headcanon, heartcanon, until otherwise jossed or death do us part:

gyzym:

“No,” Rhodey says. 

Tony rolls his eyes behind his protective goggles and bites down on a smile. Then, remembering that Rhodey can see the smile but not the eyes, he switches it up, frowning and batting his eyelashes. “What do you mean, no?” 

“I mean no,” Rhodey says. He raps a knuckle against the suit—the Iron Patriot, Tony thinks he’ll call it, that’s got a nice ring to it—and shudders. “Goddamn it, Tony, you promised. I said tasteful and restrained. I said camouflage.” 

“What better camouflage is there than the colors that never run?” Tony bats his eyelashes again, remembers again about the goggles, and takes them off, tossing them over his shoulder. They’re throwing off his groove. “I thought you’d be happy. I thought you’d be honored. Be honest, Lt. Colonel Rhodes: do you not love America?” 

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I SHIP IT LIKE FEDEX