#Pi Digit Calculator

[a-tools]

Pi Calculator is designed to calculate the value of Pi (π) to a specified number of decimal places. Simply enter the number of start decimal places and the number of digits you need, and it will generate the value of Pi (π) instantly.

[personallysunny]

so true 😭😭

I'm so right!!

[vlruso]

Why You (Almost) Cant Calculate Pi to a Billion Digits in Python at Home

📢 Exciting News! Google just set a new world record for calculating the most digits of Pi! 🎉 Curious about how they did it using the y-cruncher program on Google Cloud? 🤔 In our latest blog post, "Why You (Almost) Can't Calculate Pi to a Billion Digits in Python at Home," we delve into the fascinating world of Pi approximations. We explore Ramanujan's formula, the Chudnovsky algorithm, and even introduce Gosper's series as a faster alternative! Find out why accurately calculating Pi to a billion digits in Python is no easy feat. Discover the limitations of floating point numbers and the accumulation of rounding errors. Plus, we conducted experiments on our own PC to calculate Pi to 1,000 digits and 1 million digits! 🧮 Ready to dive into the math behind Pi and learn about the practical solutions for leveraging AI? Check out our blog post here: [Link to Blog Post](https://ift.tt/7AzoQGZ) And remember, if you're interested in exploring AI solutions and staying updated on the latest AI news, connect with us at hello@itinai.com or follow us on Telegram at t.me/itinainews or Twitter @itinaicom! Also, don't miss our spotlight on the AI Sales Bot, a game-changer for automating customer engagement and managing interactions throughout the customer journey. Find out more at itinai.com/aisalesbot. #AI #Python #PiApproximation #Mathematics #TechNews List of Useful Links: AI Scrum Bot - ask about AI scrum and agile Our Telegram @itinai Twitter -  @itinaicom

[vnynv]

old world blues au of my friend's and i's ocs. they were scientists at the big mt who were the first trial test subjects for think tank technology... but instead of being mobile, they were forced to share a computer, a face, and all the processing technology that came with it.

the courier would find them in one of the abandoned sites, forever stuck there. dr escher (sato, blue) would be snide, but dr penrose (kawashima, teal) would be nice, despite that her voice box functions like a very broken vocaloid with a lot of static. in their free time, they continue calculating the 'remaining' digits of pi

colourless ver of pre-think tanks and sketch of 2nd with dialogue below

[sixeyesbloom]

Starring : Caleb X Reader

Sypnois: perverted Caleb stalking his crush

Warnings: panty sniffer Caleb , porn with plot , smut , dry humping

It began with a glance—just a fleeting gaze—and that was enough to ruin him, enough for her to plague his mind like a fever.Every stolen look was furtive, each one a greater transgression than the last, leaving him ravenous, yearning.Caleb knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself.

What started as stolen glances morphed into something darker, something consuming.He lied to himself, whispering that it was for her protection, but the truth festered beneath. She was his sin,his cataclysmic undoing—a crime against reason, yet one he’d commit again in every lifetime.

She was maddeningly beautiful. He was drawn like a moth to a flame, helpless against the pull of her sun-kissed skin, the curls that framed her face like a halo, those thick-framed glasses that made her eyes look bottomless.

Caleb could chart every variation of her existence by heart now.

A year.

Three months.

Three weeks.

Two days.

He'd been counting since that first moment he saw her on campus—she would never notice a nerd, a loser like him.And still, shame coiled in his gut like a living thing, paralysing him. Too terrified to speak, too ensnared to escape.

Caleb stared longer than he should have. If he was honest, he only attended classes now for those stolen glimpses of her. He was smart—gifted, even—but that meant nothing when his hands shook at the thought of saying hello. His glasses slid down his nose as he watched her enter, unnoticed as always.

She never noticed him. Why would she? He was just another shadow in the lecture hall, another nameless face in the back row. But Caleb noticed everything about her.

Today, her curls were piled into a loose bun, tendrils escaping around her temples. Her style was different today. Caleb realized she didn’t have one aesthetic—just fragments of everything, effortlessly cool in a way that made his chest ache. Her bag slumped carelessly over one shoulder, dragging her shirt down just enough— right there-the mole just below her collarbone . The one he’d sketched in the margins of thermodynamic notes last week surrounded by calculations of how much force it would take to leave marks in her skin without hurting her . He’s counted around six , the majority dotted across her face so far.

He devoured the sight, guilt sour on his tongue but hunger burning hotter.

The class room air thickened as she took of her hoodie revealing a simple shirt , if he leaned forward just about six inches , he’d see the indent of her bra strap (he’d measured the distance last Tuesday ). She wore a faded band T-shirt—one he recognized because he’d Googled the lyrics last week—and the neckline dipped just slightly when she leaned forward to scribble notes. His fingers twitched against his thigh, itching to trace the exposed slope of her shoulder.

Caleb didn’t need this class. He’d aced it last year. But he kept coming, kept sitting just far enough behind her that he could watch without being seen.

Her bag slipped, dragging her shirt collar down another inch. His breath hitched. A sliver of skin he’d never seen before—smooth, warm brown, the faintest edge of a lace strap. His teeth dug into his bottom lip.

Pathetic.

He was smart. Brilliant, even. He could recite Pi to the hundredth digit, could derive equations professors struggled with. But none of that mattered when his entire existence narrowed to the way she tucked a loose curl behind her ear.

Look back .Just once .

She didn’t . She never did .

Fuck .

Instead, she scratched her neck—a careless motion that hitched her shirt up, exposing two inches of waistband. Light yellow. Boy shorts. Little green leaves. His mouth flooded with saliva at the imagined texture: the cotton between his teeth, the snap of elastic against her hipbone.

Heat surged through him , skin pricking, jeans growing taught . The shame should��ve gutted him-but it didn’t . Not with her. Instead he pressed his thighs harder against the edge of the desk , letting pain fuse with pleasure until they were undistinguishable.

His backpack sat heavy beneath his feet , a shrine of her .

1. #21:Black hair tie coiled with strands of her curls (three darker ones, coiled like nooses)

2. #22:Cherry lip balm (73% remaining; he’d applied it last night, pretending his mouth was hers)

3. #23:Vanilla-scented gym socks (stolen mid-spin cycle, still damp with sweat)

4.#24:Her notes, the words “wanna be bigbacks after class"(not for him, never for him)

Heat surged through him, jeans growing taut. The shame should’ve gutted him—but not with her.Never with her . His most prized possession was her sweaty gym clothes he’d taken-more like stolen . Caleb’s throat tightened as he remembered. It was just yesterday when he saw her jogging past the bleachers . A teammate had slapped her ass - a casual laughing touch that sent cold white fury through him . He should be the one pealing the clothes of her.Not to return them ,not to wash them .

But to keep them .

To press his face into them at night , breathing into her scent until his head spun. To map every salt stain with his tongue , pretending it was her skin . The cotton reeked of her now , the sweet-sour musk of exertion. He’d ruined it , rubbed himself raw so many times over her scent that it mixed with his in his own sickened devotion and release , then he had bought it to his lips tasting them together .

Beneath his desk , his fingers dug into thighs

“ Problem 5.6 , Caleb?”

The professors voice cracked through the room . Caleb blinked , his notebook showed a half equation dissolving into a sketch of her in jogging shorts , the ones he should’ve pealed of when that fucking teammate touched-

The bell shattered the lecture hall’s inertia. She was first through the doors—always was on wednesday ,when the promise of an empty gym outweighed post-class chatter. Caleb counted the seconds until her sneakers disappeared around the corner.

Nineteen minutes now.

He’d recalibrated his entire existence to this schedule. His protein shake sat pre-mixed in his bag, his grip gloves already damp with anticipatory sweat. By the time she’d cross the quad, he’d be mid-stretch by the weight racks, hidden behind the pillar where the security camera’s blind spot intersected with her habitual path to the leg press.

The air smelled of chlorine and industrial cleaner when she pushed through the gym doors. Caleb watched through the mirror’s reflection as she paused—chin lifted, nostrils flared—scanning the room. A soft exhale escaped her when she confirmed the solitude. Her shoulders dropped three millimeters.

She thinks she’s alone.

His muscles burned as he forced himself through another set of squats, eyes tracking her reflection. Those absurdly baggy sweatpants swallowed every curve, but Caleb knew what moved beneath them. He’d diagrammed the exact taper of her quadriceps after last week’s deadlifts, when the fabric had clung briefly with sweat.

Now she bent forward, palms flat to the mat, ass angled toward the ceiling. The stretch made her shirt ride up, revealing a sliver of skin above her waistband. Caleb’s dumbbell clattered to the floor.

"Shit—"

She whirled around. Caleb ducked behind the pillar, his pulse hammering against his eardrums. Thirty-seven seconds passed before the rustle of her resuming the stretch crept through the silence.

He exhaled through his teeth.

Close.

This was torture—Caleb knew that. Yet he couldn’t stop. Was he a masochist? Addicted to the way her gasps sounded knowing he wasn’t the cause ? To the way her thighs trembled as she begged for no more ?

Then—impossible—her fingers brushed his shoulder.

"Excuse me?" Her voice was softer than he’d imagined. "Sorry to disturb you, but…can you help me with the weights?"

Disturb him?

His throat closed. She could never disturb him—he’d built entire days around the hope of her shadow crossing his path.

"Sure," he managed, following like a sleepwalker.

The gym lights caught the sweat glistening on her collarbones as she shrugged off her hoodie. Underneath, a gray tank top clung to her skin, damp and translucent. She’d changed bras—this one was black, the straps digging into her shoulders as she moved. A bead of sweat trailed from her neck, down between her—

Focus.

He loaded the 30kg plates onto the barbell with ease, his fingers lingering on the cold metal. She settled onto the hip thrust bench, knees bent, that damn tank top riding up as she positioned herself.

"Ninety kilos?" he asked, pretending not to already know her max.

She nodded, breath already uneven.

Caleb watched—had to watch—as she lifted, the barbell rising with each thrust of her hips. Her thighs trembled; a strained moan escaped her lips.

"Your form’s wrong," he blurted.

She froze mid-motion, the weight hovering. "Huh?"

Too late to backtrack. Caleb stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. "Your—your back’s arched too much. You’ll hurt yourself."

He could smell her now—salt and vanilla deodorant and something hers.His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to "correct" her posture.

Caleb hesitated—just for a second—before nodding. His hands hovered over her, trembling slightly before finally making contact. The moment his fingers pressed against the sweat-damp fabric of her tank top, to the furnace heat of her skin—time fractured. Her spine arched under his palms like a bowstring drawn too tight. A gasp escaped her lips , louder than the clanking weights around them .

She was warm.

So warm he could feel the heat radiating through the thin material, could trace the delicate ridges of her spine as he “adjusted” her posture. His throat tightened when she gasped, her back arching under his touch.

“Ngh…it’s too much.”

Too much? No. This wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

Caleb swallowed hard, his mouth dry. What cosmic favor had he unknowingly earned to be this close? Close enough to see the way her sweat darkened the fabric clinging to her chest. Close enough to count every rapid rise and fall of her breath . Close enough to smell her—that intoxicating mix of salt and something sweet beneath the vanilla deodorant.

His gym shorts were uncomfortably tight now, the fabric straining , he was sure he was leaking so much his tip stained with precum leaking against constructed polyester . He didn’t need to look down to know.

“Again,” he ordered, voice rougher than he intended.

She obeyed, hips lifting, thighs trembling with effort. Each thrust drew another breathy moan from her lips, each one sending a jolt straight to his groin. The sounds were beautiful—desperate, uneven, his.

The sound vibrated through him, settling low in his groin. He counted each thrust like rosary beads: Six… seven… Her sweat dripped onto the bench between her splayed thighs. Eight… A vein stood out on her neck. Nine—

She collapsed, chest heaving. “Thank you…”

Caleb’s fingers twitched toward her hipbone. “How many sets left?” He already knew. Knew she’d fail on the final rep. Knew her legs would shake beautifully. Knew he’d have to steady her then, hands spanning her waist—

“Two more.”

He adjusted the weights anyway, adding 5kg she wouldn’t notice.

Her protest came on the fourth rep of the next set. “Please—no more—” Her thighs quivered violently. “You said… this was the last…”

Caleb slid behind her without hesitation. His palms cradled her ass, lifting her into position like a sacrament. The heat of her burned through the thin fabric .

Touching. Actually touching.

He spread his legs beneath her, a pantomime of support as she strained against the barbell. Every downward thrust brought her within centimeters of his erection—so close he could count individual threads of her leggings brushing against him.

“One more,” he murmured, lips near her ear.

She sobbed but obeyed, her body moving on instinct. Caleb watched sweat roll down the valley of her spine, his grip tightening.

She didn’t notice.

She never noticed.

Not his hands lingering too long . Not the way his breath hitched every time she rocked back .

Caleb’s hands hovered—too close—as she struggled under the barbell. He hadn’t meant to touch. Hadn’t meant to let his thighs press against the bench, close enough to feel her body heat through his sweatpants.

Then gravity betrayed them both.

Her collapse was sudden—a muffled gasp, the clang of weights—and suddenly she was on him, her back flush against his chest, the barbell pinning them together. Every ragged breath she took rocked her ass against his erection, the sweat-damp fabric of her leggings creating just enough friction.

Oh God.

She was warm. Warmer than he’d imagined in all those late-night fantasies. The scent of her shampoo flooded his nose—coconut and salt—as

as her hair brushed his chin. His hips jerked involuntarily, his cock slotting perfectly between her cheeks.

She had to feel it.

Panic spiked through him as she tensed.

She knew.

“Shit—sorry—” Her voice was high, strained, as she tried to push up. But her arms shook, legs still jelly from the workout, and she collapsed back down with a whimper.

The second impact was worse.

Caleb’s head slammed against the padded bench as she ground against him, the movement dragging her ass along his length. A broken moan tore from his throat.

“Aah—“

The wetness spread like a brand across his shorts. Caleb could feel it—the damp heat, the fabric sticking to his skin. His teeth pierced his lower lip. Copper flooded his tongue.

Don't grab her hips.

Don't grind against the bench.

Don't fucking moan.

Across from him, she floundered. "I'm—I'm sorry—" Her hands flew to her face as she squirmed, thighs shaking. The barbell rocked precariously when she tried one last thrust before collapsing back onto him.

That scent—warm salt and vanilla—hit him like a physical blow.

Before he could stop himself, Caleb was leaning in. His nose brushed the sweat-slick curve of her neck. One inhale—

Strawberry shampoo.

Strawberry body lotion (Tuesday ritual).

Her.

His hips jerked involuntarily. A strangled sound escaped him as white-hot pleasure ripped through his body. For three terrifying seconds, the world reduced to pulsebeats and the muffled sound of her confused gasp beneath him.

Then—silence.

Caleb went statue-still.

Reality crashed back in jagged fragments:

The wet cooling stain in his shorts

Her frozen posture beneath him

The gym's fluorescent lights humming like witnesses

He'd just—

Oh god.

Oh god oh god oh—

Caleb’s body moved before his brain could protest—hands gripping the barbell, pressing his chest flush against her back as he shoved the weights aside. For one suspended second, she arched into him, a breathy moan escaping her lips before she staggered upright on shaking legs.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck—

The realization detonated in his skull: She’d tell. She’d describe him to campus security with those lips he’d imagined a thousand times—creep, pervert, disgusting—and every calculated move he’d made for a year would unravel.

Then she turned.

Her eyes—wide, dark, pupils blown—traveled from his sweat-streaked face to the obscene tent in his shorts. The silence stretched like a live wire.

“I’m sorr—”

Her skin had deepened to a heated rose-gold, chest rising too fast beneath the damp tank top . Caleb, watched hypnotised as her gaze moved from his face to his damp crotch. A sharp inhale , then—

Thwump.

Her hoodie hit him mid-thigh. The fabric smelled like her—laundry detergent and the faint citrus of her neck.

“You should…” Her voice cracked. “Before someone sees.”

She crossed her arms—deliberately now—biceps tensing as she stepped back. Caleb rose to his full height, looming over her despite her defiant posture. The lie came automatically:

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it."

His pulse hammered at the way her neck craned to maintain eye contact. Fuck,he loved this. Loved how her collarbones grew more pronounced when she tilted her head back. Loved that even pissed off, she had to look up.

For three excruciating seconds, silence stretched between them. Then—

"It’s alright," she muttered, gaze darting to the mirrored walls. "It’s... natural."

Natural.

The word hung in the air like the scent of their mingled sweat. When she finally looked up, Caleb saw it—the dilation of her pupils beneath the embarrassment, the flush spreading below her choker. Not just confusion.

Lust.

And fuck,she was prettier up close. The faint scar through her left eyebrow. The way her bottom lip quivered when she spoke again:

"Just... tutor me for physics and I’ll let it go." She tucked a curl behind her ear with trembling fingers. "You’re the best in the class."

Caleb’s breath caught.

The universe had handed him everything—her scent in his nose, her shame between them, and now permission to be alone with her. His fingers twitched at his sides.

Lucky?

This wasn’t luck.

This was a fucking miracle.

12:45 AM

The panties clung to Caleb’s face like a second skin, the lace damp with her—that musky-sweet tang he’d fantasized about for months. He inhaled deeper, lungs burning, until the fabric suctioned to his nostrils with each ragged breath.

Proof.

Actual, physical proof she’d been here. That she’d trusted him enough to hand over the sweatpants he’d ruined, the cotton soaked through with his own release. (“I’ll dry-clean them,” he’d promised, voice steady while his soul screamed.)

Now her hoodie formed a nest around his bare thighs, the sleeves twisted in his fists. The gym’s fluorescent lights had bleached the scent from her tank top, but this—the gusset of her panties—still carried the salt-sharp truth of her.

Caleb's cock pulsed in his grip,red hot thick ,smearing precum across his abdomen as he relived every second:

The give of her thighs when she'd struggled beneath him

The choked gasp when he'd buried his face in her neck

How her sweat had tasted when he finally-finally—

"Fuck-more—"

His hips jackknifed. The orgasm hit like a seizure, vision whiting out as he came across her abandoned sweats. Strings of sperm dotted the drawstring-claiming what she'd left behind.

Panting, Caleb pressed the soiled panties to his mouth, tongue tracing the lace edging.

The bitter tang of her arousal mixed with his own release.

Tomorrow, he'd see her in class.

Tomorrow, she'd smile at him like she didn't know.

Tomorrow, he'd count the freckles on her collarbone while pretending to explain quantum theory.

But tonight-

Caleb reached for the Ziploc bag beneath his pillow, sealing his treasure inside. The clock read 1:17 AM.

Three hundred seventy-three days down.

Forever to go.

[caesariawritesstuff]

omg i’m so sorry for being late with this ( it’s 20 mins to midnight for me ) could i do a 🌹 💋

with a roles reversed C&M where y/n is transferred into the GCPD from arkham asylum and Arkham origins eddie is assigned her handler.

( ps i cannot wait for the next arc of C&M !! )

Switched

Summary: When a new patient from Arkham is released on probation, Edward finds himself as her handler at the GCPD. A role-reversed AU where Detective is the criminal and Ed is the hero.

Word Count: 3.0k

Content Warning: Some nonconsensual touching, grinding, Reader being a bit of a sexual menace.

A/N: Anon I need you to know that I got this request and screamed. It has had me in a chokehold since I got it and I really think this could be a fun AU to write one of these days, but I hope you enjoy!

Edward Nashton was a man of many talents.

He could code at an exhilarating rate, solve equations well beyond the means of other people’s intellectual capabilities, and calculate pi to the trillionth digit. However, what Edward Nashton could not do, was be someone’s babysitter.

And that’s exactly what he felt like now as he looked at you, studying you from head to toe as Commissioner Loeb introduced you to him. Normally, Edward wouldn’t normally care about a new hire at the GCPD – but this was different. You were different.

And that was because you weren’t just any new hire.

You were a released patient from the newly refurbished Arkham Asylum that had been opened last year, a thoughtless attempt to rehabilitate Gotham’s most insane of criminals. Your file sat on Loeb’s desk, a thick stack of all of your crimes: arson, armed robbery, murder, extortion – the list went on and on. And Edward was absolutely appalled that you would be allowed out of Arkham and given a second chance at rehabilitation.

“Nashton,” Loeb said. “I’m assigning you to be her handler.”

Edward’s eyes flickered to you. “Her…handler?” More like babysitter, he thought, anger churning wildly in his stomach. He couldn’t believe this – and not only this, but he didn’t like the way you were leaning back in your seat, one leg folded across the other, a seductive smirk plastered across your face. The kind of smirk that made his skin crawl. Edward couldn’t help but notice that you were wearing a low skirt just above the knees, and a white blouse that was more low-cut for his liking, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows. There was an air about you, one filled with a seductiveness and superiority that he did not like.

Oh, he did not like this one bit.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Nashton,” you said, not bothering to stand, gazing at him with a heavy gaze, a thin line of eyeliner swiped across your shimmery eyelids.

“Pleasure,” Edward muttered, but he was less than pleased at all. A criminal inside the GCPD, where you could steal secrets and feed inside information to other criminals? Not exactly something he’d like to be dealing with right about now. But he, found, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you, couldn’t stop the pull as he inhaled a sexy scent of sweet salt and caramel radiating off of your body and through your hair.

“She’ll be acting as an assistant for the department,” Loeb continued. “Make sure she gets settled in and has whatever she needs.”

“Very well,” Edward said, even though a lump formed in his throat. He glanced at you again, and Loeb’s brows furrowed as he stared at him, before nodding in dismissal, waving his hand lazily.

“Well,” Edward said again, clearing his throat. “I’ll show you around.”

“Oh, and Nashton,” Loeb said, catching his attention again. “We don’t have the space around the department, so she’ll be sharing your office with you.”

That made Edward still. His skin crawled at the thought of letting you into his private space, his stomach twisting in knots, but he nodded, gritting his teeth; the very prospect of being forced to share his sacred space with you irritated him to no end. But, he clenched his jaw and swallowed down his words of anger as his fists curled into hands, digging into his palms, into the thin leather of his fingerless gloves.

You can deal with this, Edward, he told himself. He’d dealt with a lot worse in his time here already, and in his life in general. Babysitting you would be nothing he couldn’t handle. All he had to do was show you around, ignore you, and that would be that. Right?

As Edward made his way out of Loeb’s office, you followed close behind, that scent of your perfume still tickling his nose. You shut the office door behind you and turned to him, before flashing him that tricky, seductive smile. Your lips were pink and glossy, your cheeks flushed pink, and when you blinked, the shimmer across your eyelids caught in the light. There was something about you that made his heart clench in his chest, his loins stir in a way they hadn’t in a long time, but he clenched his teeth and curled his fists tighter.

“Well,” Edward said, clearing his throat. “I suppose I’ll be showing you around.” He jerked his chin for you to follow him, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

You certainly didn’t look like a criminal. He’d seen his fair share of criminals come in and out of the GCPD, and Edward was good at reading people – but you? You didn’t give off the aura of a criminal at all. Not even your eyes held that same coldness other psychopaths and murderers and degenerates held. There was something different about you, but he couldn’t place it, as much as he maybe shouldn’t bother trying.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice smooth, full of confidence.

He glanced at you again, but he couldn’t help the way his eyes dipped to look at the way your blouse was open just enough for him to get a nice peek at your cleavage. Quickly, he looked back up, his cheeks heating to the billionth degree.

“See something you like?” you asked, smirking.

Shit. You’d noticed. His cheeks burned even harder, and he swallowed the lump in his throat, averting his eyes from the way your own gaze burned holes in his skin.

“This is my office,” he said instead, opening the door and flicking on the light. Crappy, yellow overhead lightning flickered on inside his Cybercrimes Division office – which wasn’t much of a department at all. Just a couple of desks, all of them empty except his own, stacked with computer monitors and his hefty CPU he’d built from scratch with painstaking care. Perhaps against GCPD protocol, but he didn’t care much. Much better than the archaic machines that were in the precinct anyways.

“Take whatever desk you want,” Edward murmured, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You glanced around, frowning, before you looked back at him. “This room is a dump,” you said, wandering over to one desk with a gentle sway of your hips. You reached down, swiping your finger across the thin layer of dust that had coated everything.

That made Edward snort. “Apologies, your highness. I didn’t realize I needed to do a deep cleaning before your arrival.” The sarcastic words dripped out of him like venom.

You glanced back at him, smirking, rubbing your finger against your thumb in an attempt to rub off the dust. “I don’t mind things getting a little dirty,” you replied, but there was something in your tone that made Edward’s stomach do a thousand flips.

He shifted on his feet, gazing at you as his cheeks continued to burn. But you only turned around fully and smiled, before hoisting yourself onto the desk and crossing one slender leg over the other, placing your hands behind you to prop yourself up as you leaned back. Edward’s eyes widened at how brazen and bold the movement was, and he took a step back, clearing his throat.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be on the desk,” he said, his words level.

“You could join me, if you want?” you asked, raising your brows, your tone suggestive.

Edward felt excitement shoot all the way down to his cock. Excitement that he hadn’t felt in years – as if his cock had a mind of it’s own, coming to life, desperate for attention and stimulation. He shifted back and forth on his feet and swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I don’t think so,” he said. But the words were strained, his cock pulsating.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re no fun.” You jumped off the desk, before wandering past him, pausing to reach up and pat his shoulder. “I’m sure I can change that.”

Edward’s eyes went so wide he was surprised they didn’t pop right out of his head. He blinked, trying to process everything you were saying, but he only stepped back and cleared his throat once more. This couldn’t be happening – he needed to remain at his utmost professional behavior. He could not allow himself to fall into this…trap. Whatever trap you were laying for him, like a black widow spinning her web of lies and deceit.

He took a wide step back from you, ensuring there was enough distance between the both of you, clearing his throat again as words lodged there, swollen and hollow. Finally, he said, “I’m going to show you around the department now.”

Before you could say more, he turned on his heels and headed back through the halls, determined to keep his eyes forward and his cock from growing in his pants. But the continuous sweet smell of your perfume only continued to invade his nose, and his heart thumped wildly in his chest, each heavy beat only worsening inside of him. He swallowed the lump in his throat, but continued showing you around the GCPD. You were quiet, your eyes forward, nodding along as he introduced you to several department heads. But the entire time, he couldn’t help but notice that any man you passed by, you flashed the same flirty smile, the same bedroom eyes, batting your lashes, wielding your sexuality like a weapon.

A true black widow, indeed.

By the time he finished showing you around, Commissioner Loeb pulled you back into his office to fill out some paperwork, giving Edward a moment to breathe. Wiping the sweat from his temple, he hurried into his office and quickly shut the door, sliding into his seat, fingers racing across the keys as he looked up your new employee file and everything he could find about you: apparently, you’d been in Arkham for six months, receiving extensive rehabilitation before being deemed to fit to return to society. It didn’t take him long to learn that you were living in a halfway house for convicted female felons, and that you were being forced to work here at the GCPD as part of your parole. But as he dug deeper, he found a laundry list of your crimes: from murder, to extortion, to theft. Apparently, you used to be work for your parents at the Cresthelm Foundation, but something – something Edward couldn’t quite find – made you have a psychotic break and turn to life of crime.

He tapped his fingertips against the desk, a gentle thrumming as curiosity brewed in his veins. You came from an affluent family, had a myriad of wealth at your disposal, you were well-educated…so what made you snap? That was the question he found eating away at him for the next hour, until the door to his office opened. He sat up, quickly clicking off your file and hiding it away, sitting up straighter as you entered the office.

He swiveled around in his chair to look at you. “Everything all right?” he asked, trying to maintain some sense of professional politeness, though he couldn’t care less.

“Everything’s fine, Mr. Nashton,” you replied. But your gaze was hardened like stone.

Edward lifted his chin slightly, his curiosity stirring, but he only turned away, glancing once more at his computer screen. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with you being in his office, or apparently, the assistant to the department. You crossed your arms over your chest, and looked around, gazing at his empty office, before your eyes settled on him again.

“You don’t like to decorate,” you finally said.

Well, you were right about that. He had nothing: no family photos, no little knickknacks, nothing on his desk that gave any indication that his office was like his second home.

“I find it a foolish waste of time,” was all he said.

You smirked. “Smart man.”

His heart pounded deep in his chest. That lump in his throat formed again, heat rising across his throat, but he looked away and focused back on the computer screen before him, at a random document he’d pulled up to make himself look like he was busy.

“What’s a matter, Mr. Nashton?” you asked, your voice oddly smooth and quiet as you shut the door behind you, your hands trailing down to lock it.

The sound of the lock turning made him sit up straighter and turn to you. He blinked once. Twice. A third time as he noticed the way you approached his chair with slow steps, like you were the predator and he the prey, a gentle sway to your hips. Your eyes were narrowed, heavy-lidded bedroom eyes that made his insides do a thousand flips.

“Cat got your tongue?” you asked, the corners of your lips twitching upwards.

Edward cleared his throat again, trying desperately to find the words to ask what the hell you were doing, but they caught in his mouth and died on his tongue. Finally, he prepared to stand, his hands resting on the armrests of his chair to propel himself upwards, when your hand suddenly shot out, long-nailed fingers splaying out on his chest, pushing him back down.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” you said before he could even protest. “You might be my assigned handler here, but I’m not interested in having a babysitter. Understand?”

His cheeks burned, the touch of your fingers across his sweater vest practically radiating your warmth all the way through the fabric and onto his skin. No one had ever touched him like this before – spoken to him like this before – and it was irritating and exhilarating all at the same time, excitement shooting all the way down to his neglected cock. He couldn’t help himself – couldn’t help the rush of heat pooling in his bloodstream and down to his loins. It’d been ages since he’d touched himself, nonetheless, let someone else touch him, and he felt his cock rise at attention, the sound of your dominating voice stirring desire deep in his belly. Slowly, your eyes dropped down to the growing bulge in his pants, and when you looked back up, you smiled.

“Miss—” he started to say, your name rolling off his tongue.

Your smile only grew, a wickedness filling your eyes. “What’s wrong, Mr. Nashton?”

“This is highly inappropriate,” he said, his words stumbling out of his mouth. The heat radiating across his skin and pulsating all the way down to his cock only worsened, as if he’d been dunked in a boiling vat of lava.

“I’ve always like the inappropriate,” you replied. “And I can tell you do, too.” As you spoke, you pressed your hand harder into his chest, forcing him to sit back down.

Edward’s knees buckled underneath him. The force of your hand was hardly anything strong – he was sure he could overpower you in an instant – but his knees gave out against his control, and he sank back into his chair, gazing up at you as you quietly straddled him, your thighs coming to rest on either side of him. Your skirt hiked up a little, revealing a lacy little thong, and your center brushed against the bulge in his pants. He gasped, a shark intake of breath, and shuddered as your hands settled on his shoulders.

“Have you never had a woman touch you?” you asked, laughing lightly. “How pathetic. For a man as handsome as you, I’d think you’d get all kinds of action.”

“Miss…” he said again, your name rolling off his tongue. “I don’t even know you. I’m supposed to be your handler. Not—”

“Not what? My new plaything?” you asked, rolling your hips once.

Edward shuddered again as your core rocked against his hard on. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the sensation like nothing he’d felt before. He had every urge to grab onto your hips, rip your thong right off, and impale you on his cock right then and there. But this was highly inappropriate – he could lose his job if you were caught straddling him like this, if…

“I’m no one’s plaything,” he muttered.

“See, Mr. Nashton, that’s where you’re wrong,” you whispered, leaning forward to gently brush your lips against his earlobes. “Because you’re my plaything now. And unless you’re willing to march in there and demand the Commissioner send me away, well, go for it. But if you do that, you’ll miss all the fun we’d have together. And right now, I think you could use a bit of fun.” In response, you rolled your hips once more.

Edward could’ve cum right then and there. Your body was pressed tight against his, your smell intoxicating, the feeling of your hot core so close to his throbbing cock – it was all too much, and Edward had never been in this position before. He didn’t know whether or not to push you off or bend you over his desk right here and now.

“I bet you say that to all the guys,” he muttered again, rolling his eyes.

“Only the ones I like,” you said with a light laugh, your breath tickling his cheek. “And I quite like you, Edward Nashton.”

“You’re insane,” he whispered, a low groan escaping his lips.

And then you pulled away and slid off of him, rising back to your feet and smoothing down your skirt and adjusting your blouse as if nothing had happened at all. He blinked, the heat continuing to pulse through him, his eyes going wide as you turned and unlocked the door, grabbing onto the handle, before turning back and shooting him a look.

“Sometimes insanity needs a little bit of company,” you said. “Think about what I said.”

And you were out the door without another word, shutting the door to his office behind you, leaving him all alone, breathless, his cock aching with desperate need. He smoothed back the sweaty hair from his head, wondering just what the hell happened and how he was ever going to survive the next few days, weeks, if not months, with you working here in the GCPD – but a soft smirk twitched at the edge of his lips. He’d been looking for a challenge. Someone to keep him on his toes – and maybe that’s exactly what you presented to him.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

[will-it-soup]

Will it soup?

(bonus round)

This ingredient was submitted anonymously. Thank you for your suggestion!

[johnschneiderblog]

Pi-eyed

As you know, today - 3/14 - is day we set aside to celebrate a mathematical symbol: π

All around the world, math nerds are gathering to recite as many of pi’s infinite string of digits (3.14159 …. ad infinitum) as they can before running out of breath. Some eat pie - a major upgrade to the observance.

It’s clear why we need pie. But why do we need pi? Well, it’s handy …. But maybe more importantly, it’s mysterious.

Pi (π) represents the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter. It’s a fundamental mathematical constant used in various calculations, especially those involving circles, spheres, and other curved shapes.

Example: If you take the diameter of a circle and multiply it by 3.14159 …you get the measurement of the circumference. Always. Regardless of the size of the circle.

The earliest use of pi was documented 4,000 years ago in Babylon and was probably used for construction projects.

[viewofagarden]

Dandy's World OC: Calvin the Calculator

Bio and details below!

“Numeracy is Calvin’s middle name! He may be a little awkward at times, but you can always count on him to help you need him! He teaches children the basics of math and how to apply it to everyday life.”

Full Name: Calvin Euler  Other Name: Calvin the Calculator Species: Calculator Gender: Male (He/Him) Voice Claim: Peter Oldring (Cody - Total Drama)

Dandy Store Quote

“You can always “count” on Calvin! Hehe!”

Requirements

3141 Ichor

50% Research on Twisted Calvin

Appearance

Calvin is a blue calculator with a light yellow LCD screen, which displays his eyes and mouth. He wears a blue argyle vest underneath a white dress shirt with long sleeves, a pair of dark blue pants, and brown shoes. He also wears a pair of blue-colored glasses.

His buttons are below his screen. All of them are dark blue except for the equals button, which is orange.

Personality

As expected, Calvin is an intelligent, nerdy, mathematical whiz! While he’s similar to Booklyn, Calvin is more humble about his intelligence and is considerably more “dorky”. He’s also friendlier, easier-going, and way less snarky. But he is no less eager to help others whenever they need him, and no less hardworking.

However…he is a bit socially awkward, he has a tendency to misinterpret social cues, and tends to apologize a lot. 

Stats

Rank: Uncommon Health: ♥️♥️♥️ Skill Check: ⭐⭐⭐ (Size 150 / Value 2) Movement Speed: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ (Walk 17.5 / Sprint 27.5) Stamina: ⭐⭐ (125) Stealth: ⭐⭐ (5) Extraction Speed: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ (1.20)

Ability

Multiplier Passive At the start of a floor, this Toon boosts a random stat for every Toon in the round by either 1.5, 2, 2.5, or on very rare occasions; 3. Does not stack if there are other Calvins in the run but does increase the chances of getting a 3 by a small margin.

Dialogue 

Finishing extraction

“Easy as 1,2,3!” “Was that good…?” “That’s one down, just a couple more to go.”

Descending to the next floor

“Let me just crunch the numbers real fast…” “Just gimme a second…sorry this is taking a bit…” “Wait, I think I miscalculated…sorry.

Twisted Calvin

"If Twisted Calvin’s on the prowl, be very wary, he knows how to divide and conquer. He divides a random stat by either 1.5, 2, or, if you’re very unlucky…3. Trinkets, multipliers and items will be your best friends here.”

Rank: Uncommon Speed: Below Average (17) Attention Span: Slightly Above Average (2.75) Detection Range: Average

Twisted Calvin is a roaming Twisted that, similar to his Toon counterpart, will affect a random stat of every Toon by either 1.5, 2, or, very rarely, 3. But he divides the number of the stat instead of multiplying, weakening the Toons. The stat that’s diminished and by how much will be displayed on the screen the moment he spawns.

Twisted Research Trinket: Abacus Trinket Category: Skill Check Increases the completion when performing a successful skillcheck by 1.5

Trivia

Calvin’s last name comes from the Euler number, a mathematical constant equal to 2.71828.

Calvin is currently the most expensive non-main Toon, due to his ichor requirement being the same number as the first 4 digits of Pi.

Calvin doesn’t have any vision issues. He just wears glasses because he likes them.

[carafell]

Near obsessionpost :-)

Im really surprised that some people in the fandom hate near so much tbh. To each their own, but I really havent felt as if the series got any worse after L's death, nor that Near made it any worse. Yeah, they are similar. And?

Anyway, *clears throat*:

I think Near, like 2 other Wammys top prodigies we know, is somewhere on the spectrum. I headcanon that he plays with toys because he's really attached to them and doesnt wanna let go of his childhood habits. Being a genius he realizes its not standard for his age, but he greatly prefers his own comfort over arbitrary normalcy.

Generally changes are something Near has a hard time getting used to. He can get very frustrated with little, seemingly insignificant changes that really tick him off. For this reason he keeps a very strict scheldue, sleeping, eating, working and playing in precise hours. I imagine that during his time at Wammys Near prepared his scheldues for months in advance, and so everyone knew where he was gonna be at almosy any time.

Next. Nate is EXTREMELY good with math. He's basically a living computer, capable of performing all the typical tricks and much more. He can easily calculate the digits of Pi on the go, tell what day of week will someones 70th birthday be on, perform complex arithmetic tasks like matrix multiplication and integrals in his head in seconds. He can also divide his attention really well, so much that he can watch many videos at once and grasp every single one in depth.

I think he's also extremely good at poker, and speaking of games, I think he particularily likes games with an element of randomness as it makes them more exciting, since its much harder for him to just calculate the results. He knows pretty much every card game in the world.

His toys are also a way to unwind for him. Usually after intense work Nate retreats to his place and closes himself in his world, resting from the complex tasks he usually does as L by simply playing with toys. They are his most prized possessions, so you can probably imagine they were also Mello's prime target when he wanted to bully Near when they were children.

His grearest struggle are loud noises and ofcourse people. He grearly prefers professional settings, such as when he's commanding an investigation team. Other than that, he has a really hard time forming attachments to anyone.

[rusty-du]

mayblade 4: *galaxy* brained

gwyn can probably calculate 1000 digits of pi in his big ass head yet she will still never be able to understand social cues

[yourdailyqueer]

Emma Haruka Iwao

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Queer

DOB: Born 1984

Ethnicity: Japanese

Occupation: Computer scientist

Note: In 2019 Haruka Iwao calculated the then world record for most accurate value of pi. Record was surpassed in 2020. She reclaimed the record in 2022 with 100 trillion digits

[myeyesarebiggerthanmybladder]

HEY YOU!!!!!!! RECITE THE NUMBERS OF PI (/nf!)

I appreciate your use of the /nf tone tag, which I am to assume is short for "not forcing" -- doing so is very thoughtful and reduces the pressure to answer a question. I will, however, gladly answer this one as I have memorised quite a few digits of pi, though it would be impossible for me to know the whole number with every decimal place because even today's computers have been unable to find an end to the number. I have always been rather good at memorising numbers -- for example when I watched Star Trek: The Next Generation I was able to memorise a security code said by Leitenent Commander Data which was fifty two characters long and went, 173467321476C32789777643T732V73117888732476789764376. The number can be heard in the viral song "Data and Picard" which sampled dialogue from the series to create a rather catchy tune. The song is, of course, in English, though I originally watched the show with Japanese subtitles. I can speak English but it makes watching a TV series slightly more laborious as I have to translate every line of dialogue in my head before understanding the communication between the characters. It can provide a bit of mental stimulation, though, so when I am in the mood I sometimes watch foreign films or TV shows without subtitles. Anyway, you asked me to recite Pi and I still haven't done as you requested! You can find Pi by calculating 22 divided by 7. As you probably know, 7 fits neatly into 21 (three times to be exact) but does not fit so perfectly into 22, and this is why we are left with such an awkwardly long number. Since 7 fits into 21 three times, the first digit of Pi is of course 3, but there are many decimal places that come after that. If you look online you can find a downloadable PDF which shows the first million digits of Pi. When I first heard of the number Pi I was rather confused, as I thought that surely many calculations would result in an awkward number that had no foreseeable end -- at the time I did not realise that Pi was an important factor of several mathematical formulas, such as the one used to calculate the area of a circle. I sometimes wonder how these incredible things are discovered -- I suppose when someone is incredibly proficient in mathematics it must become enjoyable to play with numbers until one stumbles across a startling discovery. Mathematics may seem abstract and, in some cases useless while learning it in school, but if it weren't for those knowledgable in the subject we really wouldn't be where we are today, and even those who are not mathematicians often need a basic knowledge of the subject.

[rubenpig]

3.14159 THIS IS PI, FOLLOWED BY. 26585-

The number π (/paɪ/ ⓘ; spelled out as pi) is a mathematical constant, approximately equal to 3.14159, that is the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter. It appears in many formulae across mathematics and physics, and some of these formulae are commonly used for defining π, to avoid relying on the definition of the length of a curve.The number π is an irrational number, meaning that it cannot be expressed exactly as a ratio of two integers, although fractions such as 227{\displaystyle {\tfrac {22}{7}}} are commonly used to approximate it. Consequently, its decimal representation never ends, nor enters a permanently repeating pattern. It is a transcendental number, meaning that it cannot be a solution of an algebraic equation involving only finite sums, products, powers, and integers. The transcendence of �� implies that it is impossible to solve the ancient challenge of squaring the circle with a compass and straightedge. The decimal digits of π appear to be randomly distributed, but no proof of this conjecture has been found.For thousands of years, mathematicians have attempted to extend their understanding of π, sometimes by computing its value to a high degree of accuracy. Ancient civilizations, including the Egyptians and Babylonians, required fairly accurate approximations of π for practical computations. Around 250 BC, the Greek mathematician Archimedes created an algorithm to approximate π with arbitrary accuracy. In the 5th century AD, Chinese mathematicians approximated π to seven digits, while Indian mathematicians made a five-digit approximation, both using geometrical techniques. The first computational formula for π, based on infinite series, was discovered a millennium later. The earliest known use of the Greek letter π to represent the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter was by the Welsh mathematician William Jones in 1706. The invention of calculus soon led to the calculation of hundreds of digits of π, enough for all practical scientific computations. Nevertheless, in the 20th and 21st centuries, mathematicians and computer scientists have pursued new approaches that, when combined with increasing computational power, extended the decimal representation of π to many trillions of digits.[1][2] These computations are motivated by the development of efficient algorithms to calculate numeric series, as well as the human quest to break records. The extensive computations involved have also been used to test supercomputers as well as stress testing consumer computer hardware.Because it relates to a circle, π is found in many formulae in trigonometry and geometry, especially those concerning circles, ellipses and spheres. It is also found in formulae from other topics in science, such as cosmology, fractals, thermodynamics, mechanics, and electromagnetism. It also appears in areas having little to do with geometry, such as number theory and statistics, and in modern mathematical analysis can be defined without any reference to geometry. The ubiquity of π makes it one of the most widely known mathematical constants inside and outside of science. Several books devoted to π have been published, and record-setting calculations of the digits of π often result in news headlines.

[shreddheir]

i was wondering why bedman's reaction to his own instant kill was repeating the digits of pi.

but how is pi used in math? well, one of the most common uses is doing calculations with circles.

2πr is the formula for finding the circumference--or border-- of a circle.

[aselectsociety]

Irrational Decision

I have been writing about the poems by Emily Dickinson which editor William Hayes Ward accepted – or rejected – for publication in the New York Independent in 1891. However, since today is “Pi Day” (3.14), I thought I’d look into how often Dickinson used the word “Pi” (and “Pie”) in her poetry.

The first Pi Day celebration was organized by physicist Larry Shaw at the San Francisco Exploratorium in 1988 (and just FYI:  the 2015 Pi Day was called the "Pi Day of the Century" because its date in the day-month-year format was 3-14-15, which gives the first four digits of pi).  However, the concept of pi, the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter, has ancient roots that date  back to the Babylonians and Egyptians, around 2000 BCE and 1650 BCE, respectively.  The first rigorous calculation of pi, using a geometrical approach with polygons, was devised by the Greek mathematician Archimedes around 250 BCE. 

Above: A Pi Skyline; for info, click HERE.

So did Dickinson ever use the word “pi” in any of her poems? 

Nope. 

However, Dickinson did use the word “circumference" in seventeen poems – or sixteen poems depending upon which version of “Two butterflies went out at Noon” you read.  The 1863 version does NOT include the word “circumference”; her version from 1878 does.

So back to pi:  Although Dickinson never used the word “pi,” she did use the word “pie.”  Well, not “pie” in the sense of a baked dish of fruit with a top and base of pastry.  Instead, she used “cap-a-pie,” derived from the Middle French phrase "de cap a pe", which means "from head to foot.”

“Cap-a-pie” appears in the opening lines to “Sic transit gloria mundi” (“thus passes the glory of the world”).  The complete poem (Dickinson’s longest) is HERE.