ofthefamily: (oceans and streams)
Dr. Carlisle Cullen ([personal profile] ofthefamily) wrote2015-10-11 04:17 pm

Carlisle learns about Instagram.

Carlisle, for as much as he spends the majority of his time buried in books, is leaning over his computer's keyboard and squinting at the monitor as though that would improve his comprehension somewhat.

Why are there so many pictures on here of what people eat for breakfast?
themidnightson: (Default)

[personal profile] themidnightson 2015-10-11 09:53 pm (UTC)(link)

Edward is lounging, quietly. Well. Quietly enough.

In a chair not far away. Half the room, and positioned before the south wall of pure window in one of the wingback chairs. Legs casually thrown over one arm of the chair, semi-twisted to the opposing corner of it. Only moving his hand when needed to flip the pages in the book he's been reading the last hour or so.

His mouth doesn't pucker. It doesn't. Maybe the faintest flicker in a cheek.

"Banal amusement?" Without looking up.
themidnightson: (Default)

[personal profile] themidnightson 2015-10-11 10:02 pm (UTC)(link)

He doesn't close the book. But there a cut of golden eyes in that direction.
The twinge in his cheek might be winning. By microscopic increments.

"Then you would point out it still hasn't actually progressed enough."

It wasn't like the paintings and photo's of decades all over this house, their storage, disproved that any more than it proved it. One day technology might match them. But it was still long in coming. And it was far more amusing, here and now, with Carlisle's baffled curiosity on the screen, anyway.
themidnightson: (Default)

[personal profile] themidnightson 2015-10-11 10:17 pm (UTC)(link)

Edward doesn't even need to ask the question. But he does.

Some things are habit, warn in and warm. "Oh?"
themidnightson: (Default)

[personal profile] themidnightson 2015-10-11 11:02 pm (UTC)(link)

The book reclines, spine on the center of his thigh, while he watches Carlisle.
It shouldn't amuse him so. But it does. The look on Carlisle's face.

"Alice will be so pleased to see you coming into the century."
More things that shouldn't amuse him, but do. So he does them.

Unrepentantly, with the tilt of sideways smirk starting to clear it's way on him.
themidnightson: (Default)

[personal profile] themidnightson 2015-10-11 11:44 pm (UTC)(link)

That wasn't a chuckle. Okay. Maybe it was.

Edward lets the book rest, watching Carlisle.

"They don't have to be pictures of you."
themidnightson: (Default)

[personal profile] themidnightson 2015-10-11 11:54 pm (UTC)(link)

Edward can't help the sound that escapes from him. It transforms his posture entirely. Makes his shoulders and chest tremble, while his grin widens, and his mess of shiny hair presses into the chair back behind him, every which way, through it. He'll just not even try to pretend he's not picturing that face. A hand raising to his face.

Poor Carlisle. The internet may never truly be ready for him.

Not that it bothers Edward by the way his eyes shine when he rubs them -- not moist, but from overused habit of appearing human decades worn in -- and shakes his head at Carlisle. He hopes to remember that one for later. For Alice. Carlisle deserves it. So does Alice.
themidnightson: (Default)

[personal profile] themidnightson 2015-10-12 12:13 am (UTC)(link)

"But you aren't." Edward counters, just as unremorseful.

Lit for the inside in the ways the sun out the wide wall of window could never match. Not moving from his slovenly position, that he knows looks nothing the sort. It wouldn't if he tried to to be going for that effect. It anything it makes it looks inanely artful. But he's too pleased to care at the moment.
themidnightson: (Default)

[personal profile] themidnightson 2015-10-12 12:44 am (UTC)(link)

"Perhaps," Edward says, shifting in the chair, as Carlisle comes toward him. "It's not so much the cluelessness."

Some things didn't need to be modernized. Even if they strove for it at times, too.
themidnightson: (Default)

[personal profile] themidnightson 2015-10-16 12:01 pm (UTC)(link)

Edward doesn't look at the book. Doesn't shift the fingertips resting against it.

Not with Carlisle between him and where he was. "Neruda."

A rarity. But it's been a quiet day.