#hospital kiosk

[sublux]

honestly very funny how much i've gotten done today. and the fact that it correlates with having vyvanse again. lol

[ashifkh]

The Rise and Future of Self-Service Hospital Kiosks

Self-service hospital kiosks are transforming patient experiences by streamlining administrative tasks and improving operational efficiency. These kiosks allow patients to check in, update personal information, pay bills, and access medical records without the need for direct human interaction. The rise of self-service technology in healthcare is driven by the increasing demand for faster, more efficient processes and the need to reduce the burden on medical staff. As technology advances, the future of hospital kiosks will likely include features like AI-driven assistance, multilingual support, and advanced data security measures. These innovations aim to enhance patient satisfaction, reduce waiting times, and provide a seamless healthcare journey.

Read the full blog: Self service Hospital Kiosks

Key Benefits and Future Trends:

Enhanced Patient Experience: Faster check-ins and reduced wait times.

Operational Efficiency: Automates administrative tasks, freeing up staff for critical care.

Data Accuracy: Reduces human errors by allowing patients to input information directly.

AI Integration: Future kiosks may use artificial intelligence for personalized assistance and advanced diagnostics.

Remote Access: Patients may soon be able to interact with kiosks virtually for pre-visit check-ins.

Improved Data Security: Incorporating biometric authentication and advanced encryption.

[panashifzco]

Hospital Kiosk

Click to know more: https://panashi.ae/hospital-solution.html

Give your patients the best healthcare experience possible with Panashi's smart hospital system.

Our innovative smart hospital system includes a bedside station terminal, check-in and patient guide kiosk, hospital mobile app, interior navigation within the hospital grounds, and asset tracking.

[superbharmonytrash]

  Hospitality kiosk Digitos.org

Self-service kiosks are widely used in the hospitality industry to provide guests with a convenient and efficient experience. Some common uses of self-service kiosks in hospitality include:

Check-in/Check-out: guests can check-in and check-out using self-service kiosks, reducing the need for them to wait in line for assistance from hotel staff.

Room Service: guests can place room service orders using self-service kiosks, allowing them to view menu options, make selections, and track the status of their order.

Information and Services: guests can access information about hotel amenities, local attractions, and services using self-service kiosks, or request assistance from hotel staff.

Loyalty Programs: guests can enroll in or track their loyalty rewards programs, or redeem points for upgrades, lounge access, or other benefits.

Payment and Billing: guests can use self-service kiosks to pay for their stay, view their bill, or make changes to their payment method.

The use of self-service kiosks in the hospitality industry can help improve operational efficiency, reduce wait times, and enhance the guest experience. It can also allow hotels to gather valuable data about guest behavior and preferences, which can inform business decisions and marketing strategies.

READ MORE....Self Service Kiosk | Digitos

[twistedpink]

Who’s your valentine? @/cafekitsune banner

And the spinner says…

Malleus + complicated + coparenting (modern!au, ~1000 words)

You never thought you’d stoop to this level- the dignified manager of a strip mall Spellphora reduced to this. Crying your eyes out to a telenovela with bad subtitles and an even worse plot. Totally freaking alone on valentines day. It’s your own fault, really. Maybe it’s all the karmic debt you’ve accumulated for working in a chain, or, maybe you need to manifest Malleus Draconia getting hit by a hoverboard harder! Bring on the subliminals, baby!!

That scandalously pretty (and formal in the same way a middle schooler with a briefcase is) Wand Topic goth held your teenage servicing heart and crushed it between his glossy acrylics.

You’re taking it back,, The hangouts, the free samples, and active use of your fucking email for anything but work! It’s all going in your flippy top Kuromi trash can (curtesy of he who shall not be named), and out of your stupid head!

Your notes app is full of amateur poetry and movie recommendations that you would never watch by yourself, because they’re all dumb and you hate it. You hate the whole five pages! But he made them good in the moment. With his cheating fairy makeup magic and inappropriately expensive earrings- he could make anything sound good. Why are all your situationships so profoundly dramatic and sad? Has no one heard of the casual fling to fifty year marriage pipeline??

At this point you wish he hexed you, then your insurance would fund some old fashioned retail therapy, but on your fourth Valentine’s Day alone it hits you. Maybe your shitty ex wasn’t that shitty. God, maybe he was right! All those burnt vapes gave him the clairvoyance to yell a prophecy at your kiosk before he stormed off with a barely safe amount of clearance lipgloss-

“You’re the problem”. (Subtracting the colourful language, obvi) And the only respite for your five month celibacy streak is the freezer burnt ice cream you’re shoving down your sorry gullet,, It’s not like it matters! If you get your way, he’ll never show his face again. As anyone in your position would, you sigh melodramatically into your teeny-tiny living room.

it feels so good that you dare doing it again, despite your uppity next door neighbours.

And the third one (which was going to be the best!) is cut off by a clunky knock at your storm door- it’s way too rainy to get mugged by the knee knocking cartel, but you open it anyways on the off chance Amazon has a gift for you. You cross your fingers for a hunky delivery man, ready to whisk you away from Netflix and mope!

But it’s not, because it just so happens goths are historically terrible at not moping- You look the soaking wet, insufferably sexy Malleus Draconia top to bottom in feigned judgement. From the tip of his embroidered Nurse Martens to the peak of his ebony horns catching rain like a Soda bottle to condensation, and back down to his hands cradling a travel crate like his life depends on it.

Damn, you’d still let him hit no matter what Cater says about his “Victorian girdle”..

“If I may join your evening to share it’s warmth with Gao-Gao, he would be quite grateful.”

And because you’re an aching hearted freak for wittle wizards (totally not to resolve your aching loins) (or the satisfaction of putting that self Defense baseball bat in action), you welcome the guys in with hospitality that would make Snow White weep

“Uh.. Duh! Sure, whatever. I have fresh towels. You probably still know where they are, haha..”

He gives you a grateful nod when you step aside, and the way he unfurls to full height after hunching over his precious cargo is always monstrously hot. You send yourself scrambling for the space heater (still very much vibrating from the inside, with a little ice cream crusted on your lip), no matter how embarrassed you are, Gao-Gao does not deserve to die from the cold! Malleus told you once the gecko intends on going to Valhalla, and you insisted he’s owed it for being such a good boy! (you’re also inclined to agree with any man that has a ninety degree jawline)

Gao-Gao nuzzles against your pinkie affectionately when you put some powdered feed into his crate. He ate three days ago- and you know that because you’re his pet sitter. Holding onto the little guy was easy when Malleus was away- but on pickup when his little brother showed up he thanked you. Said that Malleus didn’t have any other friends, and you couldn’t just leave him to the “adult loneliness” wolves.. So you hung out with him for awhile, and he only got cuter. That’s where it exploded in your face.

It was never his fault. You just got a bad case of the feels- on a little work party when you got hammered, Malleus took the brunt of it. Cater cheered you on in your sexless, drunken rage so well that you just blocked the guy,, And you have no idea why he’s here now.

“So,,, what’s wrong? Why’d you show up?”

“I understand I was unable to text your phone, but we had scheduled a “hanging out”, and now we can resume watching cinema! Gao-Gao is very excited with the prospect.”

You let the silence linger- and not to be mean, either. You’re just marinating in your drunk stupidity. Poor Malleus has no clue what’s going on! His own phone goes out all the time, and it’s not like you canceled, or even officially quit.. This is the worst. Not even your last breakup (pretty bad), or telling Cater that he was demoted (he literally asked to step down. Still sucked) measures up. THIS is rock bottom.

But, you’re used to being on the bottom. From scraping your way out of college only to land some mall-cop ass job better suited to someone in their teens, and all those infamously bad guys you’ve groveled to. Only Malleus (sweet, old man in a young body Malleus) bothered to spend the time reteaching you that you deserve to be spoiled- you deserve friends, and fun, and so many more pet sitting gigs with pintrestable animals.

You’re worth it. Even if it’s complicated, even if you can’t have him the way you want right now, you’ve got the rest of your life to pull it off!

(And to unblock him. That’s probably a good idea.) So for tonight you’ll enjoy the temporary simplicity, and have an unforgettable time with your best friends.

“Yeah! Let’s totally watch some “cinema”, Mally. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Ah! A Happy Valentines to you as well!”

God this is scary!!!!!!!! I’ve never done an event before, so please leave some comments abt your feelings with it! Much love, thanks for reading <3

(My amazing beta reader @/Echosofmortality helped SO much with getting this published!)

[kiwisoap]

At Hopital (taking grandma to get her kidney stent changed) and can I just say how much I loathe "self check-in" kiosks at hospitals and medical centers. Please just have a human being ask the questions so they can clarify instead of us having to turn around to the receptionist 5 times in a row

[ariathelamia]

Hellhound HRT Month 9.5, (4 month Wolf, 5.5 month Hellhound)

Warning: This story gets a bit dark at the end.

Tic Tacs and New Clothes… 

Well… This little segment is gonna be hard to remember…. but remember I must… … since I myself… actually am unable to write or record anything right now but… ngh… better recount the steps on what got me into this predicament… 

So there I was, strolling down the shopping street of Hyper City, slurping some cold soda I got from the restaurant since I really needed something to keep me cool today. Since I pretty much burned through all my favorite shirts and tops except for this one, trying to get a hang on that flaming core of mine. Speaking of! Something I noticed about the fur on my chest is that some of it started to get REALLY solid… From the looks of it, the texture it’s taking on really reminds me of what Nyarlathotep and Mars have on their heads… I believe I remember Mars calling it a “crest”, another sign that I myself am not just becoming any kinda hellhound… but an Eldritch one. Don’t think I ever heard of something like that existing, which means there’s no one I can really ask about what to expect but to be fair… when was this ever the case in my transition, ever since I did that ritual. I shrug to myself, thinking that hey, just gotta be the first one so I can teach others that might choose this down the line~ sorta like Felic- i mean Felix that helped me figure out how to work my tail. Thinking about that just made me kinda excited, and I just had to give that pill bottle in my pocket a little tab… why was I so goddamn stupid to bring it with me… 

I decided to go get some tic tacs at a kiosk, was craving sweets that day like crazy! 

Putting those in my left pocket I strolled down the street, without a care when I accidentally bumped into someone…. A woman, not much taller than I was in a blue dress, I got worried that I might have hurt her… maybe she bumped into my chest? I didn't know so I sprung up and helped her. Looks like i wasn’t the first person she bumped into today, and she decided to be kind enough to suddenly and unexpectedly pat the dirt off my pants and shirt. I was trying my best to keep her hand that was patting my shirt from accidentally touching my crest so she didn’t cut or burn herself. After she was satisfied she stood straight, dusted herself off as well and then looked me in the eyes… something about them was odd… they were kinda… glassy, oh god was she about to cry?... no it seemed different... (Of course it felt different-... that's when it must have happened-... god i was such an idiot.. AM such an idiot-... urgh… focus FOCUS!!) 

We… said our goodbyes and she left down the road smiling… I sighed, put my hand into my right pocket and pulled out the little tic tac bottle… popped two into my mouth and-... god they tasted weird…  still sweet but something about them was off… they melted quickly and i decided to just shrug it off to my taste being different now, and headed to my destination.

A friend of mine told me how, when she transitioned into a Lamia, she definitely needed some fitting clothes that also kept her warm and mobile, and found this pretty awesome place that apparently other people she knew frequented and keeps all kinds of pretty cool clothes for pretty much any kinda therian out there.  So yeah i hoped they also had something fireproof that doesn’t melt or burn away, but also got more style than that stupid blue and gray hospital shirt they gave me in bulk…

So yeah I ended up finding that place pretty quickly, the “Heart Mender Boutique”. Looked pretty neat from the outside… but something made my hair stand up for a second when I decided to enter…  By now I could already tell, something bigger hid in this place. But I just shrugged it off, popped a few more tic tacs from my dispenser I grabbed out of my right pocket.. must have been like… 10 or 12 at once… after all the first two pretty much disappeared right away. That same shiver ran through my body again and I had to stop myself from gagging… even though the taste didn't seem so bad?? damn my body was getting weird (... getting weird my ass…) …. Anyway I looked around for a second by myself, checking some of the strange designs they had, some of these shirts were HUUUUGE, others really freaking tiny… some had extra sleeves for wings or extra arms… some were a bit more loose which probably could fit some nice amount of furr in, without pressing it all against your body… pant’s with tail holes… clothes that were waterproof… there were even some labeled to be “Shapeshift resistant”... still wonder how THAT works… but i couldn’t really find the fireproof ones… if they even had any… so I had decided to look around for some customer service… Didn’t take me long to find some that seemed to know what they were doing. There was a older woman, dressed in a lavender dress and a purple overcoat, neat dark purple hairstyle and a certain skin complexion that i just couldn’t remember the name of, even if i tried, who did later introduce herself as Willow, talking to another, younger employee with messy long hair and a clothing style that was quite more my kinda thing, which i would find out is called Samara. I approached the two since I weirdly felt even the slightest bit of a connection to them in my gut, waving to the two and interrupting their talk.

As it turned out I hit the jackpot since Willow was apparently one of the owners of the store, who was quite happy to help me out. Not that the other one wasn’t giving me a few looks up and down, already checking me out to probably see what kinda clothes could fit… though now that i think back on it… she did seem a bit tense after i approached… just like willow… but i just wrote it off to having been suddenly pulled out of their conversation by a hellhound with a smoking hot top… literally. Anyway after I put out the smolder on my shirt, I got led to a section of the store I must have missed before. She showed me how some of these clothes here were worn by all kinds of species with a bit more heat to go around… elementals, dragons… and apparently we also found something that seemed to be quite a fit for me. Some neat shirts with logos of bands and places I never heard of… but seemed to be popular where Willow came from. Turns out these were apparently styles from, what i knew as the “Sonic and Shadow” franchise, which i formerly thought were simply video games… leave it to Hyper City’s connection to basically every kinda dimension to make you realize that… reality is a lot more wobbly than you thought, (and that comes from someone who’s been pulled through eldritch dimensions).  While I was picking out some clothes, with the help of Willow and Samara, having a nice chat with them about our… quite similar experiences when it came to interactions with other citizens, we were approached by a third person… A man that looked about the age of Willow, his hair was slightly graying, styled in dreadlocks with a few golden ornaments, glasses just like Willow… a large loose overcoat with simple beige pants and a black shirt. Now with all three around me I couldn't help but notice that… the feeling I had when I stepped into this building was largely coming from the presence these three gave off… I meant to mention it in our talk but… well lets just say the man who introduced himself as Dominic, apparently the husband of Willow, seemed to be quiet… intrigued by me… as in… he started to hide his real intend of “interviewing” me, with casual smalltalk and a lot of questions. He was very formal.. like.. uncomfortably so, but that's probably just a me thing since formality to me is just uninteresting behavior… I usually keep stuff close to the chest and speak my mind as thought. Anyway he asked me a bunch of stuff about my transition, how it’s going, what kinda other changes could be expected so that we could look for clothing that has those in mind… I didn't know it was just odd to me so I kept the fact I clocked them as other eldritch beings to myself for now. They were very good at hiding that fact but… I have been around mars and that stupid tentacle bitch enough to be able to kinda.. feel that connection and recognize it, even if it is as well hidden as theirs is.

Why did I hide it? … Well my record with eldritch has been 50/50 right now, and i don’t know if these are like mars who transitioned… or like Nyarlarthotep who were born this way and i didn’t wanna get more eyes like THAT on me… 

I tried to keep my answers as short and truthful as I can, while still just trying to pick out some clothes for myself. They were nice overall but that could be just a charade… maybe… urgh i hate how paranoid i have become… if only i had talked to them more openly… maybe what happened later could have been prevented… maybe they could have helped out now… 

I did end up buying a bunch of clothes to replace those i lost, taking a quick look at the “looking for part timers” poster behind the counter and putting that at the back of my head, and popped a few more tic tacs since damn, all that talking and questioning and finding out made the sugar craving pop up again. I did get a quite confused look from Samara who was packing the clothes when I did that… Asking me if that’s normal… I did raise an eyebrow myself, holding out the now almost empty pack of tic tacs to her and asking if she wanted one… she declined quite profusely and just finished packing the bag and handed it to me… maybe she’s allergic?... Are eldritch allergic to tic tacs? WILL I BE ALLERGIC TO THEM? IS THAT WHY THEY TASTED SO FUNNY?!... It’s kinda embarrassing what mental gymnastics i did there…

I grabbed one of those store cards with me and waved them goodbye, vowing to return for some more clothes once I get more money…. I hope I can still keep that vow…. 

Everything seemed perfect… I got a bunch of new clothes… met some quite nice people… had no ill run in with a pedestrian calling me slurs or a danger… and i even finished my pack of tic tacs… I had put my new clothes into my home, actually put one on ‘cause the one I was wearing had a couple burn holes by now… weird how that happened even though i had made sure to keep myself calm and happy at best… anyway i decided to do one last stroll through hyper city to end the day… best decision I made cause otherwise I’d probably be homeless after this. 

While strolling through the streets I ended up noticing that… my legs felt really bad.. like.. they hurt quite a bit so i decided to find a place to sit down… ended up walking into an old skate park i knew was around the corner.. plenty of benches and space here. I was texting my Therapist about the day, her name is Amber, it’s the one Mars frequently goes to and recommended to me. For someone who works with Erian she’s actually quite nice and really helpful! Though while texting my phone suddenly seemed to overheat… luckily i managed to send her a last message about where i’m headed for the night, just to finish off my report of the task she gave me to get those clothes and get some sense of normalcy. 

That's when things got bad… Not only did my phone overheat.. it started to melt in my hand! that's a baaaaaaad sign of overheating for me.. I quickly dropped it to keep the damage minimal and to the casing alone, can’t afford to burn through another-.. and did a check on my core. It was BLINDINGLY bright after i removed the shirt… how did i not notice that?! How did I not notice how hot I was actually getting!? I looked behind me and noticed the smoking smoldering footprints I left behind me and panicked… I NEVER got THAT hot before. I looked down, noticing not only that I pretty much burned off my pants and boots, which were  sadly not AS fire resistant as my top, but also that… I was literally melting the concrete ground beneath me. This is bad… really bad. I did here the clattering of my tic tac pac which must have just fallen through the remains of my pocket, when I noticed something that shook me to the core. In front of my very eyes, that tic tac bottle seemed to shift- INTO THE BOTTLE THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO HOLD MY HRT MEDS!

How was this- why !? Empty!? when- the tic tacs- oh no… no no no no no NO NO NO!!!!

With that realization… came the pain… like my body was finally allowed to register things again. At a very bad time. The heat was disastrously painful… I felt like I passed out and got jolted up by it alone multiple times before I even hit the floor… hit the floor? When was I even falling… Why couldn’t I feel my feet anymore?!

That question got answered the second I looked down… My feet had literally broken off by the ankles, as I was looking at the crumbling bits of paw formed ashes that used to be MY paws. I clutched my chest as I heard the park's sprinkler system spring to life, though the water even didn’t make it halfway to my body to give me that sweet release of cold I so desperately craved by this point. The park quickly filled up with a thick fog of smoke and steam… and I could feel myself slowly sinking into the ever melting ground beneath me.

By then I also started to lose the feeling in my hands that were clutching my chest… I looked at the slowly graying claws and fingers that broke off of my body, like the ashes of a cigarette that could no longer hold on to the rest of it. I started vomiting up thick globs of red and gold glowing liquids, whose consistency reminded me of magma… were those my organs that melted?!  Probably…

I couldn’t help but be reminded of that time I met Nyarlathotep… she warned me… how I would end up burning up into a pile of ashes… I thought she was just trying to scare me… I never thought she was actually right… 

Tears of the same kinda hot liquid started streaming down my face.. by now the only thing i could feel was heat… and pain… and fear. I didn’t want to die… I DON’T want to die… 

In my head I kept crying out for help… the only thing that kept me from crying out in my voice was that my lower jaw had already turned to ashes itself. Only pathetic noises and yelps of pain came out of that fiery half maw of mine. As my body seemed to be covered by darkness.. and brimstone. 

Something I hadn't noticed and only started to realize later, was that the smoke and steam covered up the strange material that formed out of the molten concrete and whatever my body was leaking at the time… until it formed a hard shell that must look like a black and red glowing blister on the ground.  Despite not having a heart anymore… at least none that i could feel… I could still hear a beat…  The shell itself seems to beat LIKE a heart… with every single one the glow intensifies for a second.. before dying down… The beating of this shell… this Chrysalis… ended up calming me down enough to realize that… the pain was… gone?... I… was gone… but yet I was still here… molten and broken down into what I believe to be a shining sphere of heat… is this what it thought to be my flame organ?.. 

Whatever it is.. it seemed to contain everything of me… my entire being was now condensed to this single, white and gold glowing orb… 

I don’t know what is going on… and I am beginning to more and more lose my grip on reality itself… I keep rerunning these memories in my… i wanna say head but… urgh i don't know!!

I can hear the noise of sirens outside… some people shouting orders… but they are too muffled to make out what they are saying..  I feel myself slipping away again… when will I wake up again?... Will I be able to recount what happened today?... Is it even still today?...

Will “I” even be the one waking up again? … Why can’t I help but imagine this damn grin of Nyarlathotep… telling me in her obnoxious voice how she was right…?

Why is it that I somehow WANT to see her again…? 

Damn… here comes the darkness again-... so… calming… so…

...

----------------------------------------

Edit: FORGOT TO MENTION!! Samara, Willow and Dominic, as well as the Heart Mender Boutique were created by the wonderful @home-sweet-hive and star in his ??? HRT series!! Go check it out!!

Also the Nyarlathotep mentioned in this story appears in @dawning-mars Eldritch HRT! Definitely check it out, it's amazing!! It even has me in it now X3 - Nia

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[tenderwatches]

Summary: Viktor returns to Piltover after almost two years of living in the undercity Things are going… Poorly

Notes: League x Arcane lore mashup. Present day is about two years after the 200th Progress Day in S1, but without Jinx blowing anything up (and therefore does not have the hex gemstone).

Viktor is familiar with pain.

His early morning journey to the bathysphere station is fraught with a kind of ache in his bones. His lungs scream as he pauses between the station and the College of Techmaturgy. He wills himself not to collapse here amidst castles of oil barrels and milk crates constructed by children after their last factory shifts.

He allows himself thirty seconds to catch his breath, mentally counting them down as he coughs into a handkerchief that, thankfully, comes back clean. Thirty seconds of weakness is all he'll permit himself before continuing.

He lowers himself into one of the cold, scuffed seats just as the bathysphere lurches forward with a hydraulic hiss. Zaun, in the inky blackness, yawns open beneath him, the atmosphere still thick and velvety with the predawn sky. The buildings climb upwards with him like sleeping giants, the spires of the college and the tower (widely known to be occupied by the chem-barons) stretching into Piltover’s footprint.

He watches the dismal echoes of his past slide away—the deep shadows of the Entresol where he’d been born, where he’d first learnt to take machines apart and put them back together stronger, the factories where he’d installed his first safety mechanisms at sixteen. He'd spent those years before the Academy there, watching children lose fingers to unguarded gears and workers choke on unchecked fumes. Each death had been a problem to solve, each injury a puzzle of human fallacy he could eliminate through engineering.

When he had returned almost two years ago, he had thought to continue that work. The Gray, however, possessed other ideas. He’d made attempts at persisting. He’d even visited a dark kiosk that presented itself as a clinic until the man behind the barred window had brandished a snuff box of something that smelled foul at him, waving it just out of reach. ‘Breathe this, or stop breathing entirely,’ he enticed. Viktor felt it was almost more of a threat. He’d left empty-handed.

He had been able to continue for just short of a year, but each innovation cost a little more of his health, every safeguard purchased with another piece of his lungs. His designs were every bit as sophisticated as the ones he’d created in Piltover, but were marked by a distinctly Zaunite ingenuity where levers were clearly repurposed axles or crowbars. Nevertheless, they worked. Children kept their fingers. Workers breathed a little easier. Fewer people met their untimely ends at unforgiving cogs. Until the day they found him collapsed in a factory basement, not yet even divested of his bags and coat.

He had drifted in and out of consciousness in what he supposes was the Undercity's crude approximation of a clinic, lilac shadows playing on flimsy walls that had sprung up seemingly overnight. His next memory was an impossible hallucination—a pristine Piltover hospital room, the vision as jarring as the sunlight streaming through tall windows. Even now, he has no idea how he'd wound up there; his only assumption is that he now owes someone in Zaun a favour. If he is to believe the hospital staff, there might have even been enforcer involvement (he'd not been able to get much more from them, only that the woman had summarily brought him in, identified him, and left). This is perhaps the most uncomfortable part, considering an unpaid debt in Zaun is already never a good thing.

Weeks later, he'd made his final attempt at compromise: subjecting himself and his ailing health to the mercy of the College of Techmaturgy. Standing at the College's stoop—the same doors he'd spurned as a youth for the upper city's resplendent Academy—only sharpened his needling sense of failure. The position had seemed sustainable, for a time. But as much as he wanted to rediscover his place in the City of Iron and Glass, it would not have him, and the Gray coiled after him in lazy pursuit.

He’d finally been forced to withdraw the letter he now carries in his vest pocket. He’d buried the heavy paper embellished with the stately letterhead of Piltover Academy beneath eight months of raw wounds masquerading as self-respect. He’d spent that time reading the words endlessly, to the point he can now practically recite them.

‘Viktor,

It’s with sincerest apologies that I acknowledge the hasty nature of your dismissal…’ the letter begins, continuing with generous overtures from the Academy’s dean before, in Piltover’s customary, long-winded way, arriving at the point. ‘The misconduct charged by the Academic Committee pursuant to Mr. Talis’s complaint has been rescinded upon appeal to the Council, opening the way for your return to our community of scholars…’

The words still burn, igniting his fury and indignation.

Jayce Talis. His partner. Former.

The mere thought of him sends a jolt through Viktor’s chest—one he can’t entirely blame on his illness, and he’s glad for the distraction of the bathysphere grinding to a halt in the southernmost part of the city. His grip tightens on the red handle of his crutch as he leverages himself up and exits the carriage.

Standing outside of it in the lower city, he can’t help but to take a deep breath as he looks up—the air is cleaner here, as expected, but it’s somehow more suffocating. His very ascension feels like surrender. The buildings sprawling above and below profess to be part of the same city, but their lines, like their spirits, are worlds apart. Steam hisses from a newly-installed safety valve in one of the factories below—his design, implemented mere months ago.

He never thought that he would mourn departing from the Undercity again, but the sight inspires something like regret to make a home in his heart. Here he is, leaving his city behind once again for the tantalising promise of Piltover and its clean air. Here, where progress is measured in patents and prestige.

Viktor squints his eyes at the early morning sun, still pale, but now beginning to peek over the horizon line. In its unfettered light, he only just makes out an all-too-familiar smugness gazing overhead from the side of a building. The Man of Progress towers above him, as if his old partner is there to personally welcome him back to Piltover’s gilt streets.

This is a pain that nearly steals the oxygen from him as he stops at the top the stairs, knuckles white around his crutch, fighting to keep steady. He’s an idiot for not having better prepared—he knows these images are still around every corner up here, knows that the sight of Jayce’s face, perfectly rendered and meticulously maintained, is enough to relight embers smouldering in the hollow of his bones.

The heat is old, intimate. It turns itself over and over in his marrow, stirring an ache that is equal parts anger, yearning, and bitterness.

Despite the volatile clash of feelings that sends prickling needles into his fingertips, his eyes are drawn to the visage overhead. There’s a desire to drink in the painted details, the exaggeration of features he can still trace in his sleep. But just as he has denied himself the misery of thinking about Jayce these many months, he defiantly refuses the portrait his gaze. He makes his way around Mid Town to the Academy District, furiously reminding himself that this is a man whom he’d thought he could trust—but one who had condemned him without explanation or ceremony.

The walk draws long, laboriously dragging the sun along with it, until the Council building looms just ahead. Its white stone facade reflects the morning light like a challenge, but Viktor has confidence that he has every right to be here. Again.

Heimerdinger’s letter had implored him to meet with the dean upon arrival to the city. He’d like to say it was the thought of making nice that kept him from answering the professor’s summons, but he’s aware it’s his own stubborn pride—the same pride that gripped his throat even when he, with no apology for his lengthy delay, returned a perfunctory note that informed Heimerdinger that he would accept those sincerest apologies after all.

"I accept your invitation to return. I will arrive on the morning of the 23rd." The words feel childish now, petulant in their terseness. He'd written that response a dozen times, each version attempting to encompass everything left unsaid—the children whose limbs his factory improvements had saved, the breathing stations he'd optimised, all the work that he’s abandoning.

There is no point in articulating those sentiments. The Academy had made its position clear. One complaint about "ethical concerns" from the right person was all it had taken to dismantle him.

The Council antechamber assaults Viktor's senses with everything Zaun is not. Sound reverberates strangely here—bouncing off gleaming surfaces, dying in thick runners and velvet draperies. Morning light refracts through hand-crafted prisms, casting rainbow pools across slick marble tiles, bare of dust or footprint. Behind the walls, the pneumatic message system offers only a genteel whisper, nothing like the honest roar of the Undercity's industrial arteries. The entire chamber stands as a temple built to worship wealth itself, every surface declaring that progress belongs to those who can afford it. By contrast, the shadows under Viktor’s eyes are dark, carving themselves into the sharp angles of his face.

Viktor sinks into a bench outside of the council room, wincing as he angles himself sideways to allow his leg to stretch out tense tendons and cramping muscles. The metal beneath him is perfectly smooth, maintained by invisible hands that buff away any sign of the human labour that created it. His travelling coat—sturdy fabric worn soft with wear—looks like a blasphemy against his stark surroundings. Even after nearly two years, his fingers remember the texture of these benches, the way his fingertips traced the seams and found the welds during countless hours in this very spot during his partnership with Jayce, waiting first whilst the other man charmed and secured funding for their research, then became a part of the body making those decisions. Their research, their discoveries. The thought still tastes bitter and he can’t help but to fleetingly wonder how much of their shared dream had truly belonged to them both. How much had been Jayce’s ambition wearing the mask of progress? Viktor feels like a smudge in the scenery, a dusty mistake that can’t be washed off the walls. It’s as degrading as it is familiar.

In these halls of elevated status that are the antithesis to his very being, Heimerdinger’s letter gains weight in his pocket with each passing moment. He withdraws it again, the cream paper strangely substantial, reminding him he owes his return to the words contained within it. Heimerdinger’s kinetic signature asserts itself boldly near the bottom of the page, his approval cinching Viktor’s place, just as it had the autumn before his nineteenth birthday.

‘My boy, I would be far from the only one who would be glad for your return! Piltover could benefit from your contributions to Hextech…’

Voices approach from the direction of the Council chamber, and he tucks the letter away as his heart shudders—not from illness this time, but from the sudden fear of seeing a familiar face exiting those doors. The Academy may have withdrawn the charge, but that doesn't mean they've forgotten it. He can already imagine the whispers that will herald him: the disgraced Hextech partner who fell into ignominy, who had to be reminded of his place.

The voices have faded away for the moment, but his hands still tremble slightly as he smooths them over the letter under his vest. He should have waited longer before accepting Heimerdinger's offer. Should have tried harder to find another solution. Should have—no. Viktor has never been one to chase himself in pointless circles. The Gray had made the choice for him in the end, as it does for so many others. At least he has the option of retreat.

He shifts on the bench, trying to find a position that doesn’t aggravate his already tired joints. The journey from the Undercity has left him drained, and he feels unmoored, unbalanced, like time unbound from clock weights, falling too fast. He refuses to show weakness—not here. He has to prove that he belongs here on the merit of his intelligence alone—not the permission of Professor Heimerdinger, not because he was Jayce Talis’s partner—but because he has something to offer. Something that he can realise with Piltover’s access and resources, that he can then—if he’s lucky, if he’s still around—bring back to the Undercity. He has to prove that progress isn’t only a pretty lie that Piltover tells whilst the Undercity chokes.

The Council chamber doors remain firmly shut, but Viktor is long practiced in patience. He’s settled now, finding repose with his crutch propped across his legs. He knows this dance—this game of waiting, acquiescing, of being enough but not too much. The rumours. The judgement. The constant need to prove himself worthy.

He’s so tired of proving himself worthy. (Read the next chapter)

AN: thanks for reading!! this was the first chapter of our fic, Lies We Tell Ourselves!! you can read the rest on AO3 (we're up to chapter 11 and update every wednesday and sunday!) but we might continue reposting it here to if folks like that as well 🤷

[ashifkh]

Preventive Maintenance of Self-Service Kiosks

Regular preventive maintenance ensures self-service kiosks operate efficiently, reducing downtime and enhancing user experience. By performing routine checks and updates, businesses can prevent costly repairs and extend the lifespan of their kiosks.

Read the full blog : Self-Service Kiosks

Key Maintenance Practices:

Routine Cleaning – Keep screens, card readers, and keypads free of dust and debris.

Software Updates – Regularly update firmware and security patches to prevent system vulnerabilities.

Hardware Inspection – Check for loose connections, worn-out components, and potential failures.

Peripheral Testing – Ensure printers, scanners, and payment terminals function properly.

Network & Security Checks – Monitor connectivity and protect against cyber threats.

[darkmaga-returns]

The party of war voted in unison against ending taxes on tips and overtime work. Only one Republican voted against these measures, with 217 in favor. The Democrats are NOT the party of the working class and have been actively working to undermine the people for years.

Ending taxes on tips and overtime was one of Trump’s campaign promises, which is precisely why the Democrats struck down the bill. Laughably, the opponents stated they were concerned that losing $2 trillion in tax breaks over the next decade would hurt the national debt. The very people who have never seen a social program they did not want to fund are suddenly concerned about the national debt.

Kamala Harris was in favor of these policies and had the backing of her party. Her feigned support was an effort to win over the people, no different from the failed promise of ending student loans. “It is my promise to everyone here, when I am president, we will continue to fight for working families, including to raise the minimum wage and eliminate taxes on tips for service and hospitality workers,” Harris told a crowd at the University of Nevada in August 2024.

The Democrats want everyone to be equally poor and dependent upon the government. Some lawmakers say eliminating tip taxes would be unfair to workers in states with a lower minimum wage. Under that line of thinking, should we penalize those who work in cities where, say, a meal is 5X the price as it would be elsewhere? Why should anyone out earn another in this fantasy socialist utopia? Minimum wage is a short-sighted political move that ignores the fundamental laws of supply and demand. Politicians always assume they can simply legislate prosperity, but history proves otherwise. Forcing businesses to pay higher wages does not magically create wealth—it destroys jobs, accelerates automation, and puts small businesses out of business.

Wages rise naturally in a real economic expansion when businesses compete for workers. That is how a free market functions. But when governments artificially raise wages, businesses respond logically—by cutting jobs, reducing hours, or passing the costs onto consumers through inflation. The very people politicians claim to be helping end up worse off, as their cost of living rises and entry-level jobs disappear.

Tipping culture is completely out of control in America. There is an expectation for consumers to pay a minimum of 20% in addition to inflated services, regardless of the quality of their service. Kiosks and self-checkout payment systems often ask for a tip. Consumers are less likely to go out when money is tight and the initial service has already risen due to inflation. Then, the government wants to take a portion of these tips AND the initial salary in most states. Whatever we must buy is then taxed; whatever we save is then taxed. Government greed knows no bounds. They’re too incompetent to manage funds, so they continue to squeeze our pockets, but it is never enough.

[tuptastic]

STOP RISKING SERVICE DOGS AND THEIR HANDLERS.

Yesteday, while trying to access a non-pet friendly location with my seizure and cardiac alert SDiT, we were charged by a pet dog. The owners had no control over their dog, allowed it the full six feet of the leash it was on, allowed it to rush up towards my service dog, and when I was shouting "back up, back up" and moving away they laughed at the situation and at us. They gave no apologies - only a "oh guess we have to go this way" as they dragged their dog away from my service animal.

I got inside and collapsed against the check in kiosk. I avoided a medical episode by actual slivers. My service dog behaved phenomenally for this being the SECOND TIME she has been charged and or lunged at by a dog on duty this year, but i could hardly talk or think for the entire time I was at the location, trying to get something important fixed.

It might not seem like a big deal to you to bring your dog out with you. But untrained, uncontrolled pets can cause serious harm and damage not only to service dogs but to their HANDLERS. My closest medical alert contact is an hour away. If I had had a seizure that required an ambulance (anything over a minute unresponsive as per my seizure plan), it would have taken an hour until one of my people could have gotten to the hospital to collect my dog and to help me, someone with severe and extreme medical trauma. MY HEALTH AND MY DOGS SAFETY MATTERS MORE THAN YOUR WANT TO HAVE YOUR PET.

Please. PLEASE. Stop bringing your pets places they don't need to be. It is stressful for them, stressful for us, and not fun for anyone except for you. It is selfish and cruel and terrifying for the service dog handlers who leave every day wondering if today their dog is going to be hurt. ours dogs are our best friends.

Do not take her from me.

[writtenjewels]

Day Twenty-Nine: Signal

Shepard never opened an email so quickly as the one he saw came from Huerta Memorial. The doctors promised to keep him updated on Kaidan's progress. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until his lungs started to ache. He forced the air out and began to read the words.

Kaidan was okay. Even better, he was awake and feeling well enough to type out a message personally. Shepard knew that there were a lot of other things needing his attention—things that were, objectively, far more important. But when he pulled up the galaxy map for Joker to plot their course, there was only one destination in mind.

To his credit, Joker didn't say a word about heading to the Citadel. Shepard got out and took rapid transit to the hospital. From there he had to pace himself and not run the length of the building to get to Kaidan's room.

When he stepped in, he found Udina stepping out. The two of them exchanged tight greetings before Udina left the room. Then Shepard's eyes were on Kaidan. The biotic's face was still bruised, but all that mattered was that his eyes were open and he looked alert. He was wearing a plain white shirt, which Shepard assumed the hospital gave him.

“Shepard, hey,” Kaidan greeted, sitting up a little and smiling. “You just missed snack time. Actually,” he added with a faint laugh, “that's probably a good thing.” Shepard smiled back. It was so good seeing Kaidan in good spirits. The warm and friendly welcome was nice, too. A far cry from the tension on Mars.

“I'm glad you're feeling better,” Shepard said. “What did Udina want?”

“He was trying to convince me to join the Spectres.”

“You're kidding.”

“He put my name up,” Kaidan said, squirming a little on the hospital mattress. “The rest of the Council hasn't voted on it yet, but he seems to think I have a pretty good shot. It'd be a big honor.”

“Well, I can't think of anyone who would deserve it more than you,” Shepard told him encouragingly. “Oh, before I forget...” He drew out the bottle of whiskey he impulsively bought at the kiosk earlier. “I got you something.” Kaidan's eyes lit up. He reached for the bottle, and for a moment their fingers brushed. Shepard thought he saw Kaidan's eyes flick to his briefly before the older man pulled back again.

“Thanks, Shepard. This is great. Maybe when I get out of here, we can crack this open and celebrate.”

“I'd like that,” Shepard nodded. “But don't try to rush it, okay?”

“You're starting to sound like my doctors,” Kaidan sighed. “They say I'm good to go, but then there's always one more test to run. Apparently my implant got rattled, so they want me to keep my biotics offline.”

“Rattled?” Shepard echoed, leaning forward a little. “Are you okay?”

“The medical gibberish was more impressive, but that's what I got out of it: 'rattled'. I'm fine, though,” Kaidan added assuringly. “If anything, my biotics are stronger than ever. I guess some things get better with age.”

“Or maybe you have,” Shepard suggested without thinking. Kaidan's eyes locked onto him. The other man's lips curled into an almost shy kind of smile.

“Are you, ah... flirting with me, Commander?” The question took Shepard completely by surprise. His mouth opened but nothing came out. His face felt scorching hot. “No, don't tell me,” Kaidan said, looking away. “Let me live in the illusion.”

Shepard stared at him, still unable to find his voice. He blinked several times as he tried to process the last few seconds. It took Kaidan changing the subject for Shepard to get his thoughts back on track. They chatted for a bit more, neither of them acknowledging what Kaidan said.

But Shepard sure thought about it later. He didn't intentionally flirt with Kaidan back there, but he did everything else imaginable to make it clear that Kaidan was on his mind. Truth be told, Kaidan had been on his mind for months now. Almost losing the man simply catapulted those thoughts to an intensity Shepard tried so hard not to acknowledge before.

And now this. Kaidan emailing him, happy to see him, asking if Shepard was flirting with him. Maybe these thoughts weren't one-sided any more.

[mikkeneko]

Felt like making this post because I realized the other day that not everybody knows about Media Mail! It's less common nowadays, and the USPS doesn't exactly advertise it; it's not up on the board or available at the self-service kiosk, you have to go to an actual post office and ask at the counter.

Media Mail shipping is a cost-effective way to send educational materials. This service has restrictions on the type of media that can be shipped. Media Mail rates are limited to the items listed below: Books (at least 8 pages). Sound recordings and video recordings, such as CDs and DVDs. Play scripts and manuscripts for books, periodicals, and music. Printed music. Computer-readable media containing prerecorded information and guides or scripts prepared solely for use with such media. Sixteen millimeter or narrower width films. Printed objective test materials and their accessories. Printed educational reference charts. Loose-leaf pages and their binders consisting of medical information for distribution to doctors, hospitals, medical schools, and medical students.

Media mail is a much, MUCH cheaper way to send books and other paper materials than UPS, FedEx, or even first class USPS -- today I shipped a box that would have cost something like $50 to send by weight, and instead I was able to send it by media rate for less than $10.