Stephen Amell’s “dumb face” is his expression as Oliver whenever he gazes moonily at Felicity. Amell has never used it looking at any of Oliver’s other love interests, and it’s super dorky and open and genuine.
Here are some examples of Stephen Amell’s dumb face as Oliver:
1. “I’m a former playboy but you make me super nervous” dumb face
2. “I remember everything about the day we met” dumb face
3. “I want to have a million babies with you” dumb face
4. “I love you but maybe goodbye forever” dumb face
5. “I want to believe that I’m a good man” dumb face
6. “I looooooooooooove her” dumb face
7. “Casually hanging out shirtless waiting for my cranky lady love to come home” dumb face
8. “Whoa, she might want to marry me?” dumb face
9. “My face is so dumb!” dumb face
10. “I’m proposing to the love of my life” dumb face
What if instead of Marco being the one who died, it was Jean. And when Marco found his body he thought of all the times he tried to make Jean feel better, tried to make him feel like he mattered and then realized it didn’t really matter then. What if when they were burning all the bodies, Marco picked up one of the bones and quietly cried, but after a while he wiped away all the tears and just let out a cruel laugh. And after that he joins the Scout Corps with everyone and turns into a colder, hostile, distant person, and doesn’t try to make others feel better. What if he blamed himself for Jean’s death and the others that were in his squad. What if he felt like he didn’t have to make anyone smile because it won’t be worth it anyways in such a terrible world like this. What if people were worried for him, but every time someone tried to talk about Jean with him Marco keeps a straight face and ignores them. And when he’s alone he just breaks down and wonders what happened. Just what if the roles where switched.
(Elementary AU: Abducted Series): [Part 1] It was as if history was repeating itself—except this time, it wasn’t Sherlock behind that mask, and she wasn’t going down without a fight. Unfortunately for her, tonight just wasn’t her night. (COMPLETE)
The brownstone was dark when she came in. She tossed her bag, hung her coat, and when she turned and saw the figure looming behind her, she wasn’t even fazed. “God, Sherlock, this again?” she muttered, pointedly rolling her eyes at the ski mask.
There was no answer, and she couldn’t help the thought—Sherlock wasn’t the type to pull the same trick twice.
So she tensed, couldn’t help that either, but let out a scoff. “I’m not playing this game again,” she went on, swooping down to grab her purse—there was her phone, her can of pepper spray, not to mention a pocket knife. “And I swear, if the lights are off because you didn’t bother to pay the electricity, I’m gonna kill you.”
Still no answer. Heart beating double time, she turned on her heel, stalking away as she pulled the zip back on her purse. Her fingers barely dipped inside when she heard the quick, oncoming steps.
She swiveled on her feet and threw her purse at the intruder’s face. It hit with a hard smack, causing the man to reel back in surprise, and she reached for the next nearest thing—a stool.
Alright, so no phone or spray after all then. She’d just have to do without.