the-wordbutler:

tony what are you doing all i can imagine is miles taking these pictures with his phone while simultaneously going DAD NO and bruce laughs helplessly in the background

“I keep hearing hats are in, but I don’t own any hats. Well, I own the beanie, but I’m not allowed to wear the beanie. What’d you say about it? It’s the ‘most embarrassing thing I own, even worse than the fanny pack?’”

“Sounds about right.”

“Thank you, Bruce. So, like I was saying: I need hats. These are my new hats. Why are you groaning and covering your face? I look great. Don’t I look great, Bruce? He’s only snickering because I look so awesome. And wait until you see my other hat— No spoilers, but it’s origami … “

the-wordbutler:

samsteves:

OLD PPL SELFIES

RDJ SO MANY DAD!FEELS FOR MPU

“I don’t know you,” Miles says, and jogs to walk a good fifteen feet ahead of Tony at the mall. Tony rolls his eyes, because that’s what you do when your teenager disavows knowledge of you. Bruce looks like he might die in his effort not to laugh.

“Is this about the picture?” Tony calls after him after about ten seconds of silence. Miles turns around to glare; Tony holds up his hands. “It’s about the picture, isn’t it? The selfie? With the sunglasses and the awesome hat—”

“It wasn’t an awesome hat,” Bruce says like the supportive life partner he is, the traitor.

“—and the maybe putting it not only on my own twitter, but—”

“My friends are still texting me about it!” Miles cuts in. He whirls around. Strangers stare at him, because he’s yelling. Slightly, In the mall on a Saturday morning. “I left the room for five minutes, you stole my phone, and you tweeted six stupid pictures!”

Tony points a finger at him. “Not stupid.”

“Well … ” Bruce intones.

Tony shoots him a sharp look, and he shrugs. “And for the record,” he adds, turning back to their son, “I was bored.”

“It was Labor Day! You could have done anything you wanted on Labor Day!”

“I think I figured out what I wanted to do,” Tony points out to him—and he only grins when Miles turns and storms off.

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Tormenting our son shouldn’t be sport.”

“Except it’s the noblest sport,” Tony returns, and Bruce’s tiny smile is reward enough.