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twostepstyless · 1 year

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how are our ARLTY lovies doing? :(( miss them!!! 🥹

Oh my god!! the fact that you miss them??? Ouch I miss them SO much too, shall we have a little check in with them?

Read the original one shot here :))

Masterlist

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***

The rest of the trip flew by. Well, it would do when the pair were surrounded by a pink, glittery haze of their newly professed love. After Harry had gone back into the villa to lock the balcony doors and they left Amalfi, they cut across Italy, through Salerno and Potenza before arriving in Bari where they spent a few days traipsing round the maze of narrow, cobbled streets of the old town and walking through galleries and museums while nudging hips and the brushes of hands against one another’s. The pair took turns on the drive alongside the Adriatic coast, stopping for day trips and overnights. They had no plan so pulled in wherever they fancied, or when something caught their eye. Funnily enough, the weird, dodgy sound coming from the engine had disappeared and was now a distant memory as they made their way to Venice. Venice was… well… bloody Venice. They wandered down paved streets hand in hand, and they took a gondola ride as night fell on their first evening. As the sun set around them their gondolier told them the romantic legend of the Bridge of Sighs and urged the young couple to share a kiss as they floated under the bridge so they could bask in eternal love.

“What a load of old shit,” Y/N had snorted quietly to Harry as they approached the bridge as she was cuddled up to his side.

“Oi, it’s romantic,” Harry jabbed her side playfully before looping his arm around her shoulders and playing with the ends of her hair that fell there.

“It’s the gondola companies capitalist wet dream is what it is, look at all the boats lined up,” she giggled thinking about how many young couples must pay a premium to come to this spot every day.

Harry laughed as he noticed the queue of boats himself, “hm, so no kiss then?” he asked just as they were about to sail under.

“Well, I never said that” Y/N whispered turning her neck to face him as he was already leaning in. She planted her lips on his and indulged in the feel of his lips moving against her own, honouring the legend even if it was used as a ploy to make money nowadays.

Venice continued to be perfect. Harry held his clumsy girl steady on the landings that bobbed in the water of the Vaporetto water taxis, taking her hand in his, helping her to board. They spent a day and two entire reels of film in Burano taking in the brightly coloured houses that were even brighter and even more sweet-like than the ones they saw in Naples. The colours paired with the sun shining above them made for beautifully hazy pictures of the two of them with the houses at bright backdrops. Harry had Y/N posing for him every few metres that left him overwhelmed with options for his phones new home screen. He settled on one with her hand raised to stop him a faux glare gracing her face as he stopped her again to take her photo.

The toured a lacemakers on Burano and Y/N went back with scraps of the handmade lace in her hands that she knew was going straight into the scrapbook she planned to make of this trip. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off her as her fingers toyed with the lace and ran delicately over the top of it appreciating the floral designs and the craftmanship that went into making even the little pieces she was going away with. Their favourite stop was at the Libreria Acqua Alta, the most beautiful bookshop the pair had ever seen, the Waterstones on the high street near both their houses paled in comparison to this. Stacks of books littered the place, but what really sold it to the pair was that the slew of books were displayed in buckets, boats and bathtubs to save them from flooding when the canals overflow into the shop. They spent a while looking at all the books with Harry buying a few of his favourites in Italian so he could get better at learning the language. She watched him from an aisle over, his brow furrowed as he read over the blurb on the back of a particular book in his hand, eyes flitting over the words before deciding to buy it and depositing it on the growing pile of books he had accumulated. He looked up to find her, but seeing her gaze already on him as they smiled to each other before Harry went over to grab her own pile of books to carry for her.

***

It was November now, and the stack of books with worn edges and pretty leatherbound spines Y/N had bought from the little shop in Venice sat pride of place in the bookshelves of her flats living room. She was sat criss-cross on the floor in front of her coffee table with her supplies spilling over the edges of the small table and onto the floor, a large square book opened onto a blank page in front of her. She rifled through the bundle of freshly developed photographs trying to find a specific shot of her and her best friend. It was a photo from a few months ago on a road trip they had taken. It was a photo of them on a walk one evening in Positano, they were walking side by side down the middle of the road watching the sunset when a stranger stopped the pair and asked if she could take a photo of them as they looked like such a beautiful couple and they should remember their evening with a picture. How little the stranger knew that the beautiful couple had only became a couple a short 12 hours before that. But as the setting sun burnt the sky a rich orange that faded to pink then into blue behind them, Harry and Y/N were photographed leaning against the railing that looked over the water, arms wrapped around one another with radiant smiles plastered on their faces as the stranger took the first official photo of the pair as a couple. Y/N looked fondly down as she pasted the photo into her scrapbook with the glue stick that she had to peel a layer of crust off as she had left the lid off for too long. She wrote the date under the photograph before flipping through the book again, seeing the U.K sticker they peeled off the car when they arrived back next to the photo of them outside the car before they left, the photo of an unsuspecting Harry getting to drive through the big tunnel he was so desperate to do, the two of them standing in front of the candy-coloured houses in both Naples and Burano caught on film and glued into her book, a strip cut off from the silk scarf Harry had tied round her neck, to live out her best Audrey Hepburn fantasy, was in the book next to one of the numerous photos of Y/N that Harry had taken that evening. She was just starting a new page with the scraps of lace from Burano getting pasted in when she heard a key jiggle in the lock of her front door. Now, only Y/N’s mum and one other person had a key to the flat and her mum was currently in her hometown to that left the latter as who it could be.

“Girlfriend, where are you?” he sang from the entryway as he shed his coat from his shoulders before putting it in her coat cupboard in the hallway. She heard his shoes get kicked off his feet in a clatter against the wooden floor.

“I’m in the living room, boyfriend,” Y/N called back not looking up from her task at hand as she heard his socked feet pad up the hall towards her.

“Evening, my love, wha’s all this?” Harry asked standing next to her, peering down at her covered coffee table and the opened scrapbook.

“Went to the craft shop today, went a bit mental, here I am, finally making the scrapbook from our trip,” she spoke as she pressed down on the piece of lace to stick it in place before looking up at him, “hi pretty,” she sighed out smiling up at him from her place on the floor.

“‘Went a bit mental,’ yeah I can see that,” Harry laughed leaning down to peel a letter H sticker from her forehead before showing it to her on the pad of his index finger.

“Oh! I was looking for that,” she carefully peeled the sticker from his fingertip and flicked to the front page of the book to complete the sentence that formerly read as ‘Arry and Y/N’s Roadtrip.’ “There we go,” she stuck it in place, even if it was a little squint on the page. “Help me up?” Y/N pouted up at him raising her hands up in front of him. Harry popped the plastic bag for life onto her couch to grip both her hands in his pulling her up from her spot.

“Hmm, finally,” Harry groaned as he finally got to kiss her hello. A deep, slow kiss as his tongue licked into her mouth just a little bit before he pulled back with three short pecks, muttering a ‘hi,’ against her kiss softened lips.

“Hm, what’s with the bag,” she glanced down to her couch as if to remind him.

“My turn to cook tonight, isn’t it?” Harry asked lifting the bag and walking towards her kitchen setting it on the side before helping Y/N pop herself up to sit on the countertop when she followed him in. “Did y’know they charge 30 bloody pence for a bag for life nowadays,” Harry sighed as he stood between her legs wanting to be close to her after a long day and last night without her.

“It’s so we stop using plastic H, where were your reusable ones?” asking as she rest her forearms on his shoulders pulling him in closely and letting her hand card through the back of his hair.

“Left them in the car and couldn’t carry everything without one,” he muttered before holding back a moan at the satisfaction of her nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

“How was the studio?” Y/N questioned him as he untangled himself from her for a second to unpack his shopping bag so he could start preparing dinner.

“Hm, was good I think, felt like a good day today,” he mused, sniffing his fresh produce quickly, still didn’t smell as good or as fresh as what they bought in Italy.

“Write anything good?” Y/N reached behind her to grab the two cutting boards he would need.

“Yeah, think so,” Harry smiled, remembering what he got out today and thinking about what inspired it.

“Let me hear some?” she asked playfully, knowing already she had absolutely no chance until Harry was ready to share it with her.

“Nice try, baby, not yet” Harry came back to stand between her legs, reaching forward to quickly push her hair back off her face.

Y/N scrunched her nose and grumbled, “tell me what it’s about at least,” batting her eyelashes flirtatiously to try and convince him.

Kissing the pout from her lips, tasting the balm she was using to fight off the chapping the ever-increasing winter wind was causing as London grew colder and colder.

“Hmm, I’m not sure,” Harry teased.

“Oh H, please,” she whined hopping down from the counter, standing on her tiptoes she brushed her nose against his, the tip of his own still tinged pink and a little cold from being outside, before resting her chin on his chest to gaze up at him.

Harry breathed out a huff of laughter his hands cupping her face, thumbs brushing across the tops of her cheeks as she leant into his touch

“Driving,” he stated

“Driving?” she puzzled head tilting to the side.

“The songs about driving,” he said softly. Memories of the road trip that changed it all for the flourishing couple rushed through both their minds simultaneously, Harry’s like a movie in his mind and Y/N’s all the pasted pages of her scrapbook that she had worked on all day. Smiles graced both of their faces, knowingly, but not one of the two saying it aloud. Harry let out a hum of laughter, almost bashful sounding before he pulled her into a kiss. His lips nipping her bottom lip between them.

Harry was cooking dinner when Y/N spoke up again as she watched him stir the sauce with a tea towel draped across his shoulder.

“My wish came true by the way,” she spoke from behind him as he turned to face her, closing the distance by pulling her into his chest.

“Wish?” Harry puzzled, resting his forehead on hers, the innate need to be close to her waving its flag.

“My wish I wouldn’t tell y’about at the Trevi, it came true,” she whispered the sound of food bubbling away on the stove almost drowning her out.

“Mine too,” Harry pulled back to look into her eyes before leaning down to kiss his love.

“Now feed me, Styles,” Y/N proclaimed as they broke apart. Harry laughed as he turned round grabbing the spoon from the sauce and holding it up for her to taste. As she leant to taste it, the sauce fell from the spoon and down her shirt that was partly covered by the soft cotton dungarees she wore. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, that was your fault this time,” she whined as she began to shimmy out of the t-shirt from under her overalls, and to Harry this all felt a bit too much like déjà vu.

#anon #ask #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #one direction #one direction fanfiction #harry edward styles #harry fanfic #harry styles friends to lovers #friends to lovers

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beakyinsight · 10 days

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Libreria Acqua Alta

Venice Famous Bookshop

#architecture #travel #books

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retroactivepixels · 8 months

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One of the resident cats and it's iconic owner at Acqua Alta bookshop, Venice - Italy, 2016. Libreria Acqua Alta, Venezia.

#photographers on tumblr #canonphotography #venice #venezia #italy #books & libraries #bookshop #Europe #cat #catography

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tricksterrune · 1 year

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The cat is from the Libreria Acqua Alta which is a bookshop with an actual gondola inside. Several cats live there. Guess who does not have a pic of the boat inside the shop....but the cat? Me

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newmannoble · 2 months

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Bookworms Delight: A List of Must-Visit Bookshops Around the World

Bookworm’s Delight: A List of Must-Visit Bookshops Around the World https://ift.tt/jm49VBf There are few greater pleasures for bibliophiles than wandering through the aisles of a well-curated bookshop, inhaling the intoxicating scent of ink and paper, and discovering literary treasures. From historic bookstores with centuries of tradition to quirky independent shops with unique charm, the world has many bookish havens waiting to be explored. Here’s a list of must-visit bookshops worldwide that will delight any book lover. Shakespeare and Company – Paris, France: Nestled on the Left Bank of the Seine, Shakespeare and Company is an iconic English-language bookstore that has been a haven for writers and readers for nearly a century. El Ateneo Grand Splendid – Buenos Aires, Argentina: Once a grand theater, El Ateneo Grand Splendid in Buenos Aires has been transformed into one of the most beautiful bookshops in the world. Visitors can peruse books on ornate balconies, sit in plush theater seats, and enjoy the breathtaking architecture. Daunt Books – London, UK: Daunt Books in London is a destination for travelers and book enthusiasts seeking a curated selection of travel literature and guides. Its oak galleries and skylights create a serene atmosphere perfect for exploring books about far-flung destinations. Strand Bookstore – New York City, USA: The Strand is a New York City institution that boasts “18 miles of books.” This iconic bookshop offers new and used books and has been a haven for book lovers, celebrities, and writers for generations. Libreria Acqua Alta – Venice, Italy: Venice’s Libreria Acqua Alta, meaning “bookstore of high water,” has a unique approach to dealing with the city’s frequent flooding. Books are stored in bathtubs, gondolas, and waterproof containers, creating a whimsical and slightly surreal atmosphere that’s a must-see for visitors. Atlantis Books – Santorini, Greece: Perched on the cliffs of the stunning Greek island of Santorini, Atlantis Books is a paradise for readers with a breathtaking view of the Aegean Sea. Powell’s Books – Portland, USA: Powell’s Books in Portland, Oregon, is the largest independent new and used bookstore in the world and a beloved institution. It’s easy to get lost among its color-coded rooms, each dedicated to a different genre. Hatchards – London, UK: Founded in 1797, Hatchards is one of the oldest bookshops in the world and holds the prestigious title of London’s oldest bookshop. It boasts a rich history, a royal warrant, and a selection of books that cater to diverse tastes. Ler Devagar – Lisbon, Portugal: Located in a former printing press factory in Lisbon’s LX Factory, Ler Devagar is a mecca for book lovers. The shop features a massive hanging book sculpture, vintage printing presses, and a peaceful reading area. Livraria Lello – Porto, Portugal: Often called one of the most beautiful bookstores in the world, Livraria Lello in Porto is renowned for its ornate neo-Gothic architecture, intricately carved wooden staircases, and stained glass windows. These bookshops are not just places to buy books; they are destinations in themselves, offering unique atmospheres, historical significance, and a sense of wonder that makes them a joy to visit for any bookworm. via Noble Newman | Pittsburgh Writer https://noblenewman.com February 13, 2024 at 10:45AM

#Noble Newman | Pittsburgh Writer

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lesnahod · 5 months

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Postcards from the watery town (and from the Acqua Alta bookshop, which fortunately hosts no fish nowadays). Art by Maria Mariano and Chiara and Michela Giorgiutti.

#venice #travels

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thepercy6andtheradicalsabbatical · 10 months

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Full day in Venice #1, part 2

The other big reason for heading home was that, after several delays of travel woes and delays, Grandma and Grandpa had finally arrived in Venice and soon and came over to our place to meet up! After lots of excited talking from the kids reporting on the trip so far we set out to explore with Grandma and Grandpa. We took the one-hop Vaporetto across towards Saint Mark's and then lucked out in seeing the clock change the hour in the square and see the big statues hammering out the hour on the bell on top of the clock. We then window shopped a bit, ending up at “Alta Acqua Libreria” a bookshop where the frequent flooding has prompted them to put all the books on higher shelves or in waterproof containers on the floor (even some in a Venetian gondola!). They also had piles of old waterlogged books stacked up outside for photo ops. We then wandered a bit more and picked a random spot for dinner where all enjoyed their meals. Then we had a brief tourist error where Matt paid the check but did not realize the desserts weren’t on there yet and Becca was tracked down while leaving the bathroom to pay for the remainder. We then headed home to let Grandma and Grandpa get some well deserved rest.

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bathtimejournals · 11 months

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I had devoured Giovanni’s Room on our first day in Venice. The next day I was left bookless. Though there are many days I don’t read, there is never a day I don’t have a book that I’m lugging around, or that lies tauntingly on my night table. Call it accountability, call it guilt, call it hipster signaling, call it the capitalist compulsion to order something on Amazon, call it whatever you want really. It’s my pet, my comfort object. I’ve given up vaping and my hands require a smooth square familiar object that represents social reprieve and externally identifies me as a sexy mysterious intellectual etc.

One of Venice’s best qualities is its arrogance to such American conveniences as wheeled transportation and doorstep delivery. It seeds out the awful gauche tourists who rely on Uber and electronic maps to navigate European streets made specifically for strolling, judging and smoking. So while my family had grown utterly exhausted from this lifestyle of leisure and sulked home to snore holes through our linoleum AirBnb walls, I split off with a singular mission in mind. I took like a fish to water and dove into the nearest canal, with perfect form from my days of competing in diving contests adjudicated by my oldest cousin on hot summer afternoons. It turns out the pencil dive is much more suited to a body of water deeper than 4 feet, and so after a sprained ankle and a few shocked (admiring?) looks, I flounced out on the slimed steps and lounged on the Ponte to dry off, in a perfect leaned back mermaid posture.

Once my pesky mermaid tail had shed and I had regained most of the feeling back in my feet, I set my sights on a book store that was supposed to have an English selection according to a quick Google search. I was still in high spirits, grateful for the ease with which I shirked off my family and had the afternoon to myself to feign melancholy, thoughtfulness, and exasperation, miming the Italian attitude.

The first two bookshops I had pinned were simply non-existent, unless perhaps in a secret passage way that required me to tap three times on the third brick and wait for a pidgeon to poop on my hand. It was charming, in a way, that updating Google on the the coming and going of stores was not a priority. The pre-modern, village simulation was an uncanny. Yet I had an itching suspicion some devilish medieval sprite was playing a trick on me, because there was really absolutely no remnants of a store where indicated. The second time it happened I was left very untrusting of my phone’s directions, so I popped into a quill and stationary store to ask the clerk if she had ever known a bookstore to be right in front of her establishment. She nervously laughed at my predicament, and kindly directed me towards a bookstore that was supposed to have a few English books.

Still hopeful, I continued on my mission and walked about 10 minutes until I arrived at the Libreria Alta Acqua. I might as well have stumbled upon the gates of heaven. There was a 6 foot stack of vintage tomes that looked like the kind Shakespeare might have written. Upon entry, my eyes ricocheted off of every surface so as to create a quasi stroke like effect. It was delightfully colourful, and with each new step, a gemlike book niche sparkled -- vintage Italian postcards, 1950s collage cards, bins of your uncle’s basement film photos, first edition comic books, records, movie poster matchboxes-- leaving me in a state snake charmers probably spent decades training to induce. I Though there were an abundance of lowlit dusty corners that any cat would sacrifice their 7th life for, the main salle orbited around a black Venetian canal boat that stored whatever couldn’t fit on the walls.

Not only had I found a shop that tickled everyone of my depraved senses, I tripped on an Italian version of The Little Prince, a childhood book that my best friend and I have always had a soft spot for.

at the register... ozzy, bookmark

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