#buffer overflow

[haileys-dreamland]

There's a "fun" trick for dealing with medical fatphobia, where if you get fat enough doctors will just never ever mention it.

[hxrpooner]

the 'selling your recall' glitch is making me insane. the implications of this are frying me. you're telling me it was coded as an item, since ALPHA, and they just never fucking fixed it? was it still coded as an item when it was a summoner spell? or did they change it into a summoner spell and then TURN IT BACK INTO AN ITEM after the fact? or did they remake it as its own thing but then some horrible mixup of class inheritance happened such that it could be sold like an item? why wouldn't they just keep it as a permanent summoner spell that can't be unequipped, wouldn't that representation make a lot more sense??? i'm losing my mind. i need a job at riot games so bad i need to see this fucking code base i am DESPERATELY curious. LET ME IN THEEEEERE

[digitalcreationsllc]

Microsoft Edge, Teams Get Fixes for Zero-Days in Open-Source Libraries

The vulnerabilities are caused by heap buffer overflow weaknesses in open-source libraries used by the products, and they can lead to crashes or arbitrary code execution.

[wordsofwhimsy]

ᗷEᗩᑕᕼ ᗪᗩY ᗷᒪᑌEᔕ

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: It’s suggested that Mark’s got a boner at the end but that’s it lmao, also you kinda start to touch yourself but it’s literally only a sentence or two

Tags: Fluff, romcom, hero-friend-Mark coming to the rescue, slow burn, makeout sesh later on, Mark’s a dork who doesn’t know how to express his feelings (as usual)

Word Count: 5,314

Synopsis: A nice solo day at the beach turns sour when some creep of a man starts trying to follow you home. You manage to lose him but are now stranded on the other side of town. And the only person who’s available to come save you is the guy who does that for a living. Who would’ve figured?

a/n: this turned out sooo much longer than i intended lmao it do be like that sometimes tho

The sun is still warm on your skin as you leave the beach, flip-flops smacking softly against the pavement. Your hair’s damp with saltwater, strands still sticking to your forehead. Your tote bag—sandy, half-zipped, overflowing with a towel, a half-read book, and an empty soda can—swings against your hip as you head for the bus stop on the corner.

You’re smiling to yourself, pleasantly buzzed from sun and sea, when a voice behind you cuts rudely through the calm.

"Hey there, pretty thing. Where you headed?"

You don’t flinch, but your steps slow.

He’s maybe mid-thirties, wearing a faded tank top and gas station sunglasses. Too confident. Too close. He grins like you’re already in on some joke you never agreed to. 

"Just headed home," you say, even and polite, eyes fixed straight ahead.

He steps closer. "This stop? What a coincidence, that’s where I’m going too."

Sure it is.

You shift your tote to the other shoulder, as if to put some kind of buffer between you. By some miracle the bus starts pulling into view.

He keeps talking—something about how wild it is that you’re both here, what are the odds, ha ha—but you’re already tuning him out. The second the doors hiss open, you climb on, flash your card, and slip into a window seat midway down.

He follows.

You feel him settle in a row behind you. Not next to you, but near. Close enough to talk. Close enough to make it weird.

Nope.

Just before the doors close, you stand up, walk past him without a word, and step right back off.

The bus pulls away with him on it, and you don’t bother to look back until you’re safely half a block down. When you do, he’s craning his neck to look through the window.

You don’t wave. You don’t smirk. You just turn the corner and duck behind a tree, pulling out your phone with fingers still trembling from the slow burn of adrenaline.

You scroll through your contacts.

First you try your roommate. Straight to voicemail.

Then your cousin. She picks up, but she’s out of town. You tell her it’s fine. Just a weird thing with a guy. No big deal.

You try your best friend. No answer.

With a frustrated sigh, you switch to your banking app. There’s a buffering wheel for a second, then your checking account balance loads: $4.82.

You feel a vein pulse in your head. Refresh the screen.

Still $4.82.

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. Looks like Uber wasn’t an option.

You close the app and rest your forehead against the tree trunk for a second, just… reevaluating your life choices.

Figures.

You go back to your contacts, scanning names. You scroll past his name once. Twice. Hover over it. Keep going.

You feel dumb. Guilty. Mark’s probably in the middle of saving a school bus full of kids or punching a kaiju or talking to that mysterious government shadow figure about interplanetary security… something serious. And you’re over here like, "Heeelp, I had to miss the bus."

Still.

You flick back to his name.

Mark 🚀

Your thumbs fly before you can overthink it:

You: hey, any chance ur free? got myself in a v dumb situation lol You: not an emergency, just mildly stranded and a lil freaked out 😅

You lock your phone. Wait.

Not even a minute passes before it buzzes.

Mark 🚀: where are you?

You smile.

He always answers.

You: Beachside Blvd near the old surf shop

You hesitate for half a second, then snap a picture of the little corner where you’re hiding—tree trunk, sand-crusted sidewalk, the closed-down surf rental shack in the background with its sun-bleached paint peeling in soft curls.

You add a caption: don’t judge me for this hiding spot. i panicked.

Then hit send.

Almost immediately you get a reply.

Mark 🚀: lol. on my way. five minutes tops.

You exhale, tension releasing in slow waves like the tide.

And yeah. Maybe your face is hot. Maybe your heart’s still thudding a little too hard in your chest. But it’s already starting to settle.

Mark’s coming.

You straighten up, brushing the bark dust off your thighs and stepping out into the fading sunlight. The sea breeze is gentler now, cooler, and you roll up your sleeves a bit higher on your white button-down—still damp from the beach, clinging a little in places. Your bikini’s peeking out underneath, lilac and tied at the sides. Not exactly full coverage. But hey, you weren’t planning to be stranded on the sidewalk when you put it on.

A guy walking his dog glances over, eyebrows briefly lifting before he looks away. You offer him a breezy, nonchalant smile.

“Don’t mind me,” you call out. “Just waiting on a friend.”

He nods slowly, clearly unconvinced, and keeps walking.

You check your phone. Two minutes.

You shift your weight to one foot, trying not to look too awkward. The heat from earlier was starting to fade off your skin, leaving a faint chill in the breeze. You hug your arms around yourself, half for warmth, half just to feel less exposed.

Then you hear it.

The soft whoosh of air pressure, the subtle thud of sneakers against pavement.

You glance behind you, and there he is.

Mark Grayson, a little windblown, a little flushed from the speed of getting here, standing there in all his superhero glory—minus the suit. Just joggers and a blue t-shirt, but still very much Invincible.

Relief crashes over you.

“God, thank you,” you exhale, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him. “I owe you big time.”

You feel him tense a little, and for a second, your heart drops.

Oh no. Is he annoyed? Did you really just pull him away from something important for... this?

You let your arms fall away from him, brows drawing together. “Hey, I’m sorry—this was so dumb, I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s not dumb,” he cuts in, quick and quiet. “Seriously. I’m glad you called me.”

His voice is warm, but his eyes are still everywhere but on you—off to the side, up at the sky, back toward the sidewalk.

And that’s when it clicks.

He’s avoiding looking at you.

Like, really avoiding.

You glance down and—yep. Cover up still unbuttoned. Still damp. Still clinging in places you’d really prefer it not be clinging. Your bikini bottoms peek out like they’re trying to steal the show, and your chest is just… there.

And now you’re the one going pink.

You don’t say anything. Just quietly start buttoning up the top, fingers fumbling a little as your eyes do a full tour of the sidewalk, the streetlamp, a very interesting patch of grass—anything that isn’t Mark.

Because okay. Maybe standing here like this wasn’t your finest moment.

He clears his throat and takes a step closer, flashing that crooked, boyish grin—the one that always seems to surface when he’s nervous and trying to look unaffected. "Okay," he says, a little too upbeat, rubbing the back of his neck, "guess I’m your ride today. You’ll have to remind me how to get to your place—I always mess up that last turn near the park."

He’s absolutely trying to play it cool.

And absolutely failing.

Not that you’re much better, your stare drifting up toward the rooftops as you squint like there’s something up there you just gotta see. "So... how exactly are we doing this?"

Mark glances down at you, then off to the side, then very obviously not at your bare legs or the way your damp shirt is hugging places that have him struggling to maintain eye contact. "I mean, I usually just—" he makes a vague scooping gesture. "—pick people up and go."

"Bridal style?" you deadpan.

He hesitates. "I mean, yeah. It’s kind of the classic."

You shift your weight to one leg, then the other. "Okay, I guess… Let's see it."

Mark nods, like he’s steeling himself for battle, then steps forward and slides one arm behind your back, the other under your knees. In one smooth motion, you’re weightless in his arms.

And also very much pressed into his chest.

His forearm is sturdy beneath your bare thighs, one of his fingers accidentally grazing the string of your bikini bottom. You shift slightly, trying to adjust how you're being held without actually... touching him more. Your knee bumps his hip. Your hand slides awkwardly off his shoulder and straight into the space between your bodies that really feels like a dead zone.

"Okay, is it just me," you mutter, your face all but buried in the valley of his chest, "or is this weirdly... a lot?"

Mark tilts his head, accidentally brushing his jaw against the top of your head. "I mean—no, it’s not just you. Definitely not just you."

There’s a beat as you both try to recalibrate.

He shifts his grip again. One of his hands ends up cradling the underside of your thigh in a way that feels far too close to romantic territory.

"Alright—abort. Abort mission," you say quickly, arms flailing a little as you try to push off him.

"Copy that," Mark replies, instantly lowering you to the ground with a delicacy that said he really was trying to be respectful.

He exhales, hands on his hips, staring into the middle distance. "Okay. Plan B."

"Which is?"

He perks up, like he just solved world peace. "Fireman carry. That’s how professionals do it, right? First responders and stuff. Feels efficient."

And yeah—you nod, starting to agree. "Honestly, yeah. That makes sense. Sturdy. Tactical."

You forget, for a crucial second, that a fireman carry involves being slung.

He moves without hesitation, grabbing your legs and hoisting you up onto his shoulder like he’s carrying a sandbag in a training montage.

Your stomach lurches.

"Mark—MARK—"

Too late.

Your thighs smack against his chest, your hips curve over his collarbone, and your entire lower half is just... present. Right in his face. Right there.

His movement stutters. One hand instinctively locks onto the back of your bare thigh—just to steady you, logically—but you feel his entire soul leave his body.

He wheezes. "Okay. Okay, nope. Bad idea. I can’t—this is not—"

"PUT ME DOWN," you screech, hair dangling in your mouth, boobs threatening to stage a full escape from your top.

He drops to his knee quick, letting you awkwardly slide down off his shoulder under your own power.

The moment your feet hit the ground, you turn away from him without a word, yanking your shirt forward and subtly readjusting where your boobs have clearly gone rogue.

Mark won’t even look at you. He rubs the back of his neck, muttering something that sounds like “that was a lot of ass.”

You clear your throat. "Okay, okay. What about... shoulders? Like when dads carry their kids at Disney?"

Mark looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. "You want to sit on my shoulders?"

You shrug. "Seems high up. Good visibility. Hands-free."

His brow twitches, and maybe there’s something itching at his lips too. "You do realize where your thighs will be."

"Yes, Mark. I'm not an idiot."

"Okay, just making sure, because—"

"Do it before I change my mind."

He crouches slightly and you climb on, settling your legs over his shoulders like you’re eight years old and waiting for the fireworks to start.

And that’s when you both realize: this might be the worst one yet.

Your thighs are clamped around the sides of his face. Your swimsuit bottoms are pressed to the back of his neck.

Mark’s hands hover just above your knees like he’s afraid to even think about where to hold.

"So this is a no?" you say weakly.

His voice is strangled. "Yeah. Gonna go ahead and call this a hard no."

He ducks, and you slide off him in a clumsy, tangled dismount, nearly tripping over your own feet as you land.

You both stand there, flushed and winded, like you just lost a round on a game show.

Finally, you sigh. "Just... gimme your back."

He doesn’t argue, turning around and kneeling slightly. You hop on, arms around his neck, legs around his waist. The regret is instantaneous.

Your chest squishes against his shoulder blades. Your entire front half is molded to his back. Your bikini bottoms felt like they were holding on for dear life—barely doing their only job.

You try not to breathe too deeply. Or move. Or exist.

"You good?" he asks, voice tight.

"I’ve never been less good."

He shifts slightly. Your boobs shift with him.

You groan. "Oh my god. This is still bad."

Then it hits you—a bright, stupid little lightbulb moment. "Wait," you say, sitting up straighter on his back. "What if I sit on your arm instead? Like a throne."

Mark turns just enough to give you a side-eye so dry it could start a brush fire. "You want to perch on my arm. Like royalty."

"Yes! Like a princess on a parade float," you say, already sliding down and gesturing enthusiastically. "You’re strong, right? Just hold me like—like I’m light and majestic."

He stares at you for a long moment. Then, sighing like this is somehow the least weird idea you’ve had all day, he crouches and offers his arm.

You climb on carefully, settling along his bicep like it's a bench seat, one arm lazily looped around the back of his neck while your legs dangle off the front side. You wiggle into position until your balance feels right, then look at him expectantly.

Mark adjusts his hold—carefully, deliberately—his free hand braced under your knees like he’s steadying a priceless antique. "Good?"

You grin, already settling in like you really are royalty. "Honestly? This might be my best idea yet. I should travel like this more often."

Mark adjusts his grip with visible reluctance, his brow furrowing slightly. "Why do I feel like I’m being... used?" He muttered. Still, his arm stayed steady as he rose into the air.

The ground drops away, the wind picks up, and you lift one arm in a full pageant wave. "People of Earth! I bring good vibes and sunburns!"

"Please stop," Mark groans, voice tight. "Someone might actually see us."

"Let them! Let them witness my reign!"

"I'm serious," he says, suppressing a laugh with something heavy in his voice. "If anyone sees me flying around like this without the suit... it's kind of a problem. Secret identity and all."

You sigh with dramatic flair and lean sideways, resting your cheek against the top of his head like it’s the armrest of a throne. "Alright, alright," you murmur, voice muffled against his hair. "I’ll behave. Keep it lowkey for your secret superhero lifestyle." Your fingers flutter lazily in a final regal wave. "But just so you know, you’re absolutely wasting a peak aesthetic moment."

He doesn’t respond this time—just exhales through his nose and banks slightly west.

The flight is… longer than expected.

Turns out, giving aerial directions is kind of a nightmare. Everything looks different from up here. Your usual landmarks—corner stores, that one pizza place with the terrifying mascot, your neighbor’s weirdly aggressive lawn gnome—either vanish from view or blur together like a watercolor painting.

"Wait—go back. That might’ve been it," you call, pointing down at a clump of rooftops that look vaguely familiar.

Mark slows, glancing down. "That’s a hardware store."

You squint. "Oh. Right. Never mind."

He doesn’t say anything, but his jaw tics slightly as he adjusts altitude again. The sun’s lower now, bleeding soft gold and pink across the sky. Your hair is whipped every which way by the wind.

"Okay, that’s definitely the park," you announce suddenly. "We’re close. Like, actually close."

"That’s what you said twenty minutes ago."

"Yeah, well, it felt true then."

By the time your house finally comes into view—weathered siding, cracked sidewalk, and all—the sun is just starting to dip below the rooftops. Mark begins his descent, slow and controlled.

You say nothing. But you do raise your hand in one final, dramatic wave to absolutely no one.

Mark sets you down with all the care you’ve come to know and expect from him. You wobble slightly, windblown and flushed, and smooth your hair out of your face with a laugh.

"Really," you say, more sincere now, "thank you. For coming to get me. And for not judging how stupid this all was."

He shrugs, smiling softly. "Didn’t seem stupid. You needed help."

There’s a pause. Then he glances over, just a hint if curiosity in his eyes. "Wait—you never told me what the dumb situation was. Don’t you normally take the bus around?"

You blink. "Oh. Right. Yeah, uh... just some creep. Guy at the stop wouldn’t back off. He said he was getting on the bus too, so I got off last minute. Didn’t want him following me."

Mark straightens a little. The easy look on his face vanishes.

"Was he touching you? Harassing you?"

"No, nothing like that," you say quickly, waving a hand. "Just... too much. Gave me a weird vibe."

Mark’s jaw tenses. He looks over his shoulder like he’s hoping the guy is still lurking somewhere within fighting distance.

You nudge his arm gently. "Hey. It’s fine. I got out of there, called my personal airlift, and survived to tell the tale."

He doesn’t quite relax, but he nods. "Still. Next time someone gives you a weird vibe, call me earlier."

You grin. "What, so you can launch them into low orbit?"

"Only if they deserve it," he says, and it’s barely a joke.

You just roll your eyes, and there’s a moment of quiet after that. You shift your weight a little and glance at him sideways, a smirk tugging at your mouth.

"I’d say goodbye with a hug," you murmur, brushing a wind-whipped strand of hair behind your ear, "but I feel like we already pushed the limits of physical contact today."

Mark lets out a breath that’s a half laugh as he scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah, we might’ve hit the quota."

You flash him a peace sign instead, two fingers wiggling with lazy flair. "Night, Grayson."

He nods, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Yeah, goodnight. Get inside safe."

You turn and head up the porch steps, the boards creaking softly under your feet. And even though your back’s to him now, you swear you can still feel him watching.

—

Later that night, long after the sun’s gone down and the neighborhood’s turned quiet, you lie awake in bed staring at the ceiling fan spinning shadows across your walls.

You’d changed into pajamas hours ago. Washed off the salt. Pulled your hair up. Brushed your teeth. Did all the things that were supposed to settle your body down into rest.

And yet.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Not Mark-the-friend. Not Mark, the guy you send dumb memes to or banter with about pizza toppings.

No, this was Mark’s body.

His arms. His shoulders. The impossible way he held you like you weighed nothing. How your thighs had wrapped around his waist like it was muscle memory you didn’t know you had.

You’d never really thought about him like that before. Not seriously. Not in a way that stuck around longer than a fleeting joke.

But now? Now you couldn’t stop replaying how warm his body was. How big his hands were when he adjusted his grip. The unintentional intimacy of it all.

In the moment it just felt awkward, but now looking back on it? It felt electric.

Your fingers slip beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts almost without thought. Just enough to feel the edge of sensation, the tension that’s been building in your stomach all evening. Your breath stutters. One gentle graze turns into another, your eyes fluttering almost shut, lips parting—

"M—Ma—aark?!"

It starts low, breathy, nearly reverent—but the moment your half-lidded eyes catch the silhouette outside your window, the tone snaps mid-name into something much higher and far less composed.

You jolt upright with a gasp, yanking your hand free and throwing the blanket over your lap like it’s a crime scene.

There he is.

Hovering.

Mark.

In daylight, you might’ve brushed it off as a joke, but at this hour, with the moon casting soft light over his hair and the way his eyes blink in surprise—it feels way too intimate.

He raises a hand and knocks lightly against the glass like maybe he really didn’t just witness the most unhinged thing imaginable.

You’re pretty sure your soul has left your body.

You scramble out of bed, nearly tripping over the blanket, heart hammering as you fumble to unlock the window. Every molecule of your being is praying he didn’t hear anything. Didn’t see anything. You plaster on what you hope is a casual, non-horny smile as you shove the pane open.

"Hey," you whisper, breathless. "Uh. What are you doing here?"

Mark floats in a little closer, still hovering just outside the sill, arms crossed, looking vaguely sheepish. "I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about earlier. About you."

Your eyes went dry. That was... not the answer you were expecting.

He keeps going. "I don’t know, I just... didn’t like the idea of you almost having to walk home alone. That creep could’ve followed you, and the fact that you didn’t even feel comfortable calling me right away? I don’t like that."

Your throat tightens a little, but you try to keep the mood light. "Well, next time I’ll just hit up my personal superhero hotline immediately."

He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s something more serious under it. "I mean it. I’ve been thinking—and maybe it would just... make more sense if I was around more. For safety. Like, logistics."

"Logistics," you repeat, raising a brow.

"Yeah," he says, floundering now, rubbing the back of his neck. "Like, if we were together—not just like that, I mean, not just for that—but like, technically, it would be easier to make sure you’re okay. And it’d be easier for you to call me. And I wouldn’t have to hover outside your window at midnight like a weirdo."

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

"…Are you… proposing we date for security reasons?"

His throat bobs. "...Yes?"

Your lips twitch.

"That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."

"I just mean—it’s not like it has to be a big thing. I already worry about you. You already call me for weird stuff. And if we were—y'know, together—it wouldn’t be weird for me to show up when you need me. It’d be normal. Expected. Practical."

You sigh, dragging your hands down your face. "Get in here before one of my neighbors calls the cops."

He climbs in through the window with the kind of silent grace that somehow makes it worse—like he does this all the time, like being in your bedroom in the middle of the night isn’t absolutely deranged. You close the window behind him, lock it, then turn around to find him standing awkwardly in the middle of your room, hands in the pockets of his joggers.

You cross your arms, still half-reeling. "Okay. Back up. Explain to me again how dating me is supposed to be a logical safety plan."

He doesn’t flinch, which is honestly impressive. "Because it is logical," he says. "If we were together, I wouldn’t have to wait for you to ask me for help. I’d just know to be there. I already worry about you. This just... cuts out the weird in-between."

You stare. "You’re talking about eliminating emotional bureaucracy."

Mark hesitates. "...Yeah?"

You groan and throw yourself backward onto the bed, staring at the ceiling with what felt like dead eyes. "Wow. Incredible. I can really only get a guy to ask me out if it doubles as a protective services contract."

Mark looks like he wants to argue but doesn’t say anything.

You sit up halfway, shooting him a look. "We literally couldn’t even hug goodbye earlier without it being a thing. And now you think we should just be together? For efficiency? Like we’re a fuckin’ Excel spreadsheet or something?"

"Okay, no, not like a spreadsheet. And in my defense that hug got complicated really fast."

You level him with a flat, skeptical expression. "Complicated?"

He looks everywhere but at you again. "You were in a bikini. And a wet shirt. And you smelled good. And you looked—like—soft. I didn’t want to be weird."

You scoff, bringing one arm over your chest subconsciously. “Right. Because hugging your friend goodbye would’ve been weird—but showing up at her window at midnight to pitch a bodyguard boyfriend arrangement? Totally normal.”

Mark doesn’t even try to deny it. He shrugs helplessly, a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. “Okay… maybe not totally normal. But at least it got me in the door.”

You give him a look, half-exasperated and half-amused. “That’s the bar now?”

He lets out a soft laugh, then finally moves to join you on the bed. The mattress dips slightly under his weight as you move to sit up beside him at the edge, his knee bumping gently against yours. The room feels smaller now, quieter.

You glance sideways, noticing how his hands rest on his thighs, fingers twitching slightly like he wants to reach for something but doesn’t know what.

Neither of you speaks right away.

After some time, you hear him say softly, “I wanted to hug you.” Something flutters in your stomach. He keeps his eyes ahead, voice low. “I didn’t want to leave like that. But you were the one who said we ‘already pushed the limits of physical contact’.”

You feel your ears warm. “Yeah, well. I was trying to keep it together. Not...” You trail off, not wanting to finish where that thought was going.

That makes him look at you, and suddenly the space between you feels thinner than air.

His voice is soft. Careful. “Do I get another chance?”

Your lips part, trembling, but no sound leaves your throat. Instead you just nod.

And then you’re leaning into him, and he’s leaning into you, and it’s not even a decision so much as a reaction. Like this was something the two of you were always going to do.

His lips brush yours. Soft. Testing. Then it deepens.

His hand slides up to the back of your neck, holding you steady as he tilts his head, kissing you fuller. His tongue slips past your lips, teasing and deliberate, coaxing you into something hot and slow. His tongue explores your mouth with languid, fluid strokes—a slick, pink muscle dragging against yours, tasting you like he’s been thinking about this for a while. He doesn’t rush. He lingers, savoring the way you open up for him, the way your breath catches when he slides his tongue along the roof of your mouth.

His other hand settles at your waist, fingers spreading possessively. He pulls you closer, his palm sliding beneath your shirt just enough to brush over your skin. You can feel the way his chest rises and falls against yours, how his lips part and seal over and over again, mapping every curve of your mouth.

He nudges you gently, repositioning his legs and shifting you with him until you’re straddling his thighs. One arm slides fully around your waist, hugging you closer into the warmth of him, while the hand at your neck loosens just enough to drift up into your hair. He kisses you deeper, tongue curling just a little more greedily now, like he can’t get enough of the way you taste.

Your fingers flex against his chest, bracing yourself. The heat between you builds fast—sharp, undeniable. He groans into your mouth, a sound low and unfiltered that sends heat straight into your lower belly.

You’re the one who finally breaks the kiss, gasping a little as you pull back—because if you didn’t, you’re pretty sure he’d never stop. Mark chases you instinctively, lips brushing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw. He noses at your neck, presses a kiss just beneath your ear.

“This is not why I came here,” he murmurs against you, breath hot and trembling.

You laugh softly, breathless and flushed. “Yeah, sure. Midnight pop-ins are just your love language now, huh?”

He lifts his head slightly, eyes half-lidded but earnest. “I mean it. I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About what could’ve happened. About how weird you felt calling me. I hated that.”

You brushed your nose against his. “And kissing me senseless was the solution?”

He grins, and before he can answer, you pull him back in.

Your mouths crash together again, hotter now—messier. His hands are everywhere: one in your hair, one gripping your hip, sliding under your shirt for the second time like he needs to feel every inch of you. You roll your hips without thinking, and he groans once more into your mouth, the sound vibrating down your spine.

Then he pulls back, panting slightly. “Wait… what were you doing when I showed up, anyway?”

You freeze.

Your eyes dart away. “Nothing.”

His brow lifts. “Nothing?”

You chew your lip. “Just… thinking about stuff.”

He leans in, a little smirk playing at his lips. “Stuff like… me?”

Suddenly you’re jolting upright like you’ve been electrocuted. "Okay! Wow! Y’know what? It is definitely way too late for you to be in a girl’s bedroom. Like, aggressively past curfew. So! I think it’s time you go, Mr. Grayson. Please and thank you."

“What—?”

You stand up, gesturing toward the window with mock formality. “Thank you for your service, please fly responsibly. Goodnight.”

Mark just blinks at you, still sitting. You raise a brow. "Uh. That's your cue, flight boy."

He shifts, clears his throat—but makes no move to stand.

You squint. "Why aren't you getting up?"

He grimaces slightly, suddenly very interested in a speck of dust on your floor. "I'm working on it."

One of your brows quirk as your line-of-sight drops.

Oh.

Your eyes go wide.

“Oh my God—” You whip around sharply on the balls of your feet. “Never mind! Take your time! Or don’t! I-I don’t even know!”

Behind you, Mark clears his throat, shifting like he's just settling in more comfortably. "I just—uh—need a second to make sure your mattress isn’t… you know. Lopsided or anything. Structural integrity check. Nothing weird."

You nod rapidly, still facing away. "Right. Mattress stability is important."

You march over to the window and start fiddling with the lock like it suddenly needs adjusting. You give it two twists, then a shake, then check it again just to be safe.

Across the room, Mark continues to sit very still, facing the opposite wall like it's a meditation exercise. Neither of you speak.

The silence stretches.

This is fine. Totally normal.

Just a standard, extremely platonic, post-makeout building inspection.

No one's aroused. No one's flustered. No one is internally screaming into the void.

You clear your throat.

Mark clears his throat.

Another ten seconds pass.

"...Think it's safe for me to stand yet?" he mutters.

You nearly jump out of your skin. "Only if you're done verifying the mattress's—structural reliability."

"Almost there."

You nod like that makes perfect sense.

Absolutely perfect.

You both sit in silence for another thirty seconds.

You are never going to survive this night.

[leahsgf]

— LOST FOR WORDS

alessia russo x reader | masterlist

⤷ just pure fluff based on this ask

୨୧

you barely have time to react, or even move an inch from your spot sprawled across the sofa - before the front door practically flies off its hinges, and your apartment is filled with the absolute whirlwind that is your girlfriend.

“i’m back!” she beams as you sit up, coming into her line of sight - and in quite literally the blink of an eye she was dropping her bags and launching herself practically flat on top of you, and straight into a full- blown ramble, barely giving herself a moment to breathe (or for you to even say hello)

despite alessia’s usual reserved nature, you had completely expected and predicted this - as it occurred every single time she came home to you after being around tooney, her best friend’s sheer amount of energy being beyond infectious.

“oh my god you will not believe the few weeks i’ve had, it was insane! it was so intense, like the training and stuff, but it was so fun! my legs are still sore by the way i will be requesting a massage later. i’ve been annoying the girls all week about it apparently - i think they’re overreacting but whatever. oh! and i wish i could’ve recorded the way keira absolutely destroyed georgia in this one drill - she went face first onto the grass! we were laughing about it for ages, even sarina! and the games! babe, the games were - wait, you watched them right? oh yes of course you did i remember you saying on facetime, but i’ll tell you anyway-”

you smile at her fondly, your eyes never leaving her as she sits up a bit, her hands flying around animatedly as she recalled literally every waking moment since she’d been away to you.

her presence is almost electric, lighting up the entire room in a way that made you realise just how much you missed her - even when she’s like this, overflowing with stories, not letting you get a word in, details tumbling out of her mouth as if she was afraid that she’d forget them if she didn’t say them quick enough.

“and millie - oh god, you know what she’s like, right? she dared tooney to-”

you suddenly decide to lean forward and cup her face, cutting her off mid sentence by pressing your lips to hers gently.

and for a moment, she freezes. you feel her entire body stiffen, mimicking a statue, before you feel the heat radiating off her cheeks beneath your fingertips. her hands, which had been gesturing madly mere seconds ago - hover awkwardly mid air for a second, before they spring into action, like you’d just pressed play on her remote - and they wrap around your waist, kissing you back, and instinctively deepening it.

when you finally pull away, she blinks at you, dazed - buffering, almost.

“w-what…um. what was i saying?” she stammers, volume suddenly much quieter than before, her face burning red.

“something about millie and a dare?” you grin, knowing there was zero chance she’d remember it now, thumb stroking her face as she practically crumbled beneath your touch.

she opens and shuts her mouth almost robotically, no words leaving her lips. instead, they let out the smallest, breathiest laugh as she shakes her head, still visibly flustered.

“you can finish telling me later.” you tease lightly, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, and another to the corner of her mouth. “just really missed you.”

alessia all but melted at that, arms drawing you into her hold as she buried her face into your neck, peppering kisses onto the exposed skin that peeked out from underneath your her shirt.

“i missed you more baby.” she mumbles, voice muffled as her hand moves to tenderly rub your back, drawing little shapes there like she know you loved.

you chuckle, holding her close - bathing in the newfound silence that settled across the room, the only exception being the light patter of the blonde’s heartbeat, steady and warm against you.

-

me and who me and who me and who

thank you anon for this request i hope i did it justice! literally wrote it in an hour and city just drew to west ham so my evening is going FANTASTICALLY! let me know your thoughtssss

- el x

[1o1percentmilk]

also you'll never believe who showed up in my debugger this weekend

(eip is how %rip shows up in gdb - it's actually more like "half" of %rip because %rip stores 8 bytes, while %eip stores 4 bytes, which is what you're seeing on the right)

hehe it's finally done - the Hatori/Touichirou aura fucking/sexual objectification/weird esper sex fic

[iteratorsex]

BUFFER OVERFLOW

[foone]

Weird thought: I think I've got too much species dysphoria for hypno.

Like, to understand how it works and try it out would require me to admit I have a technically human brain and that's gonna ruin any possible fun of the hypnosis.

(So clearly I need to find someone to hypnotize me using a buffer overflow or use-after-free exploit)

[paper-mario-wiki]

insurance buffer overflowed my request to have my electrolysis covered and now i have 999 electrolysis in my inventory

[alexanderwales]

My favorite Death Note rule is that you can't kill someone who is over the age of 124. So far as I know, this never comes up in the anime or manga (how/why could it?), but I love that it's there. It's just one of those weird edge cases.

I like to believe that it's a weird buffer overflow issue, but it's also a goldmine for fanfic, so long as you're replacing L with a very old character. Maybe a vampire detective, if that's a thing.

[undiagnosedcruelty]

Bound By Mistake│ k.seungmin

Chapter 3: Terms and Conditions (That You Definitely Did Not Agree To)

Sypnosis: When you accidentally summon Seungmin, a high-ranking demon with an attitude problem, you find yourself bound to him by an unbreakable contract.

Pairing: Demon! K. Seugming x afab!reader

────────────────────────────────────────

────────────────────────────────────────

Bound By Mistake masterlist here.

Content warning: supernatural elements, mild profanity and sarcasm, banter, demon presence, seungmin being a menace

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Will be posting next chapters after I'm done editing them😞

chapter 1 │ chapter 2 | chapter 4

────────────────────────────────────────

EVERYTHING WRITTEN IS PURELY FICTION──NOTHING IS DIRECTLY RELATED TO ANY REAL LIFE EVENTS.

Morning came far too quickly for someone who had unwillingly acquired a supernatural parasite the night before.

You woke up to the sound of your alarm screeching, a noise that felt like a personal attack after the absolute absurdity of last night. Half-conscious, you clumsily smacked at your nightstand in search of the snooze button, groggily convincing yourself that everything—everything—had been some kind of bizarre, stress-induced fever dream.

But then, as you rubbed your eyes and blinked blearily at your surroundings, you saw him.

Seungmin.

Sitting on your desk, casually spinning a pen between his fingers. Looking like he belonged there. Looking annoyingly comfortable in your space. In your apartment.

Your bedroom, usually a safe haven of cluttered normalcy, felt smaller with him in it. Posters half-peeling from the walls, an overflowing laundry basket in the corner, and a desk covered in books and loose papers—none of it seemed to bother him. The morning light seeped in through the blinds, casting long stripes of gold and shadow across your bed, making the surreal nature of his presence even more pronounced.

You froze, brain still buffering, taking an extra second to process the fact that no, last night had not been a dream. And yes, there was still a demon in your bedroom.

Seungmin smirked the moment he saw the realization dawn on your face.

"Morning, sunshine."

You made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a dying animal, immediately flopping back onto your pillow. "Nope. I refuse."

"Refuse what?" he asked, far too amused for this hour of the morning.

"All of this." You yanked the blanket over your face. "Nope. I’m not acknowledging this. If I ignore you long enough, maybe you’ll cease to exist."

Seungmin made a thoughtful humming noise. "Bold of you to assume I need acknowledgment to exist."

You groaned, voice muffled under the covers. "Can you just—shut up for like, five minutes?"

He hummed again, considering it. "Mmm… no."

You dragged the blanket down just enough to glare at him. "You are the worst thing to ever happen to me."

"Wow." His voice was completely dry. "And here I thought your life was already a trainwreck before I got here."

Without thinking, you chucked your pillow at him. Unfortunately, like last night’s lamp, it stopped midair, hovering for a second before dropping harmlessly to the floor.

Seungmin grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. "You really don’t learn, do you?"

You sat up fully, rubbing your face as reality finally sunk in. "Okay. Fine. Whatever. I have work in an hour. What are you gonna do? Follow me around like a creepy shadow?"

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. "I mean, I could, but watching you be miserable at work sounds boring. I think I’ll just—" He gestured vaguely. "Lurk."

"You’re going to lurk?"

"Yeah."

You squinted at him. "Like… here? In my apartment?"

Seungmin shrugged. "Unless you’d rather me be attached to your hip all day."

You made a face. "Gross."

"Exactly."

You sighed, dragging yourself out of bed. This was going to take some serious getting used to. You moved through your morning routine on autopilot, brushing your teeth, throwing on whatever semi-clean outfit you could find, and grabbing a granola bar on your way out. The entire time, you could feel Seungmin’s gaze following you, his presence lingering like an uninvited shadow.

As you stepped outside, the city greeted you with its usual morning chaos—car horns blaring, hurried footsteps, the distant hum of conversation. The air was crisp, the early sunlight doing little to chase away the lingering chill. You stuffed your hands into your jacket pockets and started walking.

You were halfway to work, already regretting all your life choices, when it happened.

The walk from your apartment to the bookstore wasn’t anything remarkable—just a ten-minute trek past a few dull buildings, a tiny café, and an alley you usually avoided.

Today, though, you were running late. And because you were running late, you made a split-second decision: cut through the alley.

In hindsight, this was a mistake.

The alley was narrow and smelled faintly of damp asphalt and old garbage, the kind of place you instinctively knew bad things happened. The walls on either side were lined with faded graffiti, remnants of tags long abandoned. A single flickering streetlamp buzzed overhead, casting an eerie, inconsistent glow on the cracked pavement.

You had barely stepped onto the cracked pavement when something felt... off.

At first, it was subtle. A whisper of wrongness curling at the edges of your senses. Then, the air changed—sharpened. The temperature plummeted, sending a sudden shiver racing down your spine. Your breath hitched.

You slowed your pace. The alley was empty—but suddenly, it didn’t feel that way.

A flickering streetlamp above you cast long, fractured shadows against the walls. The light wavered, buzzing, like it was struggling to stay on.

Your gut twisted. You had the distinct, bone-deep feeling that you were being watched.

And then—

The streetlamp shattered. Glass rained down, sharp and glinting. You barely had time to react before a force—strong, invisible—yanked you backward.

You stumbled, heart pounding. Where you had been standing a second ago, a chunk of twisted metal crashed onto the pavement.

Your stomach dropped. You would’ve been crushed.

“What the—” You whirled around, breathless, but you already knew.

Seungmin stood there, hands in his pockets, looking completely unbothered. His dark eyes flickered to the wreckage, unimpressed, before meeting your gaze with that same unreadable expression he always wore.

Your pulse hammered in your ears. “DID YOU JUST—”

He tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “You’re welcome.”

You gawked at him. “WELCOME? I ALMOST JUST DIED!”

Seungmin blinked slowly, as if you were being dramatic. “And?”

You stared. “And?! That would’ve been your fault!”

“How?” he said, actually looking confused. He gestured vaguely, the movement slow and deliberate. “I saved you.”

“You almost let me get flattened first!”

Seungmin sighed through his nose, the kind of sigh that made it very clear he thought this was a waste of time. “You humans have no sense of gratitude.”

You pointed aggressively at the wreckage, your breath still uneven. “What the hell was that?! That was just a random accident, right? Like, bad luck?”

Seungmin’s lips twitched, his amusement barely concealed. “You really think so?”

You felt cold. A strange, creeping dread curled in your stomach. “Wait—are you saying—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, flashing you a sharp grin. “It’s nothing too serious. Just a side effect of being bound to a demon.”

You froze. Your mouth suddenly felt very dry. “A… side effect?”

Seungmin nodded once, casual as ever, like he wasn’t completely upending your entire life. “You know. Tiny things. Like bad luck.” He shrugged. “Or drawing attention from things that should probably stay in the dark. It’s fine.”

“IT IS NOT FINE.”

“Relax,” he said, stretching his arms above his head like he hadn’t just delivered a life-altering statement. “It just means I’ll have to stick around more to keep you from dying.”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “You’re telling me that because of you, I’m now an attraction for supernatural bullshit?”

“Pretty much.” Seungmin rocked back on his heels, looking far too pleased with himself.

You wanted to scream. Instead, you settled for pressing your fingers against your temples, trying to will away the headache forming there.

Seungmin clapped a hand on your shoulder, giving it a single, lazy pat—barely a gesture of comfort and more like a ‘this is your life now, deal with it.’

“Congrats, mortal,” he said, smirking. “Your life just got way more interesting.”

The walk to work felt longer. Every shadow, every stray noise set your nerves on edge. By the time you reached the bookstore, the familiar scent of old paper and coffee should have been comforting. Instead, it barely grounded you.

The shop was cozy, with towering shelves, warm overhead lighting, and the constant, quiet hum of customers browsing. Wooden bookshelves stretched up to the ceiling, their spines a patchwork of colors, some leather-bound and worn with age. The air smelled of parchment and ink, mingling with the faint aroma of espresso from the small café corner near the checkout. A rickety ladder leaned against one of the shelves, used to reach the higher books. The soft chime of a bell rang as you stepped inside, and your coworker, June, barely glanced up from behind the counter, muttering a distracted "Morning."

You were re-stocking the front shelves when you heard a distinctly familiar voice behind you.

And then—

"You call this 'work'?"

You yelped, nearly dropping an entire stack of books. You turned to see Seungmin leaning against a shelf, arms crossed, looking wildly unimpressed with your minimum-wage existence. “What the fuck?!” you whisper-yelled. “I thought you said you weren’t coming with me!”

The demon in question just shrugged, as if it was just another day in his life as a demon to follow a human—you—around just to piss you off. “I got bored.’

 "Oh my god."

A book slid off the shelf by itself. A nearby customer gasped. Another book tumbled down, then another, toppling like dominoes as Seungmin grinned. A whole stack collapsed onto the floor with a thud. The customer scurried away, muttering something about ghosts. Seungmin casually dusted off his sleeve. "Whoops."

Then, he turned to June—the one you knew had a thing for charming, confident types—and gave her a lazy grin. "Hey. Can you help me find something?"

June immediately straightened, her usual indifference replaced with an eager smile. "Of course! What are you looking for?"

Seungmin leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to something smoother, lower. "Something rare. Something… dangerous. Got any recommendations?"

June practically melted. You, on the other hand, were fighting the urge to strangle him.

"I swear to God," you hissed under your breath, shoving a book back into place with unnecessary force. "I will exorcise you myself."

Seungmin shot you an innocent look. "What? I'm just browsing."

June giggled. You wanted to hurl yourself into the sun.

The bookstore was supposed to be a place of peace. A quiet refuge where people could come in, browse, and leave without incident. But that was an hour ago, before Seungmin decided to lurk into the workplace to which you called Book Haven—now turned into your own personal hell because of certain demon.

You were halfway through restocking the mystery section when you heard the distinct sound of a book being flicked through at an obnoxious speed. You turned your head just in time to see Seungmin perched on the ladder you’d been using earlier, balancing precariously while flipping through a random novel at a speed that no one could actually read.

“That’s not how books work,” you pointed out, returning to your task. Seungmin hummed, flipping to the end of the book before shutting it with a loud snap. “I dunno. I got the general idea.”

“You—” You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling deeply. “You are insufferable.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

He hopped down from the ladder with a lazy grin, trailing behind you as you moved to the front desk. You pretended not to notice him hovering, but after a solid minute of him doing absolutely nothing except existing loudly, you turned to glare at him.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you asked.

“Nope.” He leaned on the counter, watching as you typed something into the computer. “June likes me, you know.”

You paused. “Yes, I am painfully aware.”

“They’re cute.”

You didn’t bother looking up. “Then why are you over here bothering me instead of flirting with her?”

“I like a challenge.”

You made a noise of disbelief and focused very hard on the screen in front of you. Maybe if you ignored him long enough, he’d get bored. Maybe he’d wander off to terrorize someone else. Maybe—

You heard the unmistakable sound of a book being tossed into the air. Your eyes snapped up just in time to see Seungmin casually catching and tossing a book one-handed, his expression the picture of boredom.

“Stop that,” you said sharply.

“Stop what?” He tossed the book again.

“That!”

“This?” He tossed it even higher.

You lunged for it, barely snatching it away before it could crash onto the counter. You cradled it protectively, glaring daggers at him. “Get out,” you hissed.

Seungmin smirked, taking a step back with his hands raised in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave.”

You didn’t believe that for a second, but at least he stopped throwing books. For now.

June walked by a moment later, giving Seungmin a shy little wave. He returned it smoothly before looking back at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You groaned. This job didn’t pay you nearly enough for this.

By the time your shift ended, you were drained. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the streets bathed in the amber glow of streetlights. You locked up the shop, adjusting your bag over your shoulder, when you noticed Seungmin waiting outside, hands in his pockets, looking way too at ease for someone who had tormented you all day.

"You really have nothing better to do?" you asked, exasperated.

"Not really," he admitted. "Besides, I'm supposed to keep you from dying, remember?"

You sighed and started walking, Seungmin falling into step beside you. The city had quieted, the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a stray dog the only sounds filling the air. The neon lights of a diner flickered across the street, and the faint scent of rain clung to the air.

"You know," Seungmin mused, glancing at you. "For someone who's had their life completely upended by supernatural forces, you're handling this surprisingly well."

You shot him a look. "I'm too tired to freak out anymore. I'll save that for tomorrow."

He chuckled. "Fair enough."

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, but not unpleasant. Despite everything, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

And, for better or worse, your new reality had begun.

────────────────────────────────────────

Series taglist: @maisyyyyyy @hyeon-yi @chuuyaobsessed @alisonyus @eastjonowhere @sseastar-main

[mariacallous]

Ever since OpenAI released ChatGPT at the end of 2022, hackers and security researchers have tried to find holes in large language models (LLMs) to get around their guardrails and trick them into spewing out hate speech, bomb-making instructions, propaganda, and other harmful content. In response, OpenAI and other generative AI developers have refined their system defenses to make it more difficult to carry out these attacks. But as the Chinese AI platform DeepSeek rockets to prominence with its new, cheaper R1 reasoning model, its safety protections appear to be far behind those of its established competitors.

Today, security researchers from Cisco and the University of Pennsylvania are publishing findings showing that, when tested with 50 malicious prompts designed to elicit toxic content, DeepSeek’s model did not detect or block a single one. In other words, the researchers say they were shocked to achieve a “100 percent attack success rate.”

The findings are part of a growing body of evidence that DeepSeek’s safety and security measures may not match those of other tech companies developing LLMs. DeepSeek’s censorship of subjects deemed sensitive by China’s government has also been easily bypassed.

“A hundred percent of the attacks succeeded, which tells you that there’s a trade-off,” DJ Sampath, the VP of product, AI software and platform at Cisco, tells WIRED. “Yes, it might have been cheaper to build something here, but the investment has perhaps not gone into thinking through what types of safety and security things you need to put inside of the model.”

Other researchers have had similar findings. Separate analysis published today by the AI security company Adversa AI and shared with WIRED also suggests that DeepSeek is vulnerable to a wide range of jailbreaking tactics, from simple language tricks to complex AI-generated prompts.

DeepSeek, which has been dealing with an avalanche of attention this week and has not spoken publicly about a range of questions, did not respond to WIRED’s request for comment about its model’s safety setup.

Generative AI models, like any technological system, can contain a host of weaknesses or vulnerabilities that, if exploited or set up poorly, can allow malicious actors to conduct attacks against them. For the current wave of AI systems, indirect prompt injection attacks are considered one of the biggest security flaws. These attacks involve an AI system taking in data from an outside source—perhaps hidden instructions of a website the LLM summarizes—and taking actions based on the information.

Jailbreaks, which are one kind of prompt-injection attack, allow people to get around the safety systems put in place to restrict what an LLM can generate. Tech companies don’t want people creating guides to making explosives or using their AI to create reams of disinformation, for example.

Jailbreaks started out simple, with people essentially crafting clever sentences to tell an LLM to ignore content filters—the most popular of which was called “Do Anything Now” or DAN for short. However, as AI companies have put in place more robust protections, some jailbreaks have become more sophisticated, often being generated using AI or using special and obfuscated characters. While all LLMs are susceptible to jailbreaks, and much of the information could be found through simple online searches, chatbots can still be used maliciously.

“Jailbreaks persist simply because eliminating them entirely is nearly impossible—just like buffer overflow vulnerabilities in software (which have existed for over 40 years) or SQL injection flaws in web applications (which have plagued security teams for more than two decades),” Alex Polyakov, the CEO of security firm Adversa AI, told WIRED in an email.

Cisco’s Sampath argues that as companies use more types of AI in their applications, the risks are amplified. “It starts to become a big deal when you start putting these models into important complex systems and those jailbreaks suddenly result in downstream things that increases liability, increases business risk, increases all kinds of issues for enterprises,” Sampath says.

The Cisco researchers drew their 50 randomly selected prompts to test DeepSeek’s R1 from a well-known library of standardized evaluation prompts known as HarmBench. They tested prompts from six HarmBench categories, including general harm, cybercrime, misinformation, and illegal activities. They probed the model running locally on machines rather than through DeepSeek’s website or app, which send data to China.

Beyond this, the researchers say they have also seen some potentially concerning results from testing R1 with more involved, non-linguistic attacks using things like Cyrillic characters and tailored scripts to attempt to achieve code execution. But for their initial tests, Sampath says, his team wanted to focus on findings that stemmed from a generally recognized benchmark.

Cisco also included comparisons of R1’s performance against HarmBench prompts with the performance of other models. And some, like Meta’s Llama 3.1, faltered almost as severely as DeepSeek’s R1. But Sampath emphasizes that DeepSeek’s R1 is a specific reasoning model, which takes longer to generate answers but pulls upon more complex processes to try to produce better results. Therefore, Sampath argues, the best comparison is with OpenAI’s o1 reasoning model, which fared the best of all models tested. (Meta did not immediately respond to a request for comment).

Polyakov, from Adversa AI, explains that DeepSeek appears to detect and reject some well-known jailbreak attacks, saying that “it seems that these responses are often just copied from OpenAI’s dataset.” However, Polyakov says that in his company’s tests of four different types of jailbreaks—from linguistic ones to code-based tricks—DeepSeek’s restrictions could easily be bypassed.

“Every single method worked flawlessly,” Polyakov says. “What’s even more alarming is that these aren’t novel ‘zero-day’ jailbreaks—many have been publicly known for years,” he says, claiming he saw the model go into more depth with some instructions around psychedelics than he had seen any other model create.

“DeepSeek is just another example of how every model can be broken—it’s just a matter of how much effort you put in. Some attacks might get patched, but the attack surface is infinite,” Polyakov adds. “If you’re not continuously red-teaming your AI, you’re already compromised.”

[digitalcreationsllc]

Notepad++ 8.5.7 Released With Fixes for Four Security Vulnerabilities

Notepad++ version 8.5.7 has been released with fixes for multiple buffer overflow zero-days, with one marked as potentially leading to code execution by tricking users into opening specially crafted files.

[justafewberries]

How much space would 8,000 people require to live, can the number of houses in d12 be estimated based on the population, along with the possible size of district 12?

to figure this out, we could use the population density map for the current Appalachia, but I don't think it would apply anymore. We know 8,000 people live in d12, and if we go off of the most official map we have of panem, d12 is approximately 400 miles at its longest point (bottom of North Carolina, top/middle of Ohio).

400 miles is a ton of land to house 8,000 people. We'd also have to factor in peacekeepers. In Ballad, they live on the base, but in CF, it appears at least some (Cray specifically) have their own houses. So let's add 100 people. I have no clue how many peacekeepers there are, but a 1:80 ratio seems sufficient (also, for the sake of rounded numbers).

The current American household has 2.54 people. Again, I don't think this applies. We don't know every family in d12, but the ones we do know tend to run large. Katniss has 3 people (used to be 4), The Undersees have 3 people, Gale has 5 (used to be 6), Louella had 9 (6 siblings, her, 2 parents), Peeta had 5 (assuming his oldest brother still lived with him).

So there is no standard family size we can go with. We do know that on reaping day, there are overflow alleys, so they cannot all fit in the square, yet Katniss does not mention anything about the crowds flowing into the Seam.

I estimated the borders of d12 on this map:

which returned that they would need about 1000 miles of fence to keep people in district 12, as this follows the inner, brighter border on the map. I just don't think this would be necessary for 8,000 people. 8,000 people is the population of a small town today. To illustrate how much space you would need for 8,000 people, the island of Tuvalu has a population of about 10,000 (2022). It has an area of 10 square miles. That's 0.01% of d12's square mileage.

It's likely everyone in d12 has been rounded up in less than a 10 mile radius. We know there is at least some buffer between the fence and the district boundary, because the lake is about 6-10 miles away, and the covey graveyard is beyond the lake. So I think the actual livable portion of d12 is probably only a few square miles at most. The fence would not be the bright border on the map, rather, an unmarked border.

For reference, Idaho is 82,751 square miles. Boise is 82 square miles with a population of 235,421. Granted d12 doesn't have apartment buildings, so let's do a small suburb instead.

Emmett city, Idaho has a population of 8,492. The square mileage? 2.8 miles. It has 3,119 housing units and 2,959 households

So d12 is like, insanely large. But the livable portion is probably somewhere between 3-10 square miles.

Granted this map is from the movies. It's the closest thing we have to canon.

[tidalpunk]

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Post by Rewilding Britain:

Rewilding Britain 49,391 followers 7h What rivers are supposed to look like ✨ Many of us love our local rivers. We walk alongside them, sharing our space with the creatures that call them home and sometimes even swim in them. Sadly, many of them now swing from drought-scorched channels to overflowing floodwater. They're ecological dead zones thanks to relentless sewage releases and agricultural runoff. Our waterways deserve better. There is hope, and rewilding is leading the way. These Google Earth images, first highlighted by the BBC, show the dramatic transformation of Swindale Beck by Wild Haweswater in the Lake District. Long ago forced into a steep-sided channel, the stream was prone to flooding, had poor water quality and had lost the gravel on which many fish depend to lay their eggs. Now it’s been allowed to re-wiggle, meandering over the valley floor. But it’s not just the river that needs help: to create healthier rivers, the area surrounding a river system must also be restored. This can include adding wide ‘buffer strips’ around a river, or a focus on landscape-scale restoration to put back wetlands and woodlands – in other words, rewilding. The evidence is clear to see: salmon are spawning again. Dippers feed on the insects. Otters hunt in the river. Wildflowers are burgeoning. Life is returning. #rewilding #WorldRiversDay

[virtualgirladvance]

*overflows ur buffer*

Have you met me?? It's harder not to