of whump fic, where SQQ's trial at HHP goes VERY differently. Truth serum! Torture! System Reveal! Yay!

Dual Cultivate or Date by acernor is THE BingLiuShen fic out there. Adore it. I'm sure many have already appreciated it, but it doesn't hurt to remind others that it exists!

A Child Once by Tossawary is a very, very good BingQiu and MoShang fic, and I honestly love not only BingQiu being forced to play parents, but also the MobeiBing friendship? Great, amazing. All the relationships in this is great, and I know most have heard of Tossawary but if you haven't given this specific fic a chance you SHOULD.

easy fix by airplanelanding (TheCourtSorcerer) is a smutty cumplane oneshot, where they are friends with benefits (approved by their husbands) for whenever said husbands are unavailable for Dual Cultivation Cure. This fic just really captures the snark and is also *chefs kiss*

with the tail of the snake by tciddaemina is a very, very good monsterfucker!SQQ fic where Binghe became a dragon in the abyss. I LOVE IT. It's a WIP, but *clenches fist* it's just so good. Soft and gooey and so HHHH yes good. I would probably put all their svsss fics in here but I am running out of time!!

.... but I have enough time to recommend my other favorite fic from them, which isn't even svsss! And is how I found them to begin with!

come all ye mighty is a Solo Leveling fic! It's Igris/Jinwoo, from Igris' pov, and I love the world building in it. As they say in the author's notes, it's a little bit of an au since it doesn't follow the original plot of the comic, but I reread this so, so often. 10/10, if you like solo leveling at all please give it a go I BEG OF YOU.

[kjiscrawlingbackformore]

It’s Just a Knife

Shauna Shipman x Reader post!rescue

Summary: Even after everything is said and done. Shauna still haunts you just as much as you haunt her. The only difference is while Shauna lives to forget, you find a way to her out your system.

A/N: lowkey saw a post on here about a knife and thought of this. 😭

It started when you were at an antique mall. You were trying to find some furniture for cheap. You moved, to an off shoot town in Illinois, not too far from the city, but enough away to live a quiet comfortable life. You moved to a new place, enrolled into a small community college.

At this stage of life, the name of the game was to live a quiet life. At least try to.

You don’t know where it came from. The urge to runaway. Maybe it was because you felt suffocated when you came back from the wilderness. Like you were going to choke on this foreign air. It was as if your lungs got used to the air from that hellhole.

When you finally could breathe, the panic attacks came, and they came more times you can count. No matter how hard you tried to will yourself to a good place…you couldn’t. The only person who could calm you down.

Was that damn butcher.

You don’t even know why it was her. Why her rough fingers cupping your face had such a soothin effect. Or why your ears gave way to her voice above the ringing. Or even why when she kissed your temple, and pulled you into her chest. You could catch your breath again.

You fucking hated it.

You hated it because you hated her. You hated yourself for being weak for her. Even when she was mean, cruel, hurtful for fun. And when she went back to Jeff after five months into being back home. You felt lonelier than you ever had in your life.

You didn’t even really think it through when you left. Didn’t tell your parents, your friends, the others. No, you made damn sure no one was going to find you. It felt better that way.

No one needed you around anyways.

Your eyes scanned the booth, as the combination of old wood, dust, and lemon polish overwhelmed your nose. You wondered if the wilderness heightened anyone else’s senses?

Your smell seemed to change since coming back. You could smell things from a mile away. It was bizarre, you seemed to smell things no one else could. Your fingers poked through items on a side table. Wait. The pads of your fingers feeling the smooth aged wood.

This is perfect for your room. You started to search for the price tag. You opened the drawer, and there was a beautiful dagger. Your mouth opened in surprise. The sheath had an Ornate hand stitched design across the leather, in gold. You grabbed the handle, with hesitant hands.

And when you unsheathed the dagger, a dull but beautiful almost black metal knife met you, the same ornate design engraved into the knife’s body. Like branches reaching out into the tip of the knife.

You couldn’t help but think of her seeing this.

So you bought it. You told yourself you were buying it for the aesthetic. That it matched the wood grain of the nightstand you picked out, that it would look good resting across the top, beside an old ashtray you didn’t use and a lamp with no bulb.

But you knew that was bullshit.

Because the moment your fingers brushed the hilt, you weren’t in the antique mall anymore. You were by the river. It was snowing. She was crouched by a stump, sawing through a rabbit’s femur with that cold, mechanical focus she always had when there was blood involved. Even after months of it, months of killing to survive. you were the one, with tears streaming down your face after killing it.

Something about watching Shauna skin and cut into it with the eyes still open. Made you feel sick. You could detach, disassociate, hold the cold metal of a gun to your cheek, aim, shoot the thing. You could remove the yourself from the equation easy. Become an entirely different person. Doing what you have to do to survive.

But it was when you came back and sat wordless by Shauna like clockwork. Watching her move meticulously, knife skills still shaky but confident, like she was sure about each swipe and cut. The weight….the cost of it sits with you.

She would always look to you with a sorta mixed look. Half amused, half concerned. Probably wondering why this part of the process affected you so much. Or why you always sat by her like her shadow carefully watching a process that clearly bothered you so much.

You didn’t know either. Except that you could tell she loved it. She loved that you ignored the ugliness of the task at hand, but watched the skill. It made Shauna more confident, she felt needed, seen.

Her precision got better with each stroke. And when it was all said in done. She always sat next to you and with a kindness only reserved for you she would wipe your eyes and say, “You have to get used to it, eventually.” that was when she had softness in her voice.

Before Jackie, the baby, the cabin, Mari. Right before all that messy bit when you both were still you and Shauna. You hated how much you did get used to it.

You hated the after. The Shauna that came after. You hated how good she was at making you feel small, then safe, then nothing at all. The more the knife sat on your nightstand the more the wilderness seemed to nestle itself back into your life.

The more the shadow of Shauna entered your home. You couldn’t do that. It felt intrusive, consuming, and more than that exhausting. Like trying to will ghosts to leave you alone.

So did the next best thing. You sent her the knife.

No return address. No note. Just bubble wrap and a plain white box and her name in clean, blocky handwriting — the kind you learned to fake after forging your own absence notes in high school.

You didn’t know what you wanted her to do with it. Throw it away. Use it. Recognize it. Feel something. You didn’t even know if she’d open it. Maybe Jeff would get the mail.

Maybe she’d think it was some weird fan thing. She always said people were obsessed with them, sending weird ass letters — the survivors.

You never gave the public that satisfaction. You stayed away from the reporters. Left New Jersey. Moved under a fake name.

But you still thought of her. That’s the part that made you want to break things. That after everything — after she looked you in the eye and chose comfort over connection, chose Jeff and his stupid, normal future, you still saw her in your dreams.

Still woke up half expecting to hear her steadying breathing beside you in your tent. Still felt the ghost of her arms around you when it got too cold.

The knife wasn’t a gift. It was a message. Or maybe a question.

Do you still think of me? Do you remember what it felt like, when it was just us, bleeding and breathing and trying not to die? Do you still remember the wilderness?

And in a twisted way, like the nature of all things with you and Shauna, it became a kind of ritual.

Not intentional, not at first. The second knife was a coincidence. Some random estate sale in a church basement, the kind of place where everything smells like mildew and looks like the set of a horror movie. It had a bone handle, smooth as glass, and a blade so thin it could probably slice through paper without touching it.

You mailed it the same way you did the first. No note. Just the knife. It felt good, like getting rid of something too heavy to keep. And then it kept happening.

At pawn shops, flea markets, antique fairs, even once from an overpriced vintage shop in the city where the clerk looked at you funny when you asked if it was “functional.” Each one was different. One had a rose etched into the base. One came in a velvet box. One had a chip in the blade that made you think of her front tooth, cracked from a fall during the second winter out there.

You never expected a response. That wasn’t the point. It was never about her knowing it was you. It was about you getting rid of the memories of her that still whispered under your skin.

Until the fifth year.

It came like the others, plain brown wrapping, no return address, postage each from a different state. Shauna opened it while Jeff was unloading groceries.

She didn’t react, not right away. Just peeled back the paper and bubble wrap like she was used to it. Because she was. Because they always came around the same time every year. Late March, like clockwork.

This one was different, though.

Not just the knife, it wasn’t stunning, it wasn’t anything special even by her standards. It was plain, boring even. Rusting at the corners, the handle felt weighted, but ordinary. It looked almost ancient.

But it felt reverent in her hands.

Because it was…was exactly like the knife. Her knife. From the wilderness, the one Coach Ben handed her. All those years ago. It was like an exact replica. Shauna’s eyes went wide, and she felt like that scared seventeen year old, holding onto an old decaying knife in the middle of the woods.

Her breath stilled. Her grip tightened. Not daring to let go of it. Like her life-force was tied to this rusting piece of metal. Shauna licked her lips nervously. Tucked beneath it, a piece of stiff, cream-colored paper. She pulled it out slowly, hands trembling.

Typed in faded black ink, barely three lines:

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.”— Norman Maclean

She hadn’t heard those words in years. Not since-

Her fingers curled around the note. The typewriter ink had smudged in one corner. Maybe from a trembling hand. Maybe from snowmelt, once.

Shauna could see your face just behind lines. Your small smile, your steady presence. You reciting that to Shauna under just by the bank of the river saying it’s the last thing you remembered from English honors. It left a whirlwind of emotions smack her. You always made it hard for her to be casual.

Jeff walked in, holding a gallon of milk. “What’s that?” he asked, already suspicious.

She didn’t miss a beat.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, slipping the note into her back pocket. “It’s just a knife again.” She laughed like it was harmless.

Jeff muttered something about how crazy those sickos are. But Shauna didn’t hear, her eyes didn’t leave the blade. And that night, when Jeff was asleep, she dug out a shoebox from the back of her closet. The knives were all there, lined up in dish towels and old scarves. She laid the new one beside them…then, for the first time in five years, she took one out.

Just to feel the weight of it.

Just to remember you.

[pomefioredove]

Saw you took specific requests. Here's mine:

Jamil with a religious reader who gives him a protection talisman.

Fun fact, prayer beads are used in multiple religions as they help count prayers (Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, etc).

So let's say reader comes from a world where magic exists but it's exclusively on religious grounds. Meaning if you wanna do magic you gotta pray to the right god or make a deal with some form of mythological creature.

Reader knows that Jamil's is always in danger due to the constant assassination attempts on Kalim, so they make a set of prayer beads and ask a diety to bless it in order to protect their boyfriend (could be Allah, Indra, Shiva, Buddha, Susanoo, whichever). Jamil accepts it and heads back home appreciating the sentiment but not really believing.

Except any form of danger keeps getting thwarted. Drink/food he's trying is poisoned? Conveniently spills over/has a whole in the bottom. Accident happens? Conveniently pushed out of the way. Someone tries to hurt him/kill him? Struck by lightning and straight up dies.

Not even his own parents are safe. They try to slap him to "discipline him" then they get zapped (lightly tho).

you know!!! I love this prompt so much... I'm a religious studies major so this kinda stuff is so ^w^ to me I get so excited.

summary: giving jamil a protection spell type of post: short fic characters: jamil additional info: reader is gender neutral, the existence of religious beliefs in twst is. confusing. so we're keeping it vague, not proofread, reader is yuu

Perhaps it was because your world was still considered "magicless" by Twisted Wonderland standards, or perhaps Jamil was never superstitious to begin with.

Either way, he wasn't exactly as excited as you'd been hoping for.

"It's nice. Did you make it yourself?" he asks, inspecting the beads. "A bracelet?"

"Prayer beads, actually. And yes, I did,"

"It's well made. What's the purpose?"

You hesitate. The nature of religion in this world is still confusing to you, although you can surmise there's got to be some kind of belief system. It's best not touching on for now.

Besides, Jamil has never been much of a believer in higher powers. For good reason.

"For protection," you explain. "Not that I think you can't handle yourself. But I worry about you over break, you know..."

He's quiet for a moment, inspecting the gift in the palm of his hand. And then he tucks the beads away in his pocket and smiles.

"I'll keep them with me, then. Thank you,"

Even if he's not exactly keen on the idea that these things will make his life any less terrible, they're from you.

And so he keeps his promise, and tucks them away after you part.

By the time he's "home" (back in Kalim's family home) he's all but forgotten about the little blessing at the bottom of his pocket. Not that you can really blame him- "vacation" is more of a title than a reality when he's back.

The first incident happens not even a day after.

The al-Asim summer mansion is certainly nothing to scoff at. Though it's only one of many, this one in particular houses a large sum of physical treasures, line with gold and ivory, stuffed full of spices and all the makings of a feast that could feed thousands, a shining jewel of the desert.

Jamil is not all that impressed.

Especially when it comes to navigating such an ornate building on orders. The polished-to-perfection floors present a challenge when you're carrying three crates worth of grain to the kitchen on the lowest floor.

Damn these stairs.

Though Jamil may not be a religious man, he still asks whatever deity may be up there to smite the slippery spiral staircase he's descending.

His arms strain to uphold the weight of the boxes, and his legs strain to keep a good footing on one of the many long and elaborate and narrow servant passages designed specifically so that the unwanted workers of the family can slip by undetected.

Quiet, diligent, and he has to be quick, too. Kalim is expecting him for a game in one of the many lounges soon.

Another unfortunate "vacation". How he'd much rather be spending it with you...

For a brief moment, Jamil swears he can feel the beads in his pocket warm against him, reminding him of their presence.

And then he slips.

The crates free themselves from his careful grasp and tumble down the stairs, creaking and thudding but mercifully staying intact.

Jamil, however, isn't made of wood. He winces as he feels himself tilting forward- and then... somehow, a strong draft pushes him on his back.

He lands just shy of his tailbone, luckily not hurting anything, except for his pride.

What a turn of luck.

The next happens at dinner.

Jamil keeps his earlier blunder to himself. His pride is damaged enough as it is, after all, and so he tries his best to conceal how shaken up the experience left him by moving swiftly across the kitchen.

"We have a dish ready for you to test," someone shouts.

He sighs. How many more evenings of this will he have to endure?

Though, he reminds himself- this may always be his last.

The thought makes Jamil chuckle as he's handed a hot dish and a clean fork. He can only stop to smell the roses for so long, so there's no chance of savoring such an exquisitely prepared meal before he's off to another part of the kitchen.

Just as the fork digs into the food, the dish slips out of his hand and shatters on the kitchen floor. Everyone falls silent.

His eyes widen. "How- ugh. My apologies,"

Now this is just getting ridiculous. How clumsy can he get in one evening? He's usually much more careful...

"Look," the head chef says, the whole kitchen crowding around the food as it dissolves.

Jamil's stomach lurches. Cyanide. It has to be. If he'd eaten that dish right there and then...

The kitchen is swiftly cleared out, and he's sent back to the lounge.

it only gets stranger from there.

What Jamil initially wrote off as clumsiness and luck seems to become a pattern-

a flying arrow at the archery range just narrowly misses him when he bends down to fix his sandal.

The al-Asim family tiger (because of course they have one) chooses to toy with a visiting prince rather than him in the courtyard.

A strong draft pushes him on his rear end seconds before a sandbag falls from an under-construction part of the mansion.

He would call it fortune if he believed in such a thing.

By the end of the vacation, everyone is absolutely perplexed by his string of good luck. Jamil isn't unfamiliar with how dangerous his family's position in life is, and he's had his fair share of injuries as a result, but this time all he has to show for it is a slightly lesser sense of annoyance than usual.

It's only the end of the trip where he ponders (unfortunately aloud) about the string of coincidences, and the beads in his pocket.

Kalim goes on to babble about Jamil's "good luck charm" to anyone who will listen, much to his annoyance.

"Oh, I want one too! Can you ask them to make me one, too?" he says, folding his hands in a pleading motion. "It's so pretty!"

"It was a gift. But... I suppose I can ask..." he sighs, and then smiles to himself.

Of course you'll come up with some excuse to say no. Because, for once, this charm is all his.

[jerryandersonsdaughterinlaw]

Abby's physique is not only believable, it's the natural result of her life circumstances.

If anything, her body is refreshingly grounded for a game protagonist, especially compared to most media portrayals of "strong" women with zero visible muscle. Abby looks how she fights: capable, powerful, and real.

Let’s break it down.

• Weight: 170-175 Ibs

• Height: 5'9"

• Model: Colleen Fotsch (female crossfit athlete)

Abby's frame is dense with lean muscle. Muscle is significantly more dense than fat, and takes up less space for the same amount of weight. She carries most of it in her:

• Shoulders and upper back

• Arms (especially triceps/deltoids)

• Glutes and thighs

• Core (abs and obliques)

A woman of her stature and build would easily be in the 170-180 range if she's extremely lean and muscular, like she is in game. Any number much lower than that is unrealistic for the mass she's visibly carrying.

Sooo, what makes Abby’s physique believable?

Well, some women are naturally predisposed to greater muscle mass, broader shoulders, and more mesomorphic (muscular) body types. Abby clearly has broad shoulders, thick muscle insertions, and a dense upper body frame, all markers of a mesomorphic structure. Genetics aren't everything, but they lay the foundation. She clearly trains hard, but she's also built for it.

Mesomorphic bodies are marked by a medium, rectangular frame with more muscle than fat. They have a natural ability to build and maintain muscle mass easily. They often respond well to weight training and are naturally strong, making them well suited for building muscle. Their bodies are more efficient at muscle repair and growth, allowing them to handle higher training volumes without prolonged recovery periods.

The WLF operates in a repurposed NFL stadium. Real world NFL gyms are loaded with equipment for powerlifting, strength, endurance, and functional movement. That would give Abby perfect access to functional hypertrophy (muscle building for real world performance). She's also a soldier, patrolling, climbing, hauling gear, and likely trains daily. Her life is CrossFit.

Unlike most of the world in TLOU, the WLF is self sufficient and well fed. They have livestock, crops, butcher shops, bakeries, and overflow tables of food in the mess hall. Abby likely eats a high protein, calorie dense diet every day: meat, eggs, grains, vegetables, fruit, dairy. Nutrition is crucial for building and maintaining lean mass. Without it, the training wouldn't produce these results.

People often forget Abby is 20-23 years old in TLOU2, but she's been training for years before the game begins. She was raised in a Firefly environment, began training with the WLF long before we see her, and clearly has a consistent routine. You don't look like that overnight, but with 4-7 years of consistent strength training and proper nutrition; yes, a woman can absolutely build a body like that. Being a mesomorphic body type would help her achieve this faster as well, because that body structure is able to bulk up and maintain muscle mass easily. 4 years would probably get her most of the way there and then beyond that would be maintenance and muscle maturity.

In flashbacks, as a teen, she's much smaller, but she still has broad shoulders, a narrow waist, a fairly straight build, and crucially, she's already strong, bragging about pushing 185Ibs as an adolescent. That's already impressive, especially for someone who hasn't really built visible muscle mass yet. That shows she has a naturally strong nervous system and leverage, two things that make people strong before they ever look muscular. Many women (and men) get strong long before they look strong. Muscle appearance is slower to come than strength gains.

Young Abby is lean and athletic, not jacked, and she still lifts well above bodyweight. That's still realistic. Beginners and youth athletes often make neurological strength gains first— learning to recruit the right muscles better. So her teenage bench press is actually very plausible and a hint at just how strong her baseline was before she bulked up in her 20s. Once she's older, with more food, training, and stress adaptation? Her visible muscle mass simply catches up to her strength.

Abby's strength, build, and genetics are all grounded in realism. She's not the strongest woman in the WLF. She's definitely not the strongest person overall. She is genetically built for pressing power and upper body strength. She's been training for years with resources. She's had steady food, gym access, and reason to train for survival.

Most of the "unrealistic" accusations come from:

• Male insecurity ("a woman can't be stronger than me!")

• Misunderstanding of female biology and anatomy

• Inexperience with athletic women (like CrossFitters, weightlifters, bodybuilders)

In reality, there are plenty of real life women who look like Abby, including her body model Colleen Fotsch, who is not on steroids. She's just a professional athlete that trains hard, eats well and has good genetics. Her look isn't "average," but neither is the situation Abby is in. She's a hardened, experienced soldier in a well resourced militia.

Some real world examples of women who look like Abby:

• Colleen Fotsch (Abby's body model)

• Kelsey Kiel (CrossFit athlete)

• Mattie Rogers (Olympic weightlifter)

• Natasha Aughey (bodybuilder)

• Tia-Clair Toomey (6x Fittest Woman on Earth in

CrossFit)

• @foreverabby (Professional badass)

None of these women are on steroids. They're disciplined, well fed, and genetically built for performance. And they look very much like Abby.

Abby's physique is not only believable, but grounded in realism, if you understand physiology, training, and the world she lives in. If Joel had a big, muscular frame, nobody would question it. But because Abby is a woman with visible muscle mass, it makes certain men uncomfortable and they use "unrealistic" as a proxy for "I don't like it." But make no mistake, Abby's body is entirely achievable. And it makes sense for her role, her training, and her story.

[rajdeep-engineering]

Rajdeep Advanced Grain Handling Systems

Elevate your agricultural operations with Rajdeep's Advanced Grain Handling Systems. Engineered to optimize efficiency and safety, our systems streamline the process from storage to transportation. Ensure peak performance and reliability with Rajdeep.

[daily-delight]

Maximizing Agricultural Efficiency: Exploring the Grain Handling System

In the intricate tapestry of modern agriculture, the grain handling system stands as a linchpin, orchestrating the seamless movement of grains from field to storage with precision and efficiency. This vital system encompasses a suite of equipment and processes designed to optimize every facet of grain management, ensuring minimal loss and maximal yield.

At the heart of agricultural productivity lies the harvest, where the journey of grain handling begins. Employing cutting-edge machinery such as combine harvesters, farmers efficiently reap the fruits of their labor from expansive fields. This initial step sets the stage for the subsequent stages of the grain handling process.

Storage represents a cornerstone of the grain handling system, necessitating facilities that provide optimal conditions for preserving grain quality. Silos, bins, and warehouses equipped with state-of-the-art temperature and moisture control mechanisms ensure that grains retain their integrity and nutritional value over extended periods, safeguarding against spoilage and loss.

Transportation emerges as a pivotal stage in the grain handling continuum, demanding reliable conveyance systems to ferry vast quantities of grains from field to storage or processing facilities. Belt conveyors, screw conveyors, and pneumatic conveyors serve as stalwart allies, facilitating the safe and efficient movement of grains while mitigating the risk of damage or contamination.

The advantages conferred by an efficient grain handling system are manifold. By minimizing losses attributable to spoilage, damage, or inefficiencies in handling, farmers can optimize their yields and bolster their bottom lines. Moreover, the streamlining of grain handling processes engenders broader operational efficiencies, freeing resources and attention for other critical aspects of agricultural enterprise.

Beyond mere storage, the grain management system encompasses ancillary processes crucial for maintaining grain quality and marketability. Grain cleaners diligently expunge impurities such as dust and chaff, while grain dryers staunchly combat excess moisture, thwarting the insidious advance of mold and decay.

In summation, the grain handling system emerges as an indispensable linchpin in the tapestry of modern agriculture. Through the integration of advanced equipment and meticulous processes, farmers and grain handlers can orchestrate the seamless movement of grains with unparalleled efficiency, ensuring the continued prosperity and sustainability of the agricultural sector.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy holidays! Dealers choice?

a continuation of 1

The young Lord de Bois returns with the same uptight lord as before and a young dark skinned man who’s grinning like this is the funniest thing he’s ever seen. They disappear into the blacksmith’s home along with several other men and Mrs. Cole, who’s husband’s been dead for thirty years and who apparently remembers a time two lords past when things were handled differently.

They don’t emerge for the rest of the day, candles bright in the cracks of the shutters to show that they’re working through the night. It’s almost noon the next morning when the village assembles to hear what’s been decided

Merlin still isn’t allowed to look, but he sneaks glances anyway. He wishes he could get a better look at Lord de Bois, but there are several people in his way, almost deliberately keeping him from view. He wonders what his mother promised them to get them to do that.

“My father,” Lord de Bois sighs, “has decided that if I’m old enough to complain about how things are handled then I’m old enough to handle them myself. Ealdor is now under my purview and authority, which means we’re going to have to turn a profit here if it kills me.”

Great. How does he expect to do that here? He might as well just execute people now if he’s planning on starving them slowly. He’d seemed to know better, before, but now that it’s his neck on the line he’s apparently a lot less sympathetic.

“And it might,” says a new voice, probably the dark skinned man Lord de Bois has brought along.

“Shut up, Elyan,” Lord de Bois says, just for a moment reminding Merlin that they’re nearly the same age. “We’ve worked up a new plan for mining for ore and replanting the fields – the soil’s exhausted and it’s all too far from the river. We’re going to have to set up an irrigation system as well.”

They know that. They’ve always known that. It’s just that there’s nothing to be done about when the time lost to start again would mean they lose out on a whole season of crops, since the ground is too cold to do much of anything in the winter and they don’t have the people do any of that and get food in and out of the ground.

There’s stirrings of discontent and it’s Will, of course, who shouts, “Who’s going to be doing all that? We need to eat ourselves, not waste time feeding you too!”

“You little,” hisses the lord from before and there’s again the sound of a sword being drawn.

“Enough, Gregory,” Lord se Bois snaps before addressing them. “Unfortunately, I am now required to put my money where my mouth is. I’ll be covering your taxes this year to the king and providing grain to make up for the lost food while we work out these changes. Your debt now is not to the king, but to me. I’ll be coming back frequently to check on your progress.”

Merlin pinches himself, sure he’s dreaming. Who does this? It’s crazy. It’s ridiculous.

It might actually work.

“You can’t just let them take and get nothing in return,” Gregory says angrily. “Don’t be stupid about this.”

“Too late for that,” Elyan says. “Why don’t you take someone to work at the castle? Their wages can be put to the town’s debt.”

Lord de Bois sighs. “Why would I take someone useful from here when I’m trying to get all this done?”

“Take someone useless, then,” Elyan suggests.

Oh no.

“Alright then. Who here is useless?” he calls out, clearly mocking.

Merlin’s ears burn as he feels the weight of far too many people’s gazes. It’s not his fault! His magic just makes things – complicated.

“Wow,” Lord de Bois says, laughter running through his voice. “Move aside then. Show me this useless person.”

His mother tenses at his side as people shift and then Merlin is staring down at a pair leather boots that are probably worth more than everything he’s ever touched combined.

“Who’re you, then?”

He’s not supposed to move or speak or look at anyone, but surely his mother can’t expect him to ignore a lord. “Merlin.”

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Merlin.” He snaps his head up and is immediately caught up in the brightest blue eyes he’s ever seen. “Are you useless?”

His face burns and he shrugs.

“He’s young, my lord,” his mother says carefully, and Merlin can’t help but feel guilty over the way her voice wavers.

Lord de Bois’s face softens. “You’re his mother, then?”

She dips into a curtsy. “Hunith, if it pleases my lord.”

“Hunith,” he says, “don’t worry. He’ll be fine at the castle. Being my servant isn’t that difficult.”

His what?

“Your servant?” Gregory sputters. “Every time your uncle assigns you one, you fire them for incompetence!”

“Well,” Lord de Bois says, “then he’ll at least be in good company.”

Elyan walks over and claps Merlin in the arm hard enough that he stumbles. “Good luck.”

Lord de Bois rolls his eyes and Merlin considers how his he should really be careful what he wishes for.

He’s going to get plenty of chances to look at Lord de Bois, apparently.

~

His mother lectures him over and over again about keeping his magic to himself, about how they’ll try and control him and abuse him and turn it into something terrible and dangerous if they know what he can do. He really can’t do much of anything, but he nods and agrees and lets her kiss his face.

They don’t have a horse to spare, so he rides with Elyan. Gregory takes the lead, angrily muttering to himself the whole time and Elyan leans over and whispers to Lord de Bois, “We could just make him walk back. He might run out of steam by then.”

“We’re not going to get that lucky,” he sighs.

The ride is shorter than Merlin had feared, which is good because he’s not used to riding. They enter the city just after nightfall and they pull the gates open as soon as they catch sigh of them. Several people brighten and wave when they see Elyan and Lord de Bois, although they duck away from Gregory.

There’s an actual castle. Merlin is being taken to a real castle. It feels fake and he’s walking inside one.

“ARTHUR!” a high pitched, childish voice yells out as the sound of small feet come running.

“Excuse me, my lord,” Gregory says, beating a hasty retreat.

“Is he running from a little girl?” Merlin asks, too surprised to keep silent like he’s supposed to.

“She doesn’t put up with him like we do,” Elyan answers.

What?

“Arthur! You’re back!” shouts a girl who can’t be older than six with brown eyes and curly brown hair.

Lord de Bois scoops her up in his arms. “I told you I would be.”

“You lie,” she says promptly, wrapping her arms around his neck. Merlin finds himself pinned by her narrowed eyes and understands Gregory a little better. “Who’s this?”

Lord de Bois – Arthur, apparently, since now there’s more than one Lord de Bois to keep track of – says, “This is Merlin. He’s going to be my servant. Merlin, this is my cousin, Amabel de Bois.”

Before Merlin can figure out how to greet a child lady, she says, “Hi Merlin. I’m a witch.”

Uh.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Stop telling people that.” Merlin relaxes. “You’re going to be a sorceress, but only if you study very hard and listen to your mother. You don’t think she became a high priestess without listening to her tutors, do you?”

Merlin tries very hard to not make any sort of expression at all.

“Yes,” Amabel says promptly.

 Arthur makes a face. “Well, maybe, I wouldn’t put it past her, but you have to listen. You haven’t even stabbed any of them with a sword, I don’t know why you’re going through so many.”

“She lit the last one on fire,” Elyan says. “Honestly, between the two of you it’s a shock that any of them are willing to step foot in the castle.”

He shrugs. “Well, my aunt and uncle are very scary. Dad’s not, but that’s what he has them for.”

This is so much worse than he’d feared. Keeping his magic a secret among a bunch of nobles was going to be bad enough, but a high priestess? And a kid training to be a sorceress?

Merlin has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

[derww]

the thing that bugged me the most after watching the wormhole video is actually that we never got the proper ending for the main plot line that was in it: parrot and spoke's personal relationship.

even though spoke showed that conversation from the end of wormhole, where parrot stood in front of spoke, clutching the handle of the hyperion, and said that he refuses to let people down even if it means he has to sacrifice something very important to him, this does not answer the question hanging in the air. from the point of view of the narrator, after losing op, parrot seems to lose his autonomy, both as an antagonist and, more importantly, as spoke's best friend, after spoke himself talked almost exclusively about their friendship for an hour, both as characters and, first of all, as real people.

"i didnt just exploit a game, i exploited a friendship i had built over the years.". speaking about both parrot and mapicc, spoke mentions several separate times how much it went beyond just playing on the server, that he abused their real, actual relationship in order to achieve his goal. at the same time, spoke does not tell what happened between them – both characters and people – after him receiving an op. in the jungle part, parrot literally has almost no lines – he just stares and stares and stares and stares. until the very end of the story, he follows the path that spoke paved for him, living in the conditions created by spoke.

we see only glimpses that everything is actually – at least relatively – fine. not only because parrot continues to play within the game, but also how he complains to spoke about the unfairness of using teleportation and that after the season ending he even suggests for spoke to become the new lifesteal owner. grains that do not reflect full image. was parrot horrified and shocked, was he angry, at least for a moment, when he realized how far spoke's manipulation extended, did they have to somehow solve and discuss it, or was he immediately like, "wow, you made a lot of awesome moves, there will be cool content!" and everything was fine? sure, parrot loves risk moves and adrenalin, but wasnt it too far?

can it even be "okay" if your best friend has been manipulating you for months for a personal goal? does this cross the line of what is truly acceptable, even in a lifesteal setting? even if it's all for the sake of shared content, even if the community has the right mentality, even if no real harm has been done, even if you're willing to trust a friend that he won't cross the line, does all this change the fact that it's, in general morality, just plain cruel?

although this is undoubtedly too personal to just insert into the video, it should be noted when the whole story is about abusing irl friendship. although i absolutely understand this decision, this is by no means a critical review, from the point of view of storytelling it is strikingly incorrect, as if in the middle of writing a book the writer threw out all rules.

of course, this is an important conversation to be had on the whole – with the rules never mentioned out loud, with an unspoken agreement that everyone understands what's going on here and how, and what everyone is signing up for, when the price is friendship and connection, how far is it too far? lsers are friends, to a greater or lesser extent, but it's almost inappropriate to answer "everyone has their limits" when a relationship is at stake. everyone, including spoke himself, agrees that what he did in s4 was too much, but there were many, many other moments where everything was not so clear, and, moreover, there was no discussion, even in private, which never solves the essence of the problem.

lifesteal is not unique, but it is a very rare system in how far people can be willing to go in a war against others, despite the fact that everyone is friends: most of the pre–lifesteal stories of this approach took place on public servers and against strangers, and friends' servers either remained frivolous to one degree or another, or were scripted. post-lifesteal, many servers of a similar kind have appeared, but only a small part of them are comparable in terms of the proximity of the players and the rigidity of the approach, because it is incredibly difficult to simultaneously allow yourself to get involved as deeply as possible and, at the same time, having received a knife in the back, not want to bury the traitor underground. It's about trust, and it's about content, and it's so strikingly different for different people, and there's obviously no right answer here.

when playing league of legends, one of the important skills that every player needs to develop is not to tilt. at the same time, take the game seriously, but be ready to let go of defeat, no matter how much effort you put into the game. don't go crazy when you lose a line and die ten times, and jungler yells at you as the worst possible being. it took me a few years to stop tilting, and it carried over to minecraft too – where my friends got upset, angry, and gave up, i learned to just shrug my shoulders and try again. but that didn't teach me how to deal with betrayal, even in-game, because the worst thing about betrayal is that it always comes from someone close to you. not from an accidental co-player in a match, and not as a simple accident, but as an intention to harm, even if only in the game. it is a lot to take, and the cost is too high. and, while parrot and spoke are still good friends, parrot left owner role because of the distress it gave him, so doesn't it show the presence of a real impact.

i like that we got only half-truth tho. because it is who spoke is. when he needs you to believe him, he says something actually truthful, and then – his lie and manipulation, and you eat it because believe everything to be true. even now, spoke continues to metagame. he's fine with showing that he was a dick, and he's using that to cover a part he never wants to explain. and he wouldn't.

spoke tells the truth saying he liked to do the impossible, but it is not a full answer. while s4 ending was supposed to be a relief for him, an opportunity to stop lying and being a villain, there remains something else – not only the showdown, but the guilt, the realization that you were so wrong that you hide huge chunks and you refuse to get them for another year and a half. when everything ends, when there is nowhere else to run, reflection and awareness remain. a year and a half later, from the season 6, spoke can end the video on a positive note, but for that long-time spoke, who had just released the god from his body, covered with lightning scars everywhere, absolutely not feeling like a winner, it was a bad end, and perhaps for his character, it couldn't be good.

how old was spokeishere when he did all this, 16? there is an irony that he is the worldender, the trickster, the manipulator, and he's the youngest of them all. sometimes i want to call him dumb for not being careful enough or anything else but then i do remember how he played everyone in s4. not in a big picture, but in smalltalks, toying people while they thought him to be completely harmless. spokeishere being smart is like lifesteal having its unspoken rules – you need to be too attentive to see it. often it is like a... circles on the water. you can't see a fallen pebble, but you can see the waves radiating from it. and, in the end, he is the one who did it, who succeeded, and who am i to judge him?

minecraft roleplay can do something very wrong with you, how any acting sometimes can break you apart and turn inside out. because while you are letting yourself feel like it's real, it is, at some capacity, can be real. and while it is a known factor of being an actor, it's not something you do think about when you go to play a game with your friends. sometimes it changes something very, very important in you, and sometimes you look back on that experience and realize that it hurt you. or not. everyone has their unique experiences, as always.

also, we finally found out the reason the fishing spot was so important. not only a place of friendship but also a place of the exploiting! yay!

[overwhelmedfernfrond]

new writing prompt dropped<3

Doors.

Doors being opened and closed, and all their thoughts about it; how they feel about the people walking through them. I think this would be cool<3 Also! Bonus if you make one a pretty door<3 Double bonus if you give one a paint job ( ˶´ ᵕ `˶ )

Tysm for the prompt :)) and sorry this took me so long!! I quite enjoyed writing it and i hope you like reading it <3

Without further ado:

-

They had once been part of a monastery.

Now, they were a dorm wing for a small boarding school.

But, even before then—

Hundreds of millions of years of evolution.

Seeds, the potential for infinite growth.

Young oak trees, reaching towards the sky, the sun.

Ripped violently from their roots.

Chopped down, altered, and installed.

The nuns had been gentle with them. Their century-long half-lives in the monastery had passed uneventfully. Silence stretched through the halls. Though their handles were polished weekly, and they were never jostled, the aire of sanctity perpetual, the doors found themselves… bored?

No, that wasn’t it. They were more so melancholy, swathes of inactivity leaving them to reminisce of an earlier time, when they were not so stagnant, when they had a goal to creep towards, arcing towards the sun…

Cut short, ironically, by humans, the most Icarus-like of species. Poetic justice, some of the trees thought, would be if this whole structure collapsed on—

But now children ran through the halls.

Children, who, like the doors, felt trapped, constrained by a purpose they had not chosen for themselves.

Ow— the children were not so cautious as the nuns— rushing to and fro between their dorm rooms, slipping over hardwood floors, tripping over one another in their haste, and, sometimes, angry. Slammed doors. Scratched. Scathed.

The doors were indignant. They were roughoused for no fault of their own, and this made them bristle. Some creaked in the night, waking the children.

One child, in her youth, in the briefness and the depth of her soul, curled on the floor with her head tented against the oak door of her room. She cried. The door was cold.

It could only be cold.

It wished, distantly, that it could comfort the child, the way the rustling of its leaves would settle the squirrels that clung to its boughs, the way the heat that radiated from its trunk and roots would shelter the creatures of the forest. But this child, all these children, like the doors, were in an unnatural system, a system that made them cry when they were in no physical danger. The children were students and the oaks were doors and they were meant to act that way.

And so the child cried against the polished wood grain, and her tears were warm against the cool varnish, and the door could only be cold. Its sap had left it long ago, lifeblood dried and drained.

The child got up and left, going on with life, and her tears, unnoticed by any other humans, eroded the wood over time, leaving three distinct dark spots on the door.

And time passed.

And decades later, the restoration team painted over the marks, in broad strokes, dark cherry paint, and the doors were once again reminded of the colours of the forest. The blood of nature.

-

Thanks for reading 😌

Hope you enjoyed! And thanks again for the prompt :)

As always, any and all interactions are greatly appreciated :D

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1970 Dodge Challenger T/A

1970 Dodge Challenger T/A Sitting for 45 Years Is a Rare Barn Find in Sublime Green

Introduced in 1969 on the then-new E-body platform, the first-generation Dodge Challenger was a big hit, moving nearly 77,000 units in its first year on the market. And while it may seem rather common, the 1970 Challenger lineup included a few rare gems.

Nearly 73% of the cars were ordered in standard trim, leaving only 18,512 R/T models. Most of the latter left the assembly line with the 383-cubic-inch (6.3-liter) V8, and just 6,231 units were specified with the larger 440-cubic-inch (7.2-liter) RB and 426-cubic-inch (7.0-liter) HEMI mills.

The HEMI is arguably the rarest 1970 Challenger, with only 356 examples made. Just 60 were also ordered with the SE package, and only nine were convertibles. The 440 Six Pack version is also rare at 2,035 examples, while the regular four-barrel 440 found its way into 3,840 vehicles.

But Dodge also built a small-block gem that saw daylight in limited numbers. I'm talking about the Challenger T/A. Developed to homologate the Challenger for the SCCA Trans-Am series, the T/A was available for only a few months in 1970. And its short stint on the assembly line resulted in only 2,399 street-legal models being built and sold.

The T/A packs several unique features, including a low-restriction exhaust system with side-exiting pipes, a larger air scoop, a fiberglass hood, and a heavy-duty suspension. The stripe package is also unique to this car, as is the 340-cubic-inch (5.6-liter) V8 with a triple two-barrel carburetor setup.

An upgrade over the more common four-barrel 340, the Six Pack layout gave the T/A 290 horsepower to play with. And even though it's nowhere near as powerful as the big-block cars, the T/A has a solid advantage in terms of curb weight and handling.

Come 2023, the T/A is one of the most desirable versions of the 1970 Challenger. And while many cars are still around as restored gems, some are rotting away in junkyards and barns, often missing vital components. The Sublime green example you see here is one of them. But unlike other abandoned T/As, this survivor got a second chance at life, and it's roaming the streets again.

Documented by YouTube's "Auto Archaeology," this T/A spent most of its life off the road. According to our host, the Challenger was parked for unknown reasons sometime in 1977. So that's only seven years on the road and more than four decades in storage.

Parked with a four-barrel carburetor instead of the Six Pack setup, it remained in storage in Memphis and Arkansas until 2022. That's when the car was sold and dragged out of its barn. And surprisingly enough, the T/A emerged in surprisingly solid condition.

Sure, the Sublime paint has faded away, and the black vinyl top is long gone, but the body is straight and almost rust-free. There's some rust on the trunk floor, but it's an easy fix with a regular Challenger pan, which is relatively easy to find.

The engine bay was empty at the time of the rescue, but the car still had the original block. And even though the Six-Pack carb was gone, it came with a period correct unit. The driveshaft, air cleaner, automatic gearbox, and the original wheels (which are very rare) were still with the car.

Speaking of which, the automatic makes this T/A one of 1,410 vehicles built with this drivetrain combo. The vinyl top decreases that number even more. It's unclear if it came with a V1G gator grain top, but if it did, it's one of only 33 T/As built like this.

But the really good news about this Challenger is that it has since been revamped and put back on the road. It hasn't been restored just yet, but it's not a solid survivor that's no longer rotting away in a barn. And that's a win in my book.

[wolveswithhats]

We've talked at length about Kaz Brekker: Hot or Not, now let's talk about how Dirtyhands Does Himself Dirty, aka Kaz is driving his absolute beater of a body into the ground because he has no sense of personal wellness.

Welcome! and thanks for sitting in on my powerpoint presentation, there's a bottle of water under your seat and this complimentary crap art of the creature himself to get us started.

Disclaimer that I have no experience with using a cane, or being a teenage boy, or being a teenage boy that uses a cane, so take this all with a grain of salt.

SO. Cane height:

too tall and you're over-elevating your arm and shoulder and not able to fully support your weight, which is kind of the point?

too short and you need to hunch forward, straining your back

either or has negative bearing on your balance, posture, and gait, and will lead to pain even outside of the original injury site

Important to note because Kaz is def not getting properly sized for a cane right??

that's way too much of an admission of vulnerability and weakness, absolutely unacceptable

it's 1880-whatever fantasy Netherlands and WebMD doesn't exist for him to research the nuances of proper cane use himself, when will the Grisha invent the internet

stealing textbooks from the university is the period-appropriate (and Kaz-endorsed) option, but he has to be mobile for that, and is unlikely to ask someone to do that for him (see above: vulnerability)

it's been three years and growth spurts are a thing but Kaz asking for help is not (see above: weakness), so it's probable he's too tall for it now at 17 anyway

While super cool and iconic, a crow's head handle is unlikely to be particularly ergonomic, potentially leading to issues in his hand/wrist:

nerve compression

tendinitis

carpal tunnel

(Something probably to be said about the negative effects of an extra heavy weighted cane as well since it's as much a weapon as it is a mobility aid, but I'm not going down yet another research hole, I've already spent way too much time on this. Just keep it as a consideration in this running tally of Kaz's myriad of cane-related issues)

Contrary to the reputation he's trying to build for himself, Kaz is a human with human needs. On the daily, as a growing lad he should be

sleeping 8-10 hours

eating 2000+ calories

getting 30-60 min of physical activity

In actuality, Kaz is

absolutely not doing that, he will sleep when he's dead

surviving almost entirely off of a diet of coffee and spite

further aggravating his leg by hobbling up and down three rickety flights of stairs several times a day

engaging in the major league sport of cracking skulls with his cane. (that's some form of exercise maybe I guess??)

really bad at being anything approaching a healthy teenage boy (they eat! so, so much. please, someone Feed Him)

Additionally, while poking around, I found some overlap between the symptoms of the Queen's Lady Plague and smallpox, notably that one of the early stages of smallpox are sores that start in the mouth and throat and become pustulous, ie: Kaz's raspy, damaged voice. I don't think it's smallpox proper (the pitted scarring is so disfiguring that it would be all over his face and body, and immediately identifiable if he had it), it's probably a less aggressive but still very fatal strain of something adjacent in the pox family. Regardless tho, I'm cribbing one of the potential smallpox complications to contribute to my "Kaz is the Saddest, Wettest Dog" thesis: 

arthritis 🙃

I did check as well to see if any of the poxes could permanently weaken the immune system, and it wouldn't seem so; if you live, you bounce back. But that's ok because Kaz is already doing the footwork of taking a wrecking ball to his immune system just fine on his own:

poor nutrition ✔

lack of sleep ✔

stress ✔

Mmm, you are just crushing it, brother.

So I'm not trying to pitch any of this as fact, or throw hands with Leigh Bardugo in the parking lot of a Denny's for having Inej ogle over his ghostly white abs. If you are writing about his broad shoulders and good, good arms, all the more power to you! Maybe he's lifting dumbbells in his office to work that upper bod, no one can tell you he's not. I'm just saying that if you are more for the idea that he is an absolute wet paperbag of a boy (scrawny! sickly! in constant pain! arthritic?? likely to burst into flames if put into direct sunlight!!), there is more than enough to run with to support that argument.