#chiesa imagine

[captainreecejames]

Miss Movin On || My Ex is a Footballer CL16 Edition

links [masterlist] [my ex series masterlist] [series update with more footballers]

summary your ex is engaged and you haven't moved on, or have you?

pairings ex!federico chiesa x reader, charles leclerc x reader faceclaim benedetta porcaroli

warnings cursing, mentions of austria 24

notes lol this is kinda short but my head has been hurting for the past few days so I haven't been able to do much. Fernando Alonso's my ex is the next one I'm working on.

yn's instagram messages -----

yn's messages -----

twitter ------

ynusername posted a story -------

ynusername posted ---------

liked by carmenmmundt, arthurleclerc and others

ynusername me and the bestie tagged opheliamillaiss

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opheliamillaiss ti amo ynnie! i love you ynnie ↳ ynusername sei bellessima you are beautiful

username1 i HAVE seen two pretty best friends

username7 she's trying to distract us from her story ↳ username8 yn, babe, who was the man??

username2 why is arthur leclerc lurking in the likes? ↳ username3 was it him in the story? ↳ username2 no i don't think so ↳ username3 your're right, looked more like charles

username4 girl it's time to move on ↳ username5 she posts about her friend and you guys are mentioning chiesa! can't make anyone happy here

username6 thoughts on the euros? ↳ ynusername :(((

yn's whatsapp messages -------

"unofficial official drivers group chat"

charlie now accepting caption ideas for my post about yn

ynnie charles no

max emilian charles yes

ynnie max no

danny ric max yes

landotd max no

ynnie lol not the norstappen breakup drama

landotd you made this my name didn't you

ynnie well... yes you did say it was better than the actual trophy 🤷‍♀️

landotd you make me want to say max yes

ynnie lmao telling the f1 girlies that I'm the reason yall are getting back together

charlie and none of you are helping me with the caption

frenchie pie shhh cha, we're watching the girls fighting messaged haha'd by 11

princess george "imagine getting knocked out of the euros and losing yn, couldn't be me"

albono aww, george that's a good one

carmen 🩵 that's because it's my idea

lily 🏌️🏻‍♀️💙 I knew it babe

aussie son fumbled the bag and the girl or winning isn't for everyone, but it is for me 👎🏻 by ynnie

lily 🧡 how about monagasque men do it better 👎🏻 by ynnie

carmen 🩵 damn lils!

frenchie pie "you broke her heart, I breaka da spaghetti" 👎🏻 by ynnie

logie bear "formula 1 > soccer"

lewlew make that football and you got a good one

kmags why are we coming up with captions?

hulk 💚 because yn's ex man is messaging her being a dick and so charles has decided to hard launch

kmags ohhh wait, how do you know this nico?

hulk 💚 I stay in the know 💪🏼

ynnie gotta keep my grid dad up to date

nando why the fuck is he your grid dad??

lewlew yeah wtf?

ynnie uhm, cause my grid dad can't be my boyfriends grid dad or my son's dad's boyfriend???

charlie still getting off topic

frenchie pie don't worry chiesa, she's moved on to someone better

kika!! 💘 pierre, he is not saying that!

ynnie thank you!! someone actually on my side

kika!! 💘 say 'don't worry, she's moved on'

ynnie how about none of those

charlie i don't see you coming up with anything, mon cherie

ynnie meet my love, yn?? my beautiful girlfriend, yn?? something normal please

charles_leclerc posted ------

liked by ynusername, scuderiaferrari and others

charles_leclerc don't worry bud, she's moved on

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username11 calling chiesa bud is insane

username12 two different tifosi coming together to NOT maximize their joint slay ↳ username11 charles really declaring war on juve fans ↳ username12 who will win? ferrari or juve?

ynusername sha, this is not what we agreed on. ↳ charles_leclerc but this is funnier, no? ↳ ynusername I blame pierregasly for this ↳ pierregasly that's okay, MY bestie is iconic ↳ francisca.cgomes are you calling me not iconic ↳ ynusername hahaha, let's all laugh at pierre now ♥️ by estebanocon ↳ username13 not estie bestie liking that comment

username14 THE HAND ON HER THROAT IN THE SECOND PICTURE??? YN HOW DID YOU SURVIVE? ↳ username15 BITCH WHO CARES ABOUT THAT HAND!! LOOK AT THE FIRST PICTURE! ↳ username14 charles marking his spot like a dog

lewishamilton look at you two! ↳ ynusername hi future teammate!

logansargeant i liked my suggestion :( ↳ charles_leclerc me too ↳ oscarpiastri personally my options were better ↳ username16 now I want to know what you all suggested ↳ logansargeant formula 1 > soccer

username17 someone should edit that picture of jorginho getting the spaghetti dumped on him to chiesa, but it's actually formula 1 cars ↳ username18 winning isn't for everyone, but it is for Charles ↳ oscarpiastri that's what I said! ↳ username18 omg twins!

username19 chiesa really fumbled the bag ↳ oscarpiastri I said that one too! ↳ username19 oscar just twinning with everyone!

[footballerimaginess]

Pineapple On Pizza

omg you’re writing for chiesa- maybe one where his gf breaks the spaghetti in half before cooking or asking for pineapple on pizza (anything to annoy an italian)  Federico Chiesa  Word Count: 172 You and Fede were cooking in the kitchen, you were craving a huge pizza.  “my love, what’s this?” Fede asked as he walked into the kitchen to see even more of a mess on the kitchen counter.  “I’m cooking, I am cooking some pizza but I completely forgot about the pineapple” you sighed as you finished putting it in the oven.  “No no no no, we don’t do that” Federico moaned, sounding completely flustered as this revelation.  “What ”you laughed as you put out the plates.  “Oh love, you know pineapple is forbidden on pizza’s we have discussed this. It is not allowed and gross too” Federico laughed as he looked shocked as well as disgusted with you.  “Sorry” you whispered as you pouted.  “You know that is a crime in itself. but I could have made you a pizza anyway” Federico asked.  “Sorry chef Fede. I should have let you make it then. Next time?” you suggested.  “That sounds absolutely perfect” you grinned as he set up the table for food. 

[princessszoboszlai]

I'm only eating Italian today to respect the Italian legend

[ilovegyokeres]

Hii can you pls write about the girl having just a fling with a teammate (maybe vlahovic) and then meeting kenan while being in turin and hanging out with all of them, and kenan and her have a spark and its a slowburn, secret looks, laughs. And she and vlahovic arent serious and vlahovic doesnt really care about her but kenan doesnt really wanna do anything bc they are teammates and then at the end its just inevitable that she and kenan are meant to be

Inevitable-Kenan Yildiz

summary: They had spent months pretending. But some things aren’t meant to be hidden—some things are inevitable.

genre: romance, slow burn

The thing with Vlahović was simple.

No strings, no expectations. Just late-night texts, occasional drinks, and nights spent tangled in expensive sheets before parting ways like nothing happened. He never asked her to stay. She never asked him to care. And somehow, that worked.

Until it didn’t.

She could feel it shifting, an undercurrent of restlessness tugging at her, especially when she was around the team. When she was around him.

Kenan Yıldız.

The first time she properly noticed him was at a private team gathering after a match. She had been at the stadium earlier, watching Juventus win comfortably, with Vlahović scoring twice. When he texted her afterward—Come out tonight?—she didn’t hesitate.

The bar was exclusive, dimly lit with an air of effortless luxury. She sat beside Vlahović in a leather booth, sipping a drink while he chatted lazily with teammates. His arm was draped over the back of the seat, not really touching her but close enough to claim ownership.

And then Kenan walked in.

He was younger, quieter than the others, but he had an undeniable presence. She had seen him play before—sharp, unpredictable, electric on the ball—but in person, he carried himself differently. Reserved, observant. He didn’t demand attention like Vlahović did. He just had it.

Their eyes met for a fleeting second. A moment so brief she could have imagined it.

But later that night, when she laughed at something someone said, she felt it again. A gaze, steady and unreadable. She turned her head slightly, and there he was, watching her from across the room.

It should have been nothing.

But it wasn’t.

The second time it happened, she couldn’t ignore it.

Another night, another gathering—this time at a rooftop lounge overlooking Turin. She wasn’t with Vlahović, not really, but she had arrived with him, and that was enough for people to assume.

Kenan was there again, sitting a few seats away in a relaxed conversation with Federico Chiesa. But every so often, she caught his eyes flickering toward her.

And, despite herself, she started looking back.

It was subtle at first. A glance. A smirk. A shared moment when someone said something stupid, and they both fought not to laugh.

But then, later in the night, she stepped out onto the balcony for some air. She didn’t expect anyone to follow.

So when Kenan appeared beside her, she felt her pulse jump.

“Didn’t think you’d leave the party,” he said, leaning against the railing.

She shrugged. “Needed a break from the noise.”

He hummed in agreement. Silence stretched between them, comfortable but charged. The city sprawled below, golden lights twinkling against the dark.

Then, quietly, he said, “You’re not really with him.”

She turned to him, surprised. “What?”

“Vlahović.” His voice was even, unreadable. “You’re not really his.”

Something about the way he said it made her breath catch.

“No,” she admitted. “I’m not.”

Kenan exhaled, glancing away. “Then why does it feel like you are?”

The words settled between them, heavy and unspoken. She didn’t have an answer. Not one that made sense.

And before she could say anything, he pushed off the railing, stepping back.

“I should go,” he murmured.

She wanted to stop him. To ask what he meant, why it mattered.

But he was already gone.

And for the first time since this whole thing started, she realized—Vlahović was the least of her problems.

The tension only grew from there.

The next time she saw Kenan, it was impossible to ignore the way his eyes lingered. The way her pulse quickened when he was near. The way his expression tightened whenever she was with Vlahović, even though there was nothing to be jealous of.

And then, one night, it all came to a head.

A team dinner. A long table filled with players, coaches, and a few people on the outskirts—like her.

She sat beside Vlahović, not because she wanted to, but because it was expected. He barely paid attention to her, too caught up in some story Bremer was telling.

But Kenan?

Kenan sat across from her, eyes flickering to her every few minutes. Watching. Not speaking.

And when someone made a joke about her and Vlahović—something lighthearted, but laced with assumptions—she saw it.

The way Kenan’s jaw clenched. The way he suddenly lost interest in his food. The way he left before dessert, walking out without a word.

She followed him.

Out into the quiet night, where he leaned against his car, arms crossed, shoulders tense.

“Kenan,” she said softly.

He didn’t look at her. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Then why did you leave?”

His silence was answer enough.

She stepped closer. “This isn’t fair.”

He let out a sharp breath. “What isn’t?”

“The way you look at me,” she said, voice quieter now. “The way you act like you don’t care, but then—” She exhaled. “Then you do.”

Kenan finally turned to her. And the way he looked at her then—intense, conflicted, wanting—made her stomach flip.

“I can’t,” he murmured.

“Why?”

He shook his head. “Because of him.”

She let out a soft laugh, almost bitter. “You know he doesn’t care about me, right?”

Kenan’s gaze darkened. “But I do.”

Her breath caught. The air between them felt suffocating, electric. But he still wasn’t moving.

Still holding back.

So she whispered, “Then do something about it.”

For a second, she thought he would.

But then he took a step back. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“I can’t,” he said again. And this time, he left for good.

It was only a matter of time.

She ended things with Vlahović. Not that it was really a breakup—he just shrugged, barely reacting.

But Kenan?

Kenan was different.

Days passed. Weeks. The tension between them only grew.

And then, at another match, she sat in the stands. Kenan played brilliantly, electric on the ball, sharp as ever.

He scored.

And this time, when he turned to the crowd, he didn’t celebrate with his teammates.

He looked at her.

No pointing. No show.

Just a knowing smile.

Because this time, he wasn’t holding back.

The match ended, and the stadium buzzed with celebration. Juventus had won, but all she could think about was him.

Kenan hadn’t just looked at her—he had seen her. A silent acknowledgment of everything they had refused to say out loud.

And this time, she wasn’t letting him walk away.

She waited near the players’ exit, leaning against the cold concrete wall, heart pounding.

The first ones out were the usual faces—Vlahović, Chiesa, Bremer—laughing and chatting as they headed to their cars. Vlahović barely spared her a glance, which only proved what she already knew.

Then, finally, Kenan appeared.

Still in his training gear, damp hair falling messily over his forehead. His movements were slower than usual, more deliberate, as if he already knew she’d be there.

Their eyes met.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You’re still here.”

She stepped forward. “So are you.”

Kenan glanced around, as if debating whether to do this here, in the open. Then he sighed. “Come on.”

She didn’t ask where they were going. She just followed.

Kenan drove in silence, knuckles tight around the steering wheel. The car smelled faintly of leather and something him—clean, sharp, familiar.

They ended up at a quiet overlook just outside the city, Turin’s lights glittering below. The night air was crisp, the tension between them suffocating.

Kenan didn’t move to get out. Instead, he shifted in his seat, finally turning to face her.

“This is a bad idea,” he muttered.

She tilted her head. “Then why did you bring me here?”

He let out a humorless laugh. “Good question.”

She stared at him, taking in the sharp lines of his face, the way his jaw clenched like he was fighting himself. “You don’t have to hold back anymore,” she whispered.

His breath hitched.

Then, suddenly, his hand was on the back of her neck, pulling her in.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was weeks—months—of tension, of stolen glances, of unsaid words crashing into one moment.

Kenan kissed her like he had been waiting forever.

And maybe he had.

The next morning, reality hit hard.

They hadn’t planned to stay the night together, but neither of them had wanted to leave. Now, tangled in hotel sheets, the weight of what they’d done settled between them.

Kenan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, one arm draped lazily over his forehead. “We shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured.

She propped herself up on one elbow, tracing the line of his jaw with her gaze. “Do you regret it?”

A long silence.

Then, finally, he turned his head toward her. “No.”

Her heart skipped.

“But,” he continued, voice rough, “this can’t get out.”

She nodded, understanding. “I know.”

And so, the secret began.

Keeping it hidden was harder than she expected.

The stolen touches when no one was looking. The way Kenan’s eyes darkened whenever he saw her talking to someone else. The way she bit her lip to keep from smiling when he texted late at night—Come over.

It was dangerous. Reckless.

But it was also impossible to stop.

And then, one night, it almost did get out.

A team dinner, like before. She had been careful, keeping her distance. But when Vlahović leaned in to say something to her, too close, too familiar—Kenan snapped.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t make a scene. But she saw the way his entire body tensed, the way his grip tightened around his glass.

And later that night, when they were alone, he didn’t hold back.

“Why does he still think he has a claim on you?” Kenan muttered, voice sharp, hands gripping her hips as he pulled her against him.

She let out a shaky breath. “He doesn’t.”

Kenan’s lips brushed her ear. “Then why do I want to remind him?”

Her nails dug into his back. “Maybe you should.”

And that night, he did.

Secrets never last forever.

It unraveled faster than either of them expected.

A lingering glance caught by a teammate. A too-familiar touch. A whisper of suspicion spreading through the team.

And then—Vlahović.

He wasn’t jealous. Not really. But he wasn’t stupid either.

One night, after training, he pulled Kenan aside.

“You’ve got something to say?” Vlahović asked, voice calm but edged with something else.

Kenan met his gaze, shoulders squared. “What if I do?”

A tense silence.

Then, Vlahović let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You think I care?”

Kenan didn’t respond.

Vlahović smirked. “She was never mine. But I hope you know what you’re doing.”

And just like that, the last obstacle was gone.

The next time Kenan kissed her, it wasn’t in secret.

It was outside a café, the sun setting over Turin, people passing by.

No more glances over their shoulders. No more pretending.

Just them.

Because in the end, this had never been a choice.

It had always been inevitable.

The End.

(Or the beginning.)

[adnirod]

Book 2 for 2025 book bingo! For the "Published Before 1950" square (so many options! I love to read older books!) I selected the original "The Adventures of Pinocchio" (1883), translated by Carol Della Chiesa in 1926.

All I knew about this book was that it was different from the Disney movie, and that instead of the wise and friendly Jiminy Cricket as Pinocchio's conscience, there's a talking cricket that tries to advise Pinocchio until Pinocchio smashes him to death with a hammer. (I think Stephen King mentioned this in something of his--maybe "Danse Macabre"?). So I wasn't really at risk of tonal whiplash.

As promised, this is a pretty dark story--Pinocchio is mostly a pure chaos agent, kind of like Curious George except with violence and death, plus always someone looking to trick/prey on/take advantage of you. The narrator delivers morals, but for most of the book they come across (to me, at least, in translation and from my different historical context) as brightly tongue-in-cheek, since once a moral gets set out, Pinocchio generally smashes right through it. He's not malicious per se, but he is entirely impulsive and only does what he wants to do, and then cries about it afterward in self-pity once he has Fucked Around And Found Out. Then he gets rescued somehow, and heads back into the FAFO cycle.

I enjoyed the Fox-and-Cat sections, because of the difference between what Pinocchio knows, how the narrator describes things, and what we as readers (if we can get the hang of unreliable narration) know. They're con artists, they have unacknowledged cover stories and nefarious plans, while Pinocchio (and the narrative) is taking them entirely at their word. I can't remember when I first learned to navigate narrative unreliability in my own childhood reading, but I definitely came to love that feeling.

The last section of the book feels different--the stated morals start feeling more serious, and Pinocchio starts doing kind and positive things without being forced to. That means the sense of humor changes too--it kind of filters away, as does the sharp irony and the layers of unreliability. And a few earlier events get softened--like, the Talking Cricket reappears toward the end of the book without any explanation, scolds Pinocchio for the hammer thing, delivers a sententious moral, and Pinocchio apologizes and agrees with him. Definitely different than the Pinocchio of the earlier sections. (Although interestingly, Pinocchio may have Plot Armor, but even once the book has gentled a bit, other characters still die--like, Lamp-Wick, someone who convinced Pinocchio to misbehave, doesn't get rescued from being turned into a donkey the way Pinocchio was rescued. He's bought and then worked to death, and dies in a sad on-page scene.)

I read more about the book afterward and found out it was originally a magazine serial, so it all makes perfect sense, the episodic nature and the tone change and whatnot. Wikipedia also said that the serial originally ended fairly early on, when Pinocchio is punished by being hanged by the neck from a tree and dies (whereas in the book he's hanged and almost dies but is rescued). (Man, my childhood books were never like this.)

It really benefited Collodi to start up again with a fixit, given how popular the happy-ending book version became all over the world. It's hard to imagine a dead-at-the-end version becoming as beloved in places like the U.S.--at least in my sense of children's literature at that time, it wouldn't have much room for such a pitch-black tone.

@batmanisagatewaydrug

[didsomeonesaygo]

Quando a Roma...

Finalmente, siamo in Italia! 🇮🇹 Early morning out of LAX with a stop in Montreal. Got to Rome about 10 am, at which time any Italian I had went straight out the window. Luckily, people weren't joking when they said everyone speaks English - even if I try Italian, they answer me in English. But that's molto bene with P. Our driver Pietro took us to the U Visionary - we were early, so they held our bags and we headed out!

The hotel is right around the corner from the Trevi Fountain, so we decided to start there. Everyone had said this is not high season, but it IS a Jubiliee (Giuboleo) year, so the city is busy. That was... true. The whole time, we kept saying we couldn't imagine what the high season would be like - P's eye might not agree, but it felt like we dodged a bullet not going in August. So we went to the fountain, but couldn't get anywhere near close enough to throw a coin in - figured we'd try again later, and just started walking.

Rome feels like San Francisco, only more so. (Yes, I know that's backwards.) Tiny winding streets and great architecture, and with the fountains, statues, and churches e-ve-ry-where, there is something beautiful no matter where you turn. But the craziest thing is the ruins right in the middle of the city. So you walk down a major road, and suddenly there are 2000 year-old ruins RIGHT THERE. And oh, yeah, that's the Colosseum in the background, nbd. (Fun fact: they've been working on a new metro line for 20 years, but keep having to stop for archeological digs.)

We roamed around looking at ruins for a bit, and then wound our way toward the Chiesa di sant'ignazio in Campo, which was recommended by the hotel desk clerk. There's a mirror you look into to see the full ceiling, but there was (surprise!) a long line, so we checked it out old school and lit candles for Sweet Pea, Aunt Judy, and Uncle Kevin. (I'm a heathen, but I love the churches - Mere said Daddy did too, and she eventually started waiting outside for him because they're all beautiful, but they all start to look alike. Shh - don't give P any ideas.)

Then on to the Pantheon, which was originally a Roman temple (pan = all, theo = gods), but is now, you guessed it, a Catholic church. (It turns out the church adoptappropriated a lot of ancient structures - shocking, I know.) But this is the only one with has a 9-meter oculus (~36 feet!) - the better to talk to (the) god(s). Apparently when there is light rain, the oculus creates a warm updraft like a chimney, and the rain becomes mist before ever reaching the floor, but there is still a sloped floor and drains, just in case. (The Romans were good at drains.)

Then we figured our room would be ready, so we headed back to the hotel (Trevi Fountain even busier) to change and figure out dinner. We had a couple of recs from the hotel, but we think every hotel must have recommended the same places to every guest, because the lines were ridiculous - so we romed around until we found something open. We eat way too early by Italian standards; a lot of the places on our go-to review site don't even open until 7:30, but jet lag + we are old = ain't nobody waiting 'til 7:30 for dinner. We finally got lucky with the patio at Il Falchetto, a little place at the end of an alley (alleys are my jam), where we had great wine, ravioli, and cacio e pepe. (In Italy, I can eat butter noodles without getting grief about it, and I intend to take full advantage.) Got gelati on the way home, at one of approximately 1000 gelaterias within a mile of the hotel - I had strachiatella, and P had the best pistachio ever. Considering we didn't even hit town until 11 am, we did pretty well!

[girls-know-what-offside-means]

Chiesa can't be injured. Imagine him being replaced by ElSharawy.

Like don't get me wrong I love ElSharawy and dislike Chiesa but we all know who's better

[blueheartbookclub]

"Strings of Imagination: A Masterpiece of illumination"

Carlo Collodi's timeless classic, "The Adventures of Pinocchio," masterfully translated by Carol Della Chiesa, transcends the boundaries of children's literature, enchanting readers of all ages with its whimsical charm and profound allegory.

In this literary odyssey, readers are beckoned into a world where a mischievous puppet, Pinocchio, embarks on a transformative quest, encountering a myriad of characters and challenges that mirror the complexities of human nature. Della Chiesa's translation preserves the vivacity of Collodi's original Italian, allowing readers to savor the nuances of the author's language.

The story, a delightful blend of morality and fantasy, takes readers on a rollercoaster of emotions as Pinocchio grapples with the consequences of his choices. From the mischievous antics spurred by his curiosity to the poignant lessons learned from the Blue Fairy and the wise Cricket, the narrative weaves a tapestry of moral insights. Della Chiesa's translation captures the essence of Pinocchio's misadventures, making the tale resonate with readers across generations.

The brilliance of Collodi's storytelling lies in his ability to craft a fable that entertains while conveying profound moral lessons. Pinocchio's journey from a wayward puppet to a compassionate, responsible individual mirrors the universal struggle for self-discovery and personal growth. Della Chiesa's translation elevates the narrative, ensuring that the humor, wit, and moral gravity of Collodi's work are not lost in translation.

Beyond its literary significance, "The Adventures of Pinocchio" remains a cultural touchstone, inspiring adaptations in various art forms. Della Chiesa's translation not only preserves Collodi's original brilliance but also introduces this literary gem to a broader, English-speaking audience.

In conclusion, "Strings of Imagination: A Masterpiece Unveiled" invites readers to relish the whimsy and wisdom of Collodi's classic through the impeccable translation by Carol Della Chiesa. The journey with Pinocchio is not just a delightful escape into fantasy but a profound exploration of the human experience, proving that, like Pinocchio's nose, great literature knows no bounds.

Carlo Collodi's timeless classic, "The Adventures of Pinocchio," is available in Amazon in paperback 10.99$ and hardcover 18.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 228

Language: English

Rating: 10/10                                           

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

[richarlisonny]

imagine if chiesa had started. imagine a world where chiesa is in the starting xi for liverpool fc. now imagine chasing arne slot through a forest with a knife.

[donfermin]

random question but are there any juventus players you would like to see at barcelona and viceversa?

This is an interesting question 🤔

For very personal reasons, I wouldn't mind Cambiaso at Barça. He's a Cancelo that can assist (and I would combust to see him play with Fermín)

If I were Deco, I would swap Tek for Mats and Dusan for Lewandowski. And can you imagine Chiesa with Lamine on the wings? What a dream

On the other hand, I would love to see either Araujo or Christensen among Juve defenders instead of Gatti. And Balde instead of that fraud of Alex Sandro. Maybe Gundo too?

Imagining other Barça players like Pedri, Gavi or Fermín in a different team feels wrong, even though I value them a lot as players 🙈 Same applies to Kenan, he's too Juve coded

[ilovegyokeres]

OFF LIMITS- KENAN YILDIZ

summary: A forbidden romance imagine featuring Kenan Yildiz & his teammate’s sister.

You didn’t expect Kenan Yildiz to be at dinner.

Your brother, Nicolò Fagioli, had invited you to a small gathering to celebrate his return to the pitch. You figured it would be just a few teammates and close friends—nothing out of the ordinary.

But when you walked into the restaurant and saw him sitting there, laughing at something Chiesa said, your stomach did an uncomfortable flip.

Kenan was different from what you expected. Younger, but not in the way that mattered. He carried himself with a confidence that felt effortless, like he wasn’t trying to prove anything to anyone.

And then he looked at you.

It wasn’t immediate. He glanced over mid-conversation, eyes skimming past before flickering back—and that’s when it happened.

That moment of recognition. That pause where neither of you looked away.

It lasted barely a second, but it was enough.

You were in trouble.

Dinner went smoothly, for the most part. You kept to yourself, engaging in polite conversation but avoiding Kenan’s gaze. It was fine. Everything was fine.

Until you got home.

Nic shut the front door and turned to you with a look that made your stomach sink.

"Kenan is off-limits."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I saw the way he looked at you." His voice was firm, his arms crossed.

You scoffed. "And how did I look at him?"

Nic narrowed his eyes. "Like you were considering something really stupid."

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it off. "You’re being dramatic."

"I’m serious, sorellina," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "Kenan’s a good guy, but he’s my teammate. I don’t need that kind of distraction in the locker room."

You folded your arms, mirroring his stance. "So what? I’m not allowed to talk to him?"

Nic gave you a pointed look. "Not like that, you’re not."

Fine. Whatever. You had no plans to get involved with Kenan Yildiz.

Absolutely none.

Except…

Kenan didn’t get the memo.

Over the next few weeks, he made it impossible to ignore him.

At every gathering, every team event, every accidental encounter—he was there. And worse, he was paying attention.

It wasn’t anything obvious.

Just little things.

A glance across the room that lasted too long. A brush of his fingers when he passed you something. A comment that meant nothing to anyone else but had your heart racing.

It was infuriating.

Because it was working.

And one night, when you stepped outside to get some air at another gathering, he followed.

"You’re doing this on purpose," you muttered, crossing your arms as you leaned against the balcony railing.

Kenan smirked. "Doing what?"

You glared. "You know exactly what."

He tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "I just like seeing how long you can pretend you don’t want me."

Your breath caught.

You swallowed. "I—"

"Relax," he murmured, voice dropping slightly. "I’m not gonna do anything. I know the rules."

You exhaled. "Good."

Kenan hesitated for just a second before stepping closer—just close enough.

"But one day," he murmured, "you’re gonna break them first."

And then he walked away.

Leaving you with a racing heart and absolutely no idea what to do next.

You lasted another month before you snapped.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t calculated.

It was inevitable.

You were at a party at Nic’s place. The team was there, loud and celebrating. You were doing your best to ignore Kenan.

It was going fine—until you stepped into the hallway and felt a hand catch yours.

Before you could react, you were pulled into a dimly lit side room.

And then Kenan was right there.

Chest rising and falling. Eyes dark with something you weren’t ready to name.

"You’re driving me crazy," he murmured.

Your breath caught. "Kenan—"

"I don’t care," he cut you off, stepping closer. "I don’t care about the rules, about what Nic thinks—"

"Kenan, stop," you whispered, even though you didn’t want him to.

His jaw tightened. "Tell me to walk away, and I will."

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

And then—

You didn’t say anything.

You grabbed his face and kissed him first.

It was desperate. Messy. Every bit of tension exploding at once.

Kenan’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as he kissed you back—like he had been waiting for this just as much as you had.

You didn’t stop.

Not when someone walked past the door.

Not when you knew this was a mistake.

Because it didn’t feel like one.

Not at all.

After that, it was impossible to stay away.

The stolen moments turned into secret meetings.

Late-night texts.

Quick kisses in empty hallways.

Soft whispers when no one was listening.

It was reckless. It was stupid.

It was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

And you thought—just for a little while—that maybe you could keep this a secret.

But secrets don’t stay hidden forever.

It happened by accident.

You were at Kenan’s place—just for a little while. Nic thought you were at a friend’s.

You were curled up on his couch, wearing his hoodie, when your phone buzzed.

Nic.

Nic: Where are you?

You: Out.

Nic: With who?

You: Why?

Silence.

Then—

Nic: Turn around.

Your stomach dropped.

Slowly, you turned your head toward the window.

And there, standing outside, was your brother.

You swore under your breath. "Kenan—"

He followed your gaze, then let out a quiet curse of his own.

"Stay here," he said, already moving toward the door.

"Kenan—" You grabbed his wrist. "Just—don’t make it worse."

He exhaled sharply. "Too late for that."

Nic didn’t yell.

Which, somehow, was worse.

He just stood there, arms crossed, staring at Kenan with an expression that made your stomach twist.

"How long?" he asked.

Kenan didn’t hesitate. "A few months."

Nic’s jaw tensed. "And you didn’t think to tell me?"

You swallowed. "Nic—"

"You lied to me," he said, voice sharp. "Both of you."

Kenan met his gaze. "I didn’t want to go behind your back."

Nic let out a bitter laugh. "That’s exactly what you did."

Silence.

Then—

"Do you love her?" Nic asked, voice suddenly serious.

Your breath caught. You hadn’t even thought about that.

But Kenan didn’t hesitate.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I do."

You turned to look at him, heart pounding.

Nic studied him for a long moment. Then, finally, he exhaled.

"You hurt her, and I’ll kill you."

Kenan nodded. "Understood."

And that was that.

It wasn’t easy. Nic was still pissed. But he didn’t stop you.

And Kenan?

He was worth it.

Every risk. Every rule broken. Every moment spent hiding.

Because now?

Now, you didn’t have to hide anymore.

And for the first time, being with him felt right.

Even if it had been wrong at the start.

[blueheartbooks]

"Strings of Imagination: A Masterpiece of illumination"

Carlo Collodi's timeless classic, "The Adventures of Pinocchio," masterfully translated by Carol Della Chiesa, transcends the boundaries of children's literature, enchanting readers of all ages with its whimsical charm and profound allegory.

In this literary odyssey, readers are beckoned into a world where a mischievous puppet, Pinocchio, embarks on a transformative quest, encountering a myriad of characters and challenges that mirror the complexities of human nature. Della Chiesa's translation preserves the vivacity of Collodi's original Italian, allowing readers to savor the nuances of the author's language.

The story, a delightful blend of morality and fantasy, takes readers on a rollercoaster of emotions as Pinocchio grapples with the consequences of his choices. From the mischievous antics spurred by his curiosity to the poignant lessons learned from the Blue Fairy and the wise Cricket, the narrative weaves a tapestry of moral insights. Della Chiesa's translation captures the essence of Pinocchio's misadventures, making the tale resonate with readers across generations.

The brilliance of Collodi's storytelling lies in his ability to craft a fable that entertains while conveying profound moral lessons. Pinocchio's journey from a wayward puppet to a compassionate, responsible individual mirrors the universal struggle for self-discovery and personal growth. Della Chiesa's translation elevates the narrative, ensuring that the humor, wit, and moral gravity of Collodi's work are not lost in translation.

Beyond its literary significance, "The Adventures of Pinocchio" remains a cultural touchstone, inspiring adaptations in various art forms. Della Chiesa's translation not only preserves Collodi's original brilliance but also introduces this literary gem to a broader, English-speaking audience.

In conclusion, "Strings of Imagination: A Masterpiece Unveiled" invites readers to relish the whimsy and wisdom of Collodi's classic through the impeccable translation by Carol Della Chiesa. The journey with Pinocchio is not just a delightful escape into fantasy but a profound exploration of the human experience, proving that, like Pinocchio's nose, great literature knows no bounds.

Carlo Collodi's timeless classic, "The Adventures of Pinocchio," is available in Amazon in paperback 10.99$ and hardcover 18.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 228

Language: English

Rating: 10/10                                           

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

[furlantravelfashionblogger]

Via Panisperna, nel Rione Monti, va da Largo Angelicum a via Santa Maria Maggiore. Molte sono le leggende che fioriscono intorno al suo nome, una di queste vuole che i frati della chiesa di San Lorenzo, nel giorno della festa del santo, distribuissero ai poveri pane e prosciutto, che in latino si dice "panis et perna".

👉 https://www.turismoroma.it/it/luoghi/chiesa-san-lorenzo-panisperna

Via Panisperna, from Largo Angelicum to Via Santa Maria Maggiore, is one of the most characteristics in the Rione Monti. There are many legends surrounding its name: the most evocative, but probably imaginative, derives from 'panis et perna', the bread and ham that the monastery located here distributed to the poor every 10th August.

📸 IG francescasonio

#visitrome

[inviaggiocondante]

Inferno XV

Oggi il XV.. ed è difficile. Molto. Difficile non commuoversi, lasciar andare i sentimenti, i pensieri, la considerazione pietosa nel quale versa l'umanità.

.

Brunetto Latini.. l'unico 'ser' dell'Inferno.

L'unico per cui Dante si china ad accarezzare il viso.

Ser Brunetto chiama Dante: "Figlio mio".... "la cara e buona imagine paterna" dice Dante di lui.

L'unico padre che forse Dante ha amato. Ne imitò l'opera.. con il Convivio.

Ser Brunetto lo prega di tener caro il suo Tesoro.. per fare in modo che sia ricordato in qualche modo dai vivi... Ma la grande memoria del letterato e pedagogo fiorentino resterà affidata invece a una delle voci più forti e potenti della storia umana.

.

Da questo canto traspare anche (ma già con Farinata) il valore umano ed etico riconosciuto ai peccatori... MA... così come la loro irrimediabile eslusione dalla felicità. Dante è in grado di separare il peccato dall'individuo, riconoscendo il valore e la dignità delle persone al di là delle loro trasgressioni morali.

.

Danta attraversa il sabbione infuocato. Ma non ci resta.

Ser Brunetto torna indietro, Dante avanza.

Ser Brunetto sta in basso, tra i dannati... Dante in alto (sugli argini).

Senza Dio ogni apertura alla totalità è preclusa.

La corsa di Ser Brunetto è così intensa, così carica... non si può non provare pietà. Torna in quella schiera... insieme a tanti altri.. "sappi che tutti fur cherci "... Cherci.. Chierici.. uomini di chiesa...

Ed è inutile andare oltre. Su questo Canto bisogna riflettere con calma e in profondità... e serietà.

..

Il commento della Chiavacci è il migliore. Gli altri, specie se 'datati' - Dragone è vergognoso - sono in difficoltà con il canto: o lo liquidano velocemente... o lo minimizzano.

[pxnandqxll]

A breathless wave crashed upon Peter's chest by virtue of Victor's smile. Just when he thought the man before him couldn't get anymore golden. His smile was like the sun. Radiant. You couldn't help but want to be showered by its clement caress. "Excellent! Perhaps, if you haven't gotten sick of my company yet, I can give you the grand tour tomorrow afternoon. That way we can explore some of the churches during sun-down and you'll be able to witness their stained-glass views in all their glory." His low trill twinkled with an ounce of excitement. Just the idea of exploring the hollowed frame of such antiquated churches amidst being scorched in the panoramic flame of the ornamental glass's twilight views with Victor by his side painted an idyllic halcyon of an afternoon. Such an event may end up rivaling his performing in The Chiesa De La Martorana. "I wouldn't mind one bit you coming to see me during rehearsals. Although, I warn you, don't expect my playing to be perfect and polished when you come by. Wouldn't want to shatter my flawless, Mozartian-image in your eyes now would we?" he continued to josh, delighting in the surprising sense of ease he was feeling towards the gentleman.

Tippling another sip of his flute of champagne, Peter let out a low hum in agreement. "Pretty much. I was supposed to be stationed here for a month at most, but one thing led to another and here I am. I'd be a fool to leave Rome now. In fact, I can't think of myself being anywhere else at the moment.-- What about you? I imagine you've been staying at that summer home of yours that you mentioned in Tuscany. It must be like heaven up there."

As he listens to the songful manner in which words and names spill across Peter's tongue and permeate the very air with their euphony, his mirroring smile gives way to the reverential intrigue which widens the already vast frames of his eyes. ❝—Oh, I see... That sounds wonderful.❞ He feels as if he is gaining a glimpse into the wondrous world in which the other exists, its vivid hues gradually seeping into his own, and he is eager to hear more; to see how Peter spends his days in Rome when he is not busy preparing for concerts.

When that opportunity materialises itself upon Peter's lips, he senses the blossoming of an endeared smile across the roseate curves of his own, and he reaches out to it with both hands. ❝—Yes, of course! I would love that. My father has a summer house in Tuscany, but I've never really had the opportunity to explore Rome; I would be honoured if you could show me around. And I would especially love to see one of your rehearsals sometime.❞ With their chanced promises cordially exacted, he poses the question which has been stirring his curiosity. ❝—So I take it you're more or less settled in Rome at the moment?❞

[lorenzo-insigne]

Italy NT singing "Un'estate Italiana" (served by Lorenzo's ghettoblaster)