"We are both teachers and at the end of the year we compare how many gifts we’ve received from student and you’ve won for the past three years" - Frozen Swan? Congratulations on your blogversary <3
@emmajones1019, it’s been a million years…but have this lil FS ficlet! Muah!
Rated F for frothy fluff, and on Ao3.
Emma looks at the pile of assorted gifts and gift cards on Elsa’s desk and sighs.
Elsa just grins. “Do I win again?”
“You do,” she says, resigned. “It’s not fair. I’m a math teacher–I’m never going to be as popular as everyone’s favorite English and music teacher.”
“Oh, come now. All the kids in woodshop love you. You get loads of-”
“Bird feeders and picture frames? Yeah. But I’m not out there living that Starbuck’s life.”
Elsa’s laugh is musical, and Emma does everything she can to fight off a grin.
“So where are you keeping yours?”
“Oh, next to the saw blades in the woodshop. No one will lay a hand on them when they have to reach around a band saw for it.”
“Right, and you aren’t prickly.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a delight.”
“While that’s definitely true, it doesn’t mean you aren’t a little thorny.”
“Hmmph,” she said, ruining the effect by smirking at her.
&&&
This isn’t their first rodeo competing to see who gets the bigger pile of gifts from their students. They’ve been doing this since Elsa joined the teaching staff at Storybrooke High four years ago, and truthfully, Emma can’t quite remember how it got started. (It clearly had nothing to do with her being competitive and also wanting to tease Elsa about her immediate popularity as an instructor. Of course not.)
Each year it’s gotten progressively more intense. At this point, Emma knows at least two of the other teachers have a pool going. (She’s pretty sure the history teacher, Killian, bets on her, while Robin, the science teacher, bets on Elsa.) Their principal tolerates the competition but is secretly amused, if the good-natured eye rolling is any indication.
She was sure this was her year. For whatever reason, more of her students seemed to like her than she remembers ever happening before. They’re a decent crew this year, only a handful of demon children that make her want to pull her hair out.
But here she is at home, with her three new birdfeeders, five jewelry boxes, two plaques (complete with…creative…grammar; thank god Elsa’s the English teacher and not her), eight candles, four lotion sets, and twelve gift cards.
She sighs, looking over at Elsa’s pile. Elsa sees her and grins.
“It’s okay, honey. We’re married, so by law they’re half yours anyway.”
She takes her hand and brushes a kiss across the knuckles. “You’re still treating me to Granny’s.”
“Deal.”
