Work Text:
Cinderella was a fucking lie.
Forget the unrealistic expectations of supernatural maternal figures, small rodents, and the monarchy. The real problem with the story is something most of us may have the chance of truly experiencing. It’s a sinister, harmful, and overall impractical view on the real world. Cinderella perpetuates the idea that a woman losing her shoe in the middle of a staircase, without holding on , will end up fine. She kept descending the stairs, petticoat firm in her hands. She almost didn’t realize her shoe was gone! That is the kind of inaccuracy you can expect from a made up world where birds make your bed every morning. Real life is vastly different. There is almost always arm flailing, curses cried, and too many witnesses wincing at your pain in real life. Case in point, Felicity Smoak: covered in the few sips of coffee she had left, purse contents emptied, scratched elbow, bruised knees, and shoeless.
Now, normally, Felicity would view Cinderella in a more positive light. Both were women who worked too damn hard and wore great iconic,shoes. Unfortunately, Felicity’s idea of great shoes were almost never the ones that are comfortable and stay on your feet (panda flats as the only exception!).
Although Felicity, Tech Goddess in the most high, knew that her state of the art tablet was fine, (tempered glass and rubber casing, you are a real hell of a combo), she chose that to be her first place of focus. Because, you know, there’s always a slight chance it broke. She totally was not trying to look busy and wait for whoever may have seen her falling to walk away, why would you think that? Her very secure and protected tablet needed to be examined before anything else!
In a true flustered state, Felicity was blushing so hard, she could hear the sound of her pulse rushing in her ears. She imagined her face looked like a violently over-inflated red balloon. The problem with deliberately focusing anywhere but your surroundings and not being able to hear properly, is that someone may approach you. They don’t even have to be small and sneaky to loom in on you without notice. They might be tall, broad, and smell really good.
Trying hard not to notice her reflection in the unsurprisingly not broken glass of her tablet, Felicity heard the kindest and quite possibly the worst noise she could ever imagine.
“Are you okay?” He asked.
She felt her eyes shut instinctively, as if she were a toddler again and believed closing her eyes made her invisible. If you fall in public, and suffer like Felicity from deep social embarrassment that comes with people watching you do something stupid, the best case scenario is that you’re ignored. If people have to be witnesses to falls and insist on helping, the best people to do that are the elderly. They’ll calm you down and maybe even call you a cute pet name. “Let me get that, sweetheart. You’ll be just fine.” On the other end of the spectrum, the worst possible scenario would be laughter, maybe. Peer laughter and pointing, although, that always has the chance for you to flip it and own your fall- they can’t laugh at you if you’re laughing too, I guess. But below that is having someone attractive and pitying of you. Felicity hadn’t looked up yet, but from the voice, the incredible cologne, and the weirdly palpable aura this man radiated, she knew he was going to be a knockout.
She reluctantly opened her eyes. This situation could get worse if he called an ambulance thinking she wasn’t opening her eyes due to a concussion or something of the sort.
Of course, her guess was right. He was gorgeous. The type of attractive where if she were on a gameshow called “Guess My Job”, she would bet her winnings confidently and say, “Model, final answer”. That would be too easy though. Maybe the host would ask to be more specific. She’d lose then, torn between the idea that he either posed for sculptors or was seen in an Acqua di Gi ò ad.
“I’m okay, thanks,” she said quickly, still avoiding direct eye contact. One look at his stupidly attractive sympathetic face was enough. “Really, it’s fine. You can go.” She prayed that her tone sounded reassuring instead of dismissive. She didn’t need to look ungrateful on top of clumsy and coffee stained.
She glanced at him, hoping to see him convinced that he did all he could. Instead he was doubtful. Pompously doubtful, though. Staring at her with a quirked eyebrow and eyes far too suspicious of her. It was almost arrogant and left little room for argument. Somehow it worked for him. Really worked.
“I can’t just leave you here,” he told her.
“You really can,” she countered. He shook his head gently, gesturing to her scratched elbow. “I can’t”
She nodded enthusiastically, to counter his head shaking. Nothing says I’m right and you’re wrong more than one upping during head shaking. “You totally can,” she insisted, “ And if on your way out of here you see a man selling memory erasers, you can buy one and forget about this encounter entirely. No guilt whatsoever.”
Felicity grabbed onto the handrail, something that she should have done on the way down, and tried to pull herself up.
“I guess you’d want to buy one of those erasers too?” He offered his hand. She almost went to accept it, but noticed the coffee dripping from it. She pulled her hand back, causing him to scrunch his entire face in confusion.
“Coffee hands,” she said, not wanting him to think she was worried about contracting leprosy from him.
He offered his hand more firmly. “I’ll survive.”
She accepted his hand, standing shoeless and coffee tie-dyed in front of the aggressively helpful attractive man. She looked around to see if anyone noticed the commotion that was caused, but nobody seemed to be paying any mind.
She straightened her skirt, wiping her hands on the next to the soiled spot on the corner. “I appreciate your help, but I’m okay. The scratch is nothing, bruises will heal, and the embarrassment level is only a 6, believe it or not. This won’t be the worst memory to haunt me before I sleep.”
He moved to grab her belongings on the floor, stuffing her wallet and doo-dads into her canvas bag.
“You want to talk about embarrassment, how about photographic evidence of you peeing on a cop car?”
Felicity blanched. “When did I do that? How did I even manage to..”
His neck snapped so hard to look at her, she nearly winced. “No, I did that. It’s something way worse than just a trip down some stairs. I hoped it would make you feel better.”
The blush was back. “Of course you meant yourself. Listen sir, I am a bit frazzled right now, if you can’t tell.”
“Oliver,” he interjected. “That’s me, to be clear this time.” He smirked.
“Fel...lorence. I’m Felicity.”
The smirk disappeared completely and concern flooded his features. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did you hit your head?”
She made a move to grab some napkins from inside her bag. Cleaning up the remaining coffee from the floor, she sighed. “My head’s as fine as it usually is. I was going to give you a fake name, but would that really change anything? If you saw me on the streets two weeks from now it wouldn’t make a difference if it were me Felicity Smoak or Florence Machinima, or even Eunice Balates. I’d still be recognized as the idiot who fell down stairs.”
Oliver chuckled softly. “I promise you, it wasn’t as embarrassing as you think it is. People fall. It happens.” He offered her a sweet smile that she returned.
She did appreciate his efforts to help. He seemed genuinely interested in making sure she was okay. “Thanks, but this never would have happened to that bitch Cinderella.” She hooked her thumb towards her shoe, sitting gracefully five steps above them.
Oliver looked down at her foot and back at the shoe, realizing exactly what caused the situation in the first place. He made his way up the stairs, grabbing her heel as gently as if it were made of glass. She went to grab it with another, “Thank you,” on her breath, when he placed it in front of her. He offered his arm for balance while she stepped into it.
“Fairy tales are just the best case scenario for real life events.” Oliver’s tone was very matter-of-fact. As if it were a mantra she should be familiar with. She couldn’t help but give a laugh. “That’s very...uh, idealistic of you.”
“My sister Thea used to say it after ever fairy tale we read.” The fond look on his face told her that this Thea must be adored.
Felicity looked down at her body, shirt and skit sprinkled with coffee. “I guess this was the stepsister dress ruining scene. I guess I just need some talking mice and a fairy godmother now.”
“Yeah, that and a prince charming.” It was very obvious that he was referring to himself. Words, body language, face. He was trying to get her to agree to it. This ridiculous cocky man, still looking to stroke his ego despite knowing how good he looked.
Felicity refused to give in to his little act. It was a matter of pride. This could be the small upper hand she had today. She couldn’t give in that easily. “Shame there isn’t a prevalent monarchy around here these days.”
He gave another little knowing grin. How did the man have so many different smiles? “I’m sure you’ll find one. The night’s still young.”
Felicity feigned ignorance, “Why, are there some aristocrats from Sweden in this week?”
“You never know until you look,” he said sagely. “Maybe we should get some dinner at Lo Scoglio tonight. Do you like Italian?”
Felicity hummed deep in her throat. She was quite hungry. The power bars she ate working through lunch should be sued for false advertising. “I love Italian, but do you think that’s where I can find some Swedish sovereigns?”
“I can call ahead of time,” He insisted. “Maybe slip the maître d' a twenty when we get there. But remember, in the wise words of my sister, ‘best case scenario for real life events’.”
Felicity shook her head in disappointment. “That sounds like I’m not getting a prince. And I must say I’m a little disenchanted by these fairy tales.”
Neither heard the click of heels walking up to them.
“Ollie, you’re still here? Mom said you left 20 minutes ago! Oh hi. I didn’t know you were busy.”
“Felicity, this is Thea,” He introduced her with a tease in his voice. The little girl she was expecting to be fairy tale obsessed was not who was standing in front of her. “Thea, this is Felicity.” The immaculately dressed young woman gave Felicity a genuine smile, but of course her eyes focused on the blotches of coffee.
“I tripped,” Felicity said with way less shame than she imagined she would feel. “Oliver was kind enough to help me.”
“We’re going for dinner right now, so I’m still off the clock Whatever Mom problems you’re trying to dump on me will remain your problems,” he told his sister.
“Right now,” Felicity asked with a squeaky whisper, pointing to her shirt and skirt.
“First of all, I was just on my way out too, no problems at all, you assuming jerk,” she sneered at Oliver before turning to felicity, “For whatever reason, if you’re still willing to go out with this Dumbo, I have a really good stain eraser.” She dug in her bag and pulled out a tiny wand like device. “This stuff is magic, I swear. I have like ten of them in this purse alone. Have it.” Thea’s entire bag shook with the sound of a phone vibration. She groaned. “I’m late.” She glided gracefully out of the building, shouting behind her, “ I’ll see you tomorrow, Ollie. Bye Felicity it was nice to meet you. I hope you raise your standards on men!”
“I think Thea counts as both fairy godmother and vermin,” Oliver said thoughtfully.
Gods above, he was really doing something to her, this Oliver. A quick once over with Thea’s bippidy boppidy grade stain eraser, and Felicity was ready to go.
The security guard gave Felicity a short and polite good night, but to Oliver he was sure to give his full attention.
“You have a good night Mister Queen.”
The trip down the stairs had nothing on this drop. Queen like, king and queen and prince and princess. Queen. That was his name Oliver Queen. Not only did he have a name of nobility, his family owned the fricking building. Two counts of aristocracy.
“Queen?” She questioned, making sure she heard the name right. And suddenly his little sly look before made sense.
“And just like that, you found yourself some royalty.” He placed his arms to his chest, palms upward in a total Ta-Da! pose.
Felicity couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. They were both still laughing as they made their way down the block, the restaurant conveniently close.
As he made his way to open the door for her, Felicity grabbed his hand suddenly.
“Wait, what kind of a prince charming pees on a cop car?”
“The kind whose Cinderella busts her ass down the stairs, now come on I’m hungry,” he winked before ushering her inside.
So maybe Cinderella wasn’t a complete fucking lie. Maybe Thea had it right. Fairy tales are just the best case scenario for real life events. Felicity was just lucky she was living out Cinderella with her few bruises.. The Princess and The Pea must have been a real nightmare.