The Body Parts - As Partes do Corpo - Las Partes del Cuerpo - Les Parties Du Corps

EN - PT - ES - FR - DE

skin - a pele - la piel - la peau - die Haut
face - o rosto - el rostro - le visage - das Gesicht
head - a cabeça - la cabeza - la tête - der Kopf
hair - o cabelo - el cabello - les cheveux - die Haare/das Haar
forehead - a testa - la frente - le front - die Stirn
ears - as orelhas - las orejas - l’oreille (f) - das Ohr
eyes - os olhos - los ojos - l’oeil (les yeux) (m) - das Auge
eyebrows - as sobrancelhas - las cejas - le sourcil - die Augenbraue
eyelashes - os cílios - las pestañas - le cil - die Wimper
nose - o nariz -  la nariz - le nez - die Nase
mouth - a boca - la boca - la bouche - der Mund
teeth - os dentes - los dientes - la dent - der Zahn
lips - os lábios - los labios - la lèvre - die Lippe
- a língua - la lengua - la langue - die Zunge
- as bochechas - las mejillas - la joue - die Wange/die Backe
chin - o queixo - la barbilla - le menton - das Kinn

neck - o pescoço - el cuello - le cou - der Hals
shoulders - os ombros - los hombros - l’épaule (f) - die Schulter
chest - o peito - el pecho - la poitrine - die Brust
back - as costas - la espalda - le dos - der Rücken
arms - os braços - los brazos - le bras - der Arm
forearms - os antebraços - los antebrazos - le avant-bras - der Unterarm
wrist - o pulso - la muñeca - le poignet - das Handgelenk
elbows - os cotovelos - los codos - le coude - der Ellbogen
hands - as mãos - las manos - la main - die Hand
fingers - os dedos - los dedos - le doigt - der Finger
nail - a unha (da mão) - la uña (de la mano) - l’ongle (m) - der Fingernagel
tummy - a barriga - el vientre - le ventre - der Bauch
navel - o umbigo - el ombligo - el nombril - der Nabel
waist - a cintura - la cintura - la taille - die Taille
hips - as ancas - las caderas - l’hanche (f) - die Hüfte
bottom - o bumbum - el trasero - les fesses - der Hintern
legs - as pernas - las piernas - la jambe - das Bein
- as coxas - los muslos - le fémur - der Oberschenkel
- os joelhos - las rodillas - le genou - das Knie
ankles - os tornozelos - los tobillos - la cheville - das Fußgelenk
heels - os calcanhares - los tálones - el talon - die Ferse
feet - os pés - los pies - le pied - der Fuß
toes - os dedos dos pés - los dedos de los pies - l’orteil (m) - die Zehe

I decided to put down the French and German Vocabulary in the singular so you can get the gender of the words. Also: the only reason that some languages are bold and others aren’t is just so you can find the right word in the right language quicker. Hope this helps. Let me know if you spot any mistakes or have any questions.

17.04.23 Aiba Manabu - Aiba Masaki [English highlights]

- How to choose good cherry: Blue stalk, thick stalk. It means it has lots of nutrition.

- How to choose good strawberry: Hull tips roll up, meaning that it has plentiful water; if there is more than one tip it tastes sweeter (so shape doesn’t matter, more tips, more sweet). Aiba-san got correct on this question, he said the tip is the sweetest so more tips mean sweeter, and sensei said it’s exactly the case.

- How to store strawberry: Wrap by newspaper and put in vegetable compartment in refrigerator. Don’t put them directly in refrigerator which will expose them to moisture.

- How to eat strawberry: Wash with water, wrap excessive water, take out hull and enjoy.

- How to choose good banana: Straight, shorter, thicker is tastier, meaning it has been exposed to sun more.

- How to store banana: Wrap by newspaper and put in paper bag. Hang it up is good way of storage too.

- How to choose good kiwi: Flat shape, meaning it has got more nutrition. What’s between the skin and seed is more nutritious. Aiba-san deskinned the kiwi very beautifully keeping all nutritious parts.

- Aiba-san said he has helped his grandma on pollination of kiwi in the past.

CM: Kirin Ichiban Shibori
Ending song: I’ll be there

Dear Hairy Girls,

when I was eight I noticed my eyebrows were thick

like black caterpillars over tired, baggy eyes

I was already worried I wasn’t pretty enough to be

a popstar like I wanted

I took a pair of scissors and knelt behind the teacher’s desk

in front of a plastic mirror

and tried to cut them smaller

I walked around with a patch missing from my left brow for weeks

I couldn’t explain why I did it

just one of those weird things kids do.

Dear Hairy Girls,

when I was eleven I sat in a treehouse at a barbecue

with my older sister’s friends

I felt mature, cool even

then one of them looked at my legs and said

“those sure are some furry legwarmers”

I looked down, my legs were bare

save for the thick black hair 

moments later she asked if I was wearing eyeliner

“no,” I said, “I just have thick black eyelashes”

she said I was lucky.

Dear Hairy Girls,

I begged my mother to let me shave my legs

she gave me Nair, afraid I would cut myself

it gave me chemical burns that caused sores on my skin

but I never went a shower without using it

grateful to be free of what I felt was a plague.

Dear Hairy Girls,

I was sitting in gym class in grade seven

talking to a boy

that warm feeling in my chest, the safety of knowing

you’re too young for anything to mean something

but you can still pretend

and then the boy to my other side

pulled the back of my shirt down and shouted

“whoa, you have a hairy back!”

he turned me around to show everyone

including the boy I liked

I laughed it off but to this day

I can’t wear a backless shirt or dress.

Dear Hairy Girls,

the same year my mother plucked my eyebrows for the first time

I cried because it hurt, but when it was over

it was like another stone had been lifted

by fourteen years old I could shape my eyebrows

with the expertise and speed of a beautician 

and a year later it stopped hurting.

Dear Hairy Girls,

I was a girl who always wanted a nickname

I thought it would make me cooler, more popular

nothing ever caught on

until someone in the first month of high school

looked at me and said “moustache”

only a few people called me this to my face and when they did

it was gleefully, with broad smiles

but what bothers me more are the people who graduated

five years later

who had to ask my friends

what “Moustache’s” real name was.

Dear Hairy Girls,

I was told I was the kind of girl that boys would never like

(which I’m fine with now, because I’m the kind of girl

who prefers girls to boys anyway

with very rare exceptions and high standards to meet).

Dear Hairy Girls,

I was afraid to wear a swimsuit when I was fifteen

because people would see

my hairy arms, my hairy back, the patches I missed on my legs

and my hairy stomach.

Dear Hairy Girls,

I am the only girl I know personally who has

a fully defined happy trail.

Dear Hairy Girls,

I am fucking beautiful.

Dear Hairy Girls,

I know I can’t ask you to love

the hair on your arms

on your back

on your neck

on your face

on your legs

on your stomach

because I know how something as stupid as hair

can be used as a weapon against you

but if long, thick hair is a symptom of femininity 

then we have it in spades

and should never be afraid to show our gorgeous selves.

Dear Hairy Girls,

never settle for anyone who loves you

and thinks you’re beautiful

“despite” the hair

we deserve better, our hair is beautiful

and I hope you know 

that I’m rooting for you.

Divided: Part 4

Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Steve x Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff

Word Count: 2821

Summary: You know in your heart of hearts that you shouldn’t go after Bucky Barnes, but you have questions and he is the only one with answers. 

Authors Note: Heyo, so I gave a lot of information in this one so it’s a little long, but make sure you pay attention, shit’s gonna be important later. I know the first chunk was already given in the preview, but it’s been adjusted and stuff has been added, so take a look. Hope you guys like it!  Tagging is open, they’ve just been moved to the bottom, just ask if you want to be tagged :D

Divided: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

The clock blinked 9:00am as you zipped up your leather jacket, grabbing the black hoodie from your bed. You pull the dark fabric to your nose, inhaling the last traces of his scent, now melded with your own over the last week. You retrieve your scorpion dagger from your bed side table, sliding it into a case, and resting it in the back pocket of your dark jeans.

Moving towards the door, you open it swiftly. Your footsteps halt as you’re met with the tall figure of Steve Rogers. He looks at you, shocked by your sudden appearance, his knuckles still raised, readied for his interrupted knock. “Are you going somewhere?” Settling back on your heeled boots, you square your shoulders against him.

“I have the next three days off.” You say plainly, pushing past him and shutting your door behind you, locking it. You start down the hallway, Steve following closely behind you, “You never leave the compound? Where are you going?” You move quickly down the hall, heading towards the elevator.

“I’m just taking a few days to myself Steve, seeing a friend.” “Y/N, is everything alright?” You stop spinning to face him. To be honest you weren’t sure if everything was. Here you were lying to Steve, not lying, just withholding information. You weren’t sure you were making the right choice, but you had to know. He’ll be happy in the end, you think sadly, if I’m right.

“I’ll be back in a few days, I just…” you sigh, “I’ll call you, ok?” He nods, moving to kiss you. You respond to his lips, your arms wrapping up around him. You feel his warmth, the determination of his grip. The insistent way that his lips move against yours as his arms wrap tighter around you, begging for your presence with him.

But you were miles away, your thoughts, your responses. You finally pull away from him, his arms relinquishing their pressure. You look at him, giving him a warm and loving smile as you call for the elevator. He smiles back, half-heartedly, sadness still in his eyes, he stares down at you through his thick lashes.

The elevator arrives and you step inside, winking at Steve as the doors close.


You look around the street, making sure you were at the exact location that Bucky had left you. Your hands knotted into the plastic handles of overflowing grocery bags, your tired eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. After a 12-hour flight, your body felt stiff and tired, you were never able to sleep properly on planes.

You close your eyes softly, thinking back through the pattern of turns that Bucky had taken to lead you to this spot. You begin down the street, going through the pattern backwards, finally coming to a halt in front of a dilapidated apartment building. You look up, trying to recall how many flights Bucky had walked you down.

4? Or was it 5? You glance at the two floors, scanning the windows for the newspaper and cardboard that Bucky uses. You finally spot his windows on the fifth floor. Taking a deep breath, you head into the building, beginning your climb.

As you arrive on the fifth floor, you listen at each door, unsure of which is Bucky’s. The lack of sound in the third and final apartment confirms your suspicion. You swap one of the bags into your other hand, raising your knuckles to wrap at the door. You listen intently. There wasn’t a single sound in the apartment. Well he has to show himself at some point, you think, settling yourself down against the wall next to his door.

After about an hour of waiting, the large brunette comes up the stairs, halting mid step, foot still raised as he freezes at the site of you. You jump hurriedly to your feet, smiling as you make nervous eye contact with him. “Hi,” you start, his foot comes down on the step as he finishes his ascent, moving past you to unlock the door.

“How did you find me?” he growls, clearly angry by your presence. “I’m a trained special agent” you state, feeling that the answer was obvious, “I… uh… I paid attention. Sounds, turns, number of steps… Pretty simple actually.” You shrug, grinning at him sheepishly. His jaw tenses at your casual tone as his fingers dig in his pocket for his keys, his attention focused on the door unwilling to look at you.

“I uh… I brought your sweatshirt back,” You quickly set down the grocery bags, hurrying to pull the hoodie from your bag and offer it to him. He looks at it in your hand, seeming slightly surprised as he smirks at you, before his eyes flick up to you, raising an eyebrow. “You came all the way back here to return my sweatshirt?”

Hearing him say it, you suddenly realized how insane this plan had been, but at this point you were in too deep. “Well… not exactly… I… well…” His blue eyes fluster you as you try to remember your original plan, what in the world had compelled you to do this? “Thank you!” you blurt out finally, “I… I never got a chance to thank you. So I’m here… to say thank you… and cook you dinner… as a thank you.”

He stares at you, his face painted with amusement, clearly entertained by the oddity of the situation and your inability to speak. He sighs, shaking his head as his keys click in the door, swinging it open. He bends down, picking up the plastic sacks of food you had set down and walks into the apartment without another word, leaving the door open behind him.

You wait outside the door, unsure whether or not an invitation had been extended. “You going to come in or are you gonna say thank you a few more times?” He calls from inside the apartment. You grin nervously as his teasing, taking a deep breath before following him inside.

He sets the bags on the counter and turns to face you. Both of you nervous and awkward, not entirely sure how to proceed. You move to his fridge, pulling out the bottle of whiskey and unstoppering it with your teeth. You grab the ice tray from the freezer and fix both of you a drink. You hand him the glass, his expression unchanging as he curiously watches you.

You take a big gulp of the whiskey, relaxing into the familiar burn in your throat. “Ok!” You smile, moving towards the counter as you begin to unpack the bags, he responds by repositioning himself in the kitchen, moving out of your direct path, but still hovering close by.

You reach for a knife in his butcher block, feeling him tense behind you as you spin the blade in your hand. You smile slightly, taking note of his apprehension towards you. You move your blade quickly, deskinning an onion and chopping it into small pieces, the knife flashing in your right hand with ease. You turn to look in the cabinets for a pan, before realizing Bucky had just pulled one for you, setting it on the stove.

“Thanks” You smile, throwing some olive oil in the pan with the onions. “Can I help?” He grumbles, moving to help unpack the sacks. With very little instruction, you and Bucky work comfortably in the kitchen, preparing the recipe for your family’s spaghetti and meatballs together.

After a bit of time and some light conversation, Bucky brings the finished plates to the table as you pull a magnum of red wine from your duffle.  You pull a small army knife from your back pocket, using the corkscrew to open the bottle as you bring it to the table. “I can’t help but wonder,” He teases, making note of the various small weapons you have throughout your person, “How did you ever get through airport security?”  


You sit in front of Bucky smiling softly, at the story he had just finished about finding a quiet farmer’s market in Bucharest, empty plates between the two of you, as you sip on your glass of wine. The meal had been comfortably full of tentative conversation that evolved with the aid of the whiskey and large bottle of wine.

You had told Bucky about how you became an agent, how they found you performing vigilante acts in your small home city, invited you to train with SHIELD. You explained how you were guided by Natasha when SHIELD fell, becoming a new asset of Cap’s division of the Avenger’s Tactical Initiative.

In turn, Bucky spoke of his travel over the last year since SHIELD had fallen and he had escaped Hydra. He was hesitant and careful what information he gave you, but seemed comforted by his ability to participate in the conversation. You did not push for information, responding excitedly when he talked about hiding out in Paris briefly, immediately asking about tourist destinations. He smiled at your willingness to normalize his year as a fugitive, passing it off as no different than a college kids back pack tour.

“That was delicious, thank you, I can’t remember the last time that I…” “Ate properly?” You interrupt him, the wine making you bolder, he smiles slightly at your joke. “I was going to say, enjoyed a home cooked meal, but I guess the two are one in the same. Anyway, thank you.”

You nod, smiling as you blush behind your wine glass, finishing the last of it with a long sip. Bucky sits forward, raising the large bottle to refill your glass, “Be careful, Scorpion, how many glasses have you had so far?” You laugh at his concern and the teasing use of your alias, nodding in thanks as he refills your glass. You bring it delicately to your lips as you smile, taking a long sip before speaking.

“As my grandmother used to say, ‘Anni e bicchieri di vino non si contano mai.” He smiles at your words, tipping his own glass back to meet his lips, how perfect his lips were, pink and full, the way he pouted them slightly when he was thinking… You shook your head, biting your lip slightly, shaking away the drunken thought.

“Age and glasses of wine should never be counted,” Bucky translated, “your grandmother sounds like a wise woman.” He smiles, swirling the dark liquid in the glass. “You speak Italian?” You nod your head, “I’m impressed.” You smile approvingly, not sure what it was about him that put you at ease as you relax into the comfort of his presence.

“Bucky,” you lean forward, suddenly emboldened by the alcohol in your blood, This is why I came, I have to know. Your eyes lock on him, though your mind is slightly hazy. He focuses on you, noting the change in your demeanor, “Why won’t you let Steve know you’re ok?” Bucky immediately tenses at your question, the easy air of the night evaporating as he sets the glass of wine down, his fingers rising to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I know you said it’s complicated, but Bucky, he misses you so much. I know he puts on a brave face, but it’s been hard on him, adjusting to this time, I know it has. If he had you back, if he knew you were alright…” “I’m not alright.” Bucky whispers, a sharp tone to his voice as his eyes remain closed. “But Bucky…”

“No Y/N. You don’t get it do you? I’m not alright. Hell, I’m not even me half the time. I’ve spent the past few years of my life being forced to do hydra’s bidding, they lived inside my head, replaced me, controlled me. I killed countless people. Sometimes I was present, sometimes I wasn’t.” His voice rises as his fist clench in his lap.

“And Steve… You think it would be good for him to have me back? He’d take one look at me and realize I’m not his best friend anymore…” He stands up forcefully, moving over to the kitchen, turning his back to you as he leans on the sink. “He’d finally see me for the monster that I’ve become.”

You stare at him, noticing the defeat radiating from his posture, the pain in his voice echoing in your ears. “Bullshit.” You spit out finally, his head rising in shock as he turns to face you, “Excuse me?” He blabbers, surprise etched in his expression.

“I said, that’s Bullshit… Steve knows exactly what you’ve done, who you’ve become, he also knows that’s not you, that the person you are is still here. Bucky… I have sat across from you all night, laughing and relaxed, I have never once felt fearful while in your presence. You know why?” He raises his eyebrow, silently asking you to continue.

“Because ever since I’ve known Steve I have known about his best friend Bucky. The guy that always had his back, that would go out of his way to be polite and protect the people he cares about… I’m not saying you’re the same Buck, lord knows we all have our demons, but you aren’t lost. You haven’t lost what makes you, you.”

You stare up at him, biting once more at your lip, nervously awaiting his response. The silence seems to go on forever, before he finally breaks eye contact with you, shaking his head slightly, “I’m just… I’m not ready.” You understand, knowing not to push him. You know better than most how intimidating Steve can be, his constant and unwavering moral compass could make Mother Theresa feel like a lying thief.

“It’s getting late… I have an early flight… I should probably…” your words trail off slightly as Bucky looks up at you, a pained expression flashing across his eyes. You make to rise to your feet, the sudden movement causing your head to spin slightly, your exhaustion unaided by the intoxicating effect of the wine, you stumble slightly, losing your footing as you step forward.

Bucky moves quickly forward, catching you in his arms. You feel his warmth against you, cut by the cold of his metal arm as he presses you firmly to his chest. Your brain feels cloudy as his scent, the one you had grown so accustomed to, washes over you. You smile up at him, his piercing blue eyes gazing down at you.

“Woops, guess grandma didn’t always know best.” You stare at him, head swimming at the site of him, acutely aware of his large body pressed against yours. He smiles slightly, helping you right yourself as he hesitantly releases you. You immediately feel a dull ache where his hands had pressed against you, wishing for his warm pressure once more. “I should…” You mumble, not wanting to overstay your welcome, “I should get going.” You move to your duffle bag, reaching in it to retrieve his hoodie, offering it to him once more.

He shakes his head, arms crossing across his chest, his muscles pulling tightly against his shirt with the action. “Keep it, I hear airplanes get pretty cold sometimes.” He smiles softly as you hesitantly pull the sweatshirt back against your body. “Thank you,” you nod, slipping your arms into the sleeves as you pull it on, causing a small smile to pull at Bucky’s lips as he takes in your appearance as you collect your belongings from his apartment.

“Anyway,” you start, moving towards the doorway, Bucky dragging his feet down the hallway behind you. You unlock the door, coming to stand in the hallway as Bucky leans against the door frame, sadness evident on his face. “Thanks again… for saving me, I mean.” You nod to him and turn to walk towards the stairs.

“Y/N,” he calls after you, halting your steps as you turn back to him raising an eyebrow. “Would you… will you come back?” He looks at you hopefully, the shadow of the Bucky you were coming to know flashing again in his eyes, “It’s nice to have someone to talk to.” His eyes flick away from yours nervously, “I don’t get to talk to people much.”

You felt a knot form in your stomach at his words, you fight the urge to drop your bag and incase him in your arms, giving him the human contact that he is deprived of, selfishly wanting to feel him pressed against you once more.

“Of course Bucky,” You smile softly at him, causing a small grin to pull at the corner of his mouth. “Same time… two weeks… But you’re cooking this time.” You wink at him as you turn away, seeing his smile widen at your words. You start down the stairs, glancing back to see him watching you as you leave, smiling broadly before closing the door, the deadbolt clicking into place once again.

Part 5

Tags: @imhereforbvcky @heismyhunter @iamtal @nickel5socks @ohmygoshbucky @person0thats0not0a0people0person @spacegaystrashcompactor @creideamhgradochas @shamvictoria11 @awclintno

what if after long periods of overworking himself, Jim Kirk starts falling asleep all over the place

  • under McCoy’s desk
  • in his dinner
  • next to Spock’s mediation fire
  • in the greenhouse
  • in his captain’s chair

each time resulting in Spock picking him up and hauling him to bed (while Jim complains and mumbles all the way) and Bones preparing yet another lecture on How Not to be an Idiot


For the Lawless

The incoherent!
Described as Ginsbergesque
Even if it’s charisma-less.

That was her name (when
she kept it in a cage
when she kept it well-
where it tipped the lash of

Outside it cuts
a sincere gash
a putrid fish
would smell as bad

as the petals of her

But this is (not) her, this thing
beyond, this monster Scorpion
desert-bred anger-fed
found out exposed
by ethnographer’s quill
the oil spill that resists

This thing is loving tasteless-
a cardboard cut-out deskinned
drum, a poison
pagan persistence

killing work
selling soul, solving puzzle
after puzzle
by pushing all

and off the table. Shade your nose
from its magnificent

but open your mouth
for the bubble of a laugh
Hilarity has no bon goût
just as rude banderillas
into the hide of every
every gold-plated
common Trash
never seem to miss
their target.

And the years will show
as time narrates
its cleft
its cloven hoof
on history’s crumb-dusted
the nightly carnivals, their
bright charades
of love as war


than same gerund
to same.

kiwi habit exo

kyungsoo: eats the kiwi skin and all with big bites 

chanyeol: throws the kiwi onto the floor and licks it up

baekhyun: sticks a straw into it

kai: squeezes it with his bare hands into his mouth

sehun: tries to cut it open with safety scissors 

suho: makes minho deskin it for him

tao: throws it at a wall and just stares at it doesnt eat it

kris: squirts juice into his eye and cries for 30 min

xiu: punches the kiwi

luhan: licks the kiwi off xius knuckles

chen: eats normally

lay: takes his time to deskin it


Father attacks daughter’s killer in court

One of the fathers of the three women who were murdered three years ago by Michael Madison attacked the serial killer during an East Cleveland, Ohio, court sentencing on Thursday, June 2.

In a now-viral video, Van Terry (dad of Shirellda Terry, one of the women Madison murdered) takes the stand to share a few words about his late daughter.

According to various reports, Madison had been taunting and smiling at the family members of the women he killed. Madison, who has openly admitted he admires serial killer Anthony Sewell, murdered Terry’s daughter as well as Angela Deskins and Shetisha Sheeley. Their bodies were found wrapped in garbage bags in close proximity to Madison’s Cleveland home in July 2013.