(NEW) AUTHOR'S NOTE, added 2/5/20: For NEW readers, I just want to clarify that this chapter—a satire outtake, involving the fact that I was responding to a guest reviewer who kept requesting a Kobe Bryant cameo (you'll see)—was written back in the beginning of 2016, long before Mr. Bryant's untimely death. Even though it would be SUPER insensitive to write something like this now, because I don't want to trivialize anybody's mourning, I decided to go ahead and leave it up because a lot of people seemed to really enjoy it. Rest in peace, Mr. Bryant.
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TO THE GUEST REVIEWER THAT REQUESTED THE KOBE BRYANT CAMEO (multiple times): To answer your question, no, this fic is not set in modern times—I fling historical accuracy out the window for Arendelle (just like Disney!), but this is set in 1842. I also want you to know that I'm SURE you are a wonderful person, and that—well, basically, I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, and assuming that you weren't MEANING to troll me when you said my stuff was "crap," and then moved on without any further explanation. However, hurt, confused, and mostly confused, I was so completely baffled trying to figure out what your review meant that I couldn't resist writing this chapter, in which I stomp directly into the scene to ask Jack and Elsa themselves what I should do about it.
This chapter, basically, is a 6000-word satire of fanfiction itself, and is thus an outtake. On the plus side: Jack and Elsa get to make out.
A lot.
Again, I'm SURE you are a wonderful person, and I would have just contacted you directly, but because you're a GUEST reviewer, I can't. So, please don't hate me for this chapter—it was INSANELY fun to write, and the idea of Kobe Bryant showing up in a Jelsa fic set in 1842 Norway so tickled me that I had to run with the idea.
I LOVES YOU, RANDOM GUEST REVIEWER THAT DIDN'T MEAN TO TROLL ME! ~NopeNotTelling
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FOR THE REST OF YOU: Look, I got a confusing review, and I was so befuddled that I ended up writing this. THIS IS A SATIRE, and is NOT actually a part of the story. Don't take this too seriously, okay? THIS CHAPTER IS A LONG JOKE, or rather, THIS IS HOW I RESPOND TO TROLLING. ;)
CONTENT WARNING: Reference to the fact that I basically gave Jack a sexual fetish, a large serving of sexual innuendo, intentionally ridiculous amount of passionate kissing.
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42: SATIRE (outtake scene) (Seriously, if you read NO other Author's Notes, read this one!)
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sa-tire (săt′īr′) n. 1. a. A literary work in which human foolishness is attacked through irony, sarcasm, derision, or wit.
-[shortened] definition of "Satire," The Free Dictionary
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It was a bit more difficult to work, with Jack's arm around her waist as they sat side-by-side on the bench, but Elsa quickly found that a strange comfort accompanied his touch. Every once in a while, feeling the chill of his arm shift on her back, she would jolt, remembering who she was sitting with. Even through the fabric of his dark blue shirt, he was ice cold.
Not that the cold had ever bothered her.
"HALLO!" a voice suddenly exclaimed.
Jack and Elsa startled, whirling around on the bench. Casually walking towards them, a girl in her early twenties with a notebook and a pencil stuck in her hair had suddenly appeared by the corner of one of the bookshelves.
Gathering her senses, Elsa leapt onto her feet, nearly knocking over the bench. Jack also jumped up, grabbing his staff and spinning around.
"HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?" he demanded.
"Oh, relax, Mr. Emotional," the girl scoffed. "And put that confounded stick thingy away. It's useless against me, anyhow."
"You think so, huh?" He took another step towards her, strategically moving in front of Elsa and readjusting his grip on the shepherd's crook.
"I know so," the girl scoffed, casually flipping open the notebook and pulling the pencil from her hair. Scribbling something down, she shrugged, snapping the notebook shut. "Go ahead. Try it."
Jack, setting his jaw, lunged forward, flinging the staff through the air.
Nothing happened.
A look of horror sweeping over his face, he stumbled back a step, looking at the shepherd's crook in confusion.
"B-But I—what the—!"
"I'm The Author, dawling." She smiled sweetly. "Now, take a seat."
Jack's eyes widened, and he looked frantically between the girl, and his staff, and then back to the girl. She grinned, and he and Elsa—in sheepish confusion—turned around, sitting back down onto the bench.
"Anyway," the girl continued, walking around the table and slapping down the notebook onto its surface, "I usually wouldn't do something like this, but I got a guest review on the last chapter that was so baffling that I got desperate. You know what? This chair looks uncomfortable."
She flipped open the notebook, pulling the pencil from her hair again and scribbling something down.
POOF!
The Author grinned, grabbing the notebook and flinging herself across the couch that had suddenly materialized on the other side of the table. With Jack and Elsa watching in shock, she then swung her legs around, propping up her thick-soled, gothic combat boots on the couch's armrest.
"Now that," she chuckled, "That is comfortable."
"Wait," Jack choked, "You just—you can do that?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"Frankly," she laughed, flipping open the notebook again, "I can do—anything the heck I want. Elsa, slap him."
SLAP!
"HEY!"
"Now do it again."
SLAP!
"WHAT the—"
"Now pick up the staff, and whack him with it."
WHACK!
"Stop it stop it stop it STOP IT!" Jack shrieked, leaping back from the bench and from Elsa, who was still holding the staff and looking as horrified as he was. Jack turned to The Author. "ENOUGH! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!"
"Meh," she shrugged. "Because it's funny."
"HOW IS THIS FUNNY TO YOU?"
"Well, the last one was a pun," The Author said proudly. "Elsa picked up your stick, and slapped you with it… get it? Because… uh… it's a stick, and she slapped you with it…?"
Stunned silence.
"Slap… stick? Like, slapstick?"
More silence.
"Oh, forget it," The Author sighed, rolling her eyes and folding her arms behind her head on the couch. "You asked for it, Frosty. Speaking of which, I kind of want one now."
POOF!
The Author smiled sweetly, daintily plucking the milkshake out of the air and pulling in a long, chocolatey slurp.
Jack's face went pale. "WHAT the—"
"And a pillow…"
POOF!
"THIS IS WITCHCRAFT!"
FWOOOOOOOM!
"AND NOW THE COUCH IS LEVITATING!" the girl proclaimed.
It was true. Jack and Elsa, jaws dropped, found themselves staring in shock as the couch, which had materialized in front of them moments earlier, was now effortlessly floating seven feet up in the air on the other side of the table.
The Author crossed her legs, sitting up and assuming a zen-like pose on the floating sofa, closing her eyes and placing her palms-up hands on her knees.
"Ommmmmmmmm," she hummed.
The strange girl hovering above them with the apparently all-powerful notebook beside her, Jack and Elsa looked to each other in confusion.
After a few more moments, Jack pulled in a deep breath.
"So… uh," he started carefully, "You got a… confusing review?"
"Oh! Right!"
Grabbing the notebook, the girl scribbled something down. A fraction of a second later, the sofa fell out of the air, crashing into the floor on the other side of the table again with a resounding boom.
She snapped the notebook shut, tossing it onto the cushion.
"Yeah. And I was so completely BAFFLED by it that I figured I'd write myself into the scene and talk to you two directly," she shrugged, adjusting herself on the couch. "The thing is, it's a guest reviewer. I would have just contacted him—or her, I guess—myself, but I can't."
"What did it say?" Elsa asked.
"In general?" The Author sighed, raising an eyebrow, "It was something along the lines of: This is awesome, but also it's crap, and you have to put in a Kobe Bryant cameo."
An awkward silence fell over the room.
"Uh…" Jack said slowly, "So… are they a fan, or a troll?"
"I have NO idea." She shook her head. "That's why I'm in here, asking you. The best part is, this person then left another review, under a different name, trying to further justify the Kobe Bryant cameo. Apparently, this is REALLY important to them."
The Author sat up, moving her legs back in front of her and leaning her elbows onto her knees. "The thing is, I've always known that my first troll was going to show up at some point, and I was ready with chocolate and tissues. But I don't even know if I should be upset about this," she admitted. "I'm just—confused. Like, really, REALLY confused."
"You really shouldn't feed to trolls," Jack said.
"But see, I don't know if this person is a troll."
Elsa looked uncomfortable, shifting on the bench. "You know," she offered, "Maybe they didn't realize that they were trolling you. They're probably a perfectly wonderful person in real life."
"Well, that would make it easier to swallow. Even though I was so thrown off that I was in a state of confusion-induced writing paralysis about three days." The Author smiled bitterly. "But, it's either obsessing about the fanfic, or actually ACKNOWLEDGING the fact that I'm not understanding magnetic vector potentials… at all."
Elsa raised her eyebrows. "So, what did you do?"
"Meh," The Author shrugged, "Same thing I always do when I'm avoiding reality. I write your future sex scenes."
"Our future WHAT?!" Elsa jolted.
"Oh, don't worry, dawling. You'll find he's very good with fun."
Elsa's face turned beet red, and Jack raised his eyebrows, suddenly sitting up taller on the bench. The Author smirked, muttering to herself as she continued to jot down notes in her notebook.
"Like… really, really, really good with fun," The Author added, her eye twitching.
Jack beamed, interlacing his fingers and looking to Elsa.
"Thank you," he enunciated.
"Hey. I'm just staying true to character," The Author chuckled, "I was just expanding your 'center' into its obvious t-rated context—and I do keep it rated t. I don't do m-rated stuff. But as for you, Elsa," she continued, gesturing with her pencil, "You should consider yourself to be quite lucky. It isn't every female romantic protagonist that gets a love interest who is literally magica—"
"—ABOUT THE REVIEW," Elsa blurted, "So—um—this Kobe Bryant person—?"
The Author bit her lip. "Yeah, what about him?"
Elsa shifted in her seat, staring determinately at her hands. She then glanced to the side, uncomfortably noticing how Jack was inching closer to her on the bench, and pulled in a deep breath.
"Um… who is he?" she squeaked.
"Oh!" The Author crossed her legs, relaxing back onto the sofa. "He's a famous basketball player in twenty-first century America. And, from what I've seen, he's a pretty nice person, too."
Blank stares.
"…Come again?" Jack choked.
The Author laughed. "He's Kobe Bryant," she chuckled. "Apparently, he can do anything… including breaking into a Jelsa fic set in Norway in 1842."
Jack and Elsa looked to each other in shock. Suddenly, the girl sat bolt upright again, her eyes wide with excitement.
"Wait," The Author exclaimed, "I know how to fix this!"
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*BEEP*
PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT/DISCLAIMER:
WE INTERRUPT THIS STORY TO OFFICIALLY STATE THAT ALL CHARACTERS IN THIS FANFICTION ARE FICTICIOUS. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO REAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
KOBE BRYANT WILL NOT BE MAKING AN APPEARANCE IN THIS FIC. IF A CHARACTER HAPPENS TO RESEMBLE A LIVING PERSON NAMED KOBE BRYANT, THE AUTHOR WOULD LIKE TO BE CLEAR THAT IT IS NOT ACTUALLY KOBE BRYANT, BUT IS, IN FACT, A COMPLETELY ORIGINAL CHARACTER THAT HAPPENS TO BE A BASKETBALL PLAYER THAT HAPPENS TO LOOK EXACTLY LIKE KOBE BRYANT AND HAPPENS TO, BY COMPLETE COINCIDENCE, BE NAMED KOBE BRYANT AS WELL.
HOWEVER: IT IS NOT ACTUALLY KOBE BRYANT, BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE AGAINST POLICY.
SO, IT'S NOT KOBE BRYANT.
TOTALLY NOT.
NO WAY.
*BEEP*
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"Wait," The Author exclaimed, "I know how to fix this!"
They watched in confusion as The Author, beaming, flipped open the notebook again, scribbling something down. Biting her lip, she finished writing, and snapped it shut, hugging it to her chest.
"Any moment now," the girl grinned, looking up at the skylight.
WHUMP.
Jack and Elsa snapped their heads up. Plastered onto the glass above them, having suddenly fallen from the sky, was a tall, dark figure wearing a basketball uniform.
They stared at each other in stunned silence.
The man started to slide down the glass.
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…
"I SHIP JELSA SOOOOOOO HAAAAAAARD!" Kobe yelled. "AAAAUGH!"
As Kobe Bryant fell off the skylight, the muffled yelling turning into a scream, Jack and Elsa slowly looked back to the girl on the couch.
"Wow," Jack said. "You are—really—bad at this."
"Well, what do YOU suggest?"
Elsa raised an eyebrow. "Um," she said quietly, "Maybe—not—splatting this person's hero onto the skylight?"
The Author sighed, rolling her eyes somewhere up into the vicinity of her hairline. Taking out her pencil again, she scribbled down something new in the notebook.
"Fine, fine…"
"WHOOO-HOO!"yelled a voice from outside, "I CAN FLY!"
Hearing the sound of wild cheering, the three looked up again, to catch a glimpse of Kobe Bryant (who had suddenly sprouted an enormous pair of purple and gold wings) soaring over the top of the skylight.
"Meh," Jack shrugged.
The Author's eyes narrowed. Setting her jaw, she started writing in the notebook again.
Scribble scribble scribble.
"AND I BREATHE FIIIIIIRE!" Kobe shrieked.
Elsa yelped, grabbing Jack by the back of his hoodie and yanking them away from the table as the entire skylight, melted by the sudden fireball, came crashing down onto the floor in front of them.
"WHAT'S HAPPENING?!" she cried.
"I DON'T KNOW!"
The Author, who was now smirking on the other side of the room and casually sitting underneath a fire-proof canopy, continued to write.
Bursting out of the flames, the tall man leapt up onto the table, dribbling a large orange ball and leaping into the air as he ran down its length, pounding the ball through a small hoop, which had suddenly materialized twenty feet above the table.
"SLAM DUNK!" he yelled, "WOOOO!"
"WHERE IS ALL THAT APPLAUSE COMING FROM?"
The Author shrugged. "Oh," she giggled, "He's Kobe Bryant. It just kind of follows him around."
Now suddenly thirty feet tall, a giant Kobe Bryant was running around the library, toppling bookcases and his enormous feet shaking the ground with each step as he dribbled the ball.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
"HOW DO YOU MAKE HIM STOP?!" Elsa shrieked, "HE'S RUINING EVERYTHING!"
Another set of bookcases, now on fire, fell away from the table, hitting into the next and the next like dominos.
"AND MY AWESOMENESS INCREASES!" Kobe boomed, "ALLLLLL HAAAAAIL MEEEEEEEEE!"
The cheering swelled.
The Author grinned. "Acknowledge him, Elsa."
"WHAT?!"
"DO WHAT SHE SAYS!" Jack screamed, "JUST DO IT! ACKNOWLEDGE HIM!"
He was running back towards them, the sound of the crowd growing louder as he approached. "AND NOW THE BASKETBALL HOOP IS ON FIIIIIRE—"
"—TROPHY!" Elsa shrieked.
The giant Kobe Bryant paused.
A silence falling over the library, now in ruins, he slowly turned around, stooping down to the tiny Snow Queen. She frantically swirled her hands through the air, heaving a ball on a pedestal, made of ice, that was half of her height.
"I—UM," she proclaimed, her legs shaking, "I, QUEEN ELSA OF ARENDELLE, AM DELIGHTED TO PRESENT THIS—UH—AWARD—TO—"
Elsa froze, looking to The Author in desperation.
"Kobe Bryant," the girl hissed.
"KOH-BEE BRIAN," Elsa blurted, pushing her arms up, "FOR HIS OUTSTANDING ACHIEVEMENTS IN—!"
She glaced to The Author again.
"Basketball."
"BASKETBALL!" Elsa shrieked.
A sheepish grin tugging at the edge of his mouth, the giant Kobe Bryant gingerly reached forward, plucking it out of her hands. As the weight lifted, Elsa stumbled backwards, Jack lurching forward and catching her as she was about to collapse.
"Sweeeeet," the giant Kobe Bryant grinned, tossing the trophy to himself as he straightened up, the basketball on his hip. "Thanks, your majesty."
She nodded weakly, collapsing a bit into Jack's arms.
He started to turn away, walking towards the place where the skylight used to be, his enormous wings unfurling.
"I'll put this one with my other ten thousand," he muttered happily to himself as his wings began to flap.
FWOOM. FWOOM. FWOOM.
And he was gone.
Standing in the destruction, the burning bookshelves and shattered glass around them, Jack and Elsa slowly looked back to the girl on the sofa. She was now holding a large glass of pink liquid with an Olaf-shaped Crazy Straw sticking out of the top.
She shrugged, feeling the air with her tongue for the end of the straw. Grasping it, she pulled it into her mouth.
SLUUUUUUUURP.
Noticing their stunned silence, The Author paused. Then, she raised her eyebrows, holding out the drink.
"Uh… lemonade?"
"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?!" Jack sputtered, flinging his arm to the side. "Elsa and I were having a PERFECTLY BELIEVABLE sweet and romantic scene, and then you had to come in and do—and—THAT! WHAT WAS THAT?!"
"Meh," she shrugged, "Comedy."
Elsa's jaw dropped, her face pale.
"YOU just destroyed HUNDREDS OF YEARS' worth of Arendelle's records!" she choked.
The Author acknowledged this, taking another slurp of the drink and casually looking around the room. From somewhere in the back of the library, the crackling of the fire resounding through the room, one of the final bookshelves began to collapse, slowly falling onto the ground.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee BOOM.
Silence.
"Hmm," the girl mused. "I guess you do kind of have a point there."
"Soooo," Jack gritted, "What are you going to DO about it?"
"Oh, hush. I got this."
The girl rolled her eyes, flipping open the notebook again.
POOF!
And everything instantaneously returned to the way it was before.
Elsa let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you," she exhaled.
The Author nodded. "Yeah," she said, "The obsession with athletes… it's something I've never really understood. I mean, I'm sure that this guest reviewer is perfectly normal, but I've known some people have such intense obsessions that it's… disturbing."
Jack raised his eyebrows. "More disturbing than giving a Dreamworks character a sexual fetish?"
"YOU'RE STILL THINKING ABOUT THIS MORNING?" Elsa sputtered.
"I'm a guy!"
"I cannot believe that ice is a fetish for you—"
"—Well, NOW it is!"
"It is NOT a fetish, Jack!" The Author protested. "It's just a thing I'm using as a mechanism to express your intense sexual attraction to Elsa, without ever actually referring to body parts or sex!"
Jack raised his eyebrows.
"So… a fetish," he said slowly.
"Yeah, basically."
"I—waitaminute," Jack said, starting to walk slowly towards The Author, "I just thought of something. You—um—you're writing all of our emotions and thoughts—right?"
"Yeah. Why?"
With Elsa watching in confusion, Jack then paced quickly up to The Author, leaning in close to her ear and whispering something that Elsa couldn't quite make out.
The girl jolted.
"OH my word," she snapped. "NO."
"Aw, come on!" Jack begged, "Please? Can't you just write in a little—"
"—YOU'VE KNOWN HER FOR THREE DAYS!"
"I have a blasted fetish now, because of you," he snapped. "You. OWE me. Frankly, I think you owe BOTH of us."
"But you can't. Not yet," The Author whined. "Jack… it doesn't make sense with the plotline."
"Unlike—say—this entire outtake scene?"
Silence.
"Okay, okay…" The Author sighed, rolling her eyes as she flipped open the notebook.
"YES!"
"Just ten minutes," the girl with the notebook said sternly, raising an eyebrow at him and beginning to write.
A look of confusion swept over Elsa's face as Jack grabbed her hand, pulling her away from the table and towards the end of the bookshelves and the wall.
"Wait," Elsa stammered nervously, "What did you ask her? What's going—"
"—You'll find out. Come 'ere, Snowflake."
Reaching the wall, Jack suddenly yanked Elsa around, shoving her against it and reaching for her wrists.
A strange expression crept over Elsa's features.
"Wow," Elsa breathed. "I suddenly have this really intense desire to make out with you."
Jack's breath caught, his mouth falling slightly open in delight. Then, looking to The Author, he raised his eyebrows.
"Can you please just keep her like this?" he begged.
"NO."
"B-But this is completely out of character!" Elsa exclaimed as he adjusted his grip on her wrists, "I—I would never do something like this! I mean, I want to make out with you, but there hasn't been enough relationship development yet!"
"Yeah, I wouldn't normally push things this fast, either," Jack said. He then smiled mischievously, peering up at her through his eyelashes. "Well—I mean—maybe I wouldn't. But, if the entire scene is going to be cut as an outtake anyway, the real question is: do we care?"
With The Author patiently waiting by the table, Elsa and Jack stared into each other's eyes for a long moment.
"Good point," Elsa gasped.
Slamming her body up against the wall and pinning her, Jack smashed his lips against hers.
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Ten Minutes Later
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"Ahem."
The Author sighed, glancing at her watch again. Still shoved up against the wall, Elsa gave a tiny moan, twisting Jack's hair in her fingers as he kissed her again, his hands on her shoulders.
The Author shook her head, jumping down from the table. "OOOOOH-kay, lovebirds," she said loudly, "It's been ten minutes. That's more than enough."
"Mmph," Jack responded, going in for another kiss.
Elsa, her braid almost completely pulled out, sighed happily, then taking another tiny gasp for breath before the snogging resumed. Her lipstick, a dark shade of red, had by now long since been smeared across both of their pale complexions as Jack Frost and Queen Elsa passionately, randomly, and without any character development or literary explanation whatsoever, continued making out.
Her eyes narrowing, The Author stomped up to them, tapping Jack on the shoulder.
"Release," she demanded. "Come on. This is making me sick."
Gasping. Kissing.
"Seriously. I am not a romance novelist," The Author groaned. "Stop it. Stop this right now."
Elsa's hands slid down onto Jack's neck, and he shifted on his feet, pushing her against the wall again.
Oh, the readers had better freaking be enjoying this.
The Author exhaled slowly, shaking her head. Pulling the pencil from her hair, she flipped open the notebook, threateningly touching the lead to the paper.
"Keep ignoring me, and I'm making Jack gay."
They jolted.
Breaking apart a few inches, Jack and Elsa—not letting each other go—looked to The Author in horror.
"You wouldn't," Elsa choked.
"You can't," Jack added, his face pale. "I mean—you have the word 'Jelsa' in the title. You can't make me gay."
The Author smirked, raising her eyebrows and waggling the pencil at them.
"I can do aaaaanything I want," she teased in sing-song. "It's a fanfic."
"But you said you're trying to stay true to the movies," Jack protested, "And—and I'm pretty sure that Dreamworks was making it clear that I—"
"—Was intentionally, shamelessly designed to try to hit a Swooning Fangirl market? Yeah," The Author acknowledged. "I think they definitely were shooting for heterosexual, with you. I mean, like, hiring the guy that plays Captain Kirk in the new 'Star Trek's for your voice? And how about that forced relationship with Tooth? That wasn't out of the blue at all."
"TOOTH?!" Elsa sputtered, "As in, the TOOTH FAIRY?!"
Jack swallowed hard, his face pained. "Why did you have to bring that up?" he groaned.
"Because I'm evil." The Author giggled. "And, come on, Dreamworks. Must every adult female character in your movies be a mom or a love interest? You know, some women can be happy without a man."
"Says the Jelsa shipper?"
"Touché."
Elsa's eyes were still wide with disbelief. "You said the Tooth Fairy was half HUMMINGBIRD!" she cried.
"I was DESPERATE, okay?" Jack choked, blood rising to his cheeks. "Like—really, really, SUPER desperate—"
"—Wait," The Author blurted suddenly, "You guys aren't fighting, are you?"
"We—"
"—Meh, don't answer. Nobody cares." The Author flipped open the notebook again, flicking her fingers casually in their direction and beginning to write. "Let's be honest; all anybody really seems to want is for you two to get together as quickly as possible. Go back to being adorable."
Jack and Elsa, with Elsa still pressed against the wall, blinked. After a few moments of silence, they slowly turned back to each other.
"You're wonderful," Jack breathed.
"And you're amazing!"
"I am so in love with you."
"Should we kiss again?"
"This is all going to be an outtake, anyway."
"True, true."
And the unexplained, out-of-character, and yet somehow still entertaining lip-smashing resumed.
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Another Ten Minutes Later
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"Time's up," The Author proclaimed. "I can't take much of this anymore. Release the Queen, Mr. Guardian."
Jack reluctantly let go of Elsa's shoulders, taking a step back from the wall and messily wiping his arm across his mouth. Gasping for breath, she shakily stumbled forward, tripping over the edge of her dress and falling into his arms.
"Eep!"
"Whoa!" Jack caught her, and Elsa giggled breathlessly, starting to pull herself up against him. "You okay?"
She said nothing, but nodded weakly. Looking to The Author, and then to Jack, and then back to The Author, her face flushed.
"Heh," Elsa squeaked.
The Author chuckled, shaking her head. "Told ya you'd enjoy it," she drawled, pulling out the pencil again.
Jack grinned, helping Elsa back onto her feet. She giggled again, shaking her head slightly, and Jack then looked back to The Author, raising his eyebrows.
"Just so you know," he said intensely, "I forgive you for everything."
"Oh, good," she shrugged. "Because I have a lot more emotional torture and drama to drag you guys through."
"Wait, WHAT?"
"Hey. Don't worry. You get a super happy ending." The Author grinned. "I don't do sad endings. I hate sad endings."
"Well," Elsa admitted breathlessly, "I guess that's good to know. Um… I think?"
"And it's probably time to wrap this outtake chapter up," Jack said. "I mean… how weird is it for the author to barge in and talk about themselves in Third Person?"
"Yeah, but it's about to get even weirder. I kind of want to address my reader directly." The Author shrugged, turning the page of the notebook. "Ever heard of Second Person, Frost?"
CRASH!
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You find yourself suddenly standing in a room with a high, pitched ceiling. Far above you is a skylight, formed into a dome of glass, and in front of you in a long table with a bench on one side. Taking a hesitant step forward, bookshelves looming above you on both sides, you realize that the bench is glinting in the faint lamplight, throwing sparkling colors in all directions like a prism.
Approaching it, you look closer, and realize that the bench is made out of… ice?
"AH! THERE you are!" a voice exclaims.
You snap your head up. Walking briskly towards you is a girl in her early twenties, holding a notebook. As she clomps in your direction in her gothic combat boots, sticking her pencil behind her ear and extending her hand, you can't help but notice that there is no further physical description of her character.
Huh, you think to yourself. She must be trying to conceal her appearance, which would probably make her REALLY easy to spot at physics conferences.
"Indeed I am!" the girl says enthusiastically.
Stiffening, you sharply suck in your breath.
"Wait," you say carefully, "You—you can hear my thoughts?"
"I'm writing them, dawling. It's Second Person," she giggles, sticking out her hand. "I'm The Author. DANDY to make your acquaintance."
A wave of confusion sweeps over you. Looking over the girl's shoulder, you see a young, pale couple standing on the other side of the room. They appear to be horrified.
"How is she doing this?" the boy in the hoodie hisses, "This can't be allowed. She can't be able to do this!"
To this, the girl in front of you lets out a laugh, spinning around and snapping her fingers through the air as she sassily swings her hips back and forth.
"Anything. I. Want," she enunciates. "It's a Fanfic. Remember?"
"But this is weird! You've even changed tense!"
"Aaaaanything I want, Frosty."
The girl swivels back to you, shrugging. "It's not every day that The Author gets to stomp into her own story to give spoilers to the main characters," she giggles. "I'll have to wipe their memories, of course, but—"
"—NOOOOOOOOO!"
The boy opens his mouth to protest again, but before he can say anything, the girl in the sparkling dress leans in to his ear, gently taking his arm and whispering something you can't quite distinguish. The boy's face breaks into an enthusiastic grin, and he grabs the girl's hand, pulling her away.
"Am I one of your characters now?" you ask.
The Author shakes her head. "Nah," she replies, "I mean—technically, yes, but you're one of my readers. I just wanted to speak to you directly."
She gestures to the couch, walking around and collapsing onto it. You follow, an expression of confusion sweeping over your face, while pretending not to notice that the pale couple on the other side of the room is now making out.
Again.
"I just wanted to talk to you about trolling," The Author sighs.
You raise your eyebrows.
"Trolling?" you ask, "What's that?"
"It's when people go out of their way to say pointlessly nasty and negative things on the internet, while hiding behind an anonymous username," The Author shrugs. "Yes. It sucks. Do you feel like nachos? I feel like nachos."
She pulls a pencil from her hair, and jots down a quick note in her notebook.
POOF!
And offers you the plate. You shake your head, and she shrugs again, selecting a chip and popping it into her mouth.
CRUNCH.
"Suit yourself. Here's the thing about trolling, though," she sighs, "I shouldn't care about the trolls. I mean—why should I care, if somebody on the internet doesn't like me? I think I'm doing pretty well for myself, right now. Frankly, in the middle of writing this chapter, I found out that I got into my first choice graduate school. As of next fall, I've officially pursuing a PhD in Optical Physics."
Optical Physics?
"What does that mean?" you snort.
The Author raises her eyebrows.
"That I'm awesome?" she chuckles. "That I'm fighting through my emotional disorders like a boss? That my wonderful readers have helped me get through more than they realize? That I'm passive-aggressively reminding those readers of how NOT socially acceptable it is for me, with what I do for my job, to secretly SHIP JELSA? Take your pick."
Subtle, you think to yourself.
The Author laughs, taking another nacho.
CRUNCH.
"But see—that's my point," she sighs, "The opinion of a troll shouldn't matter to me. I mean, come on—I'm a laser physicist. That alone should make me be perfectly confident in who I am, but—I'm not. If somebody online, somebody I've never met, tells me that my stuff is crap, it certainly shouldn't hurt my feelings. But it still does."
You acknowledge this.
"Are you sure that you aren't just upset because you got an honest, negative review?" you ask carefully.
"OH, no. That's totally different," she scoffs. "I mean, I don't enjoy having my mistakes pointed out to me, but I'm grateful for it when it happens. Constructive criticism helps me as a writer."
CRUNCH.
"I do love guacamole," The Author sighs dreamily. "I should hang out in my own writing more often."
"So, what's the difference between a negative review and a trolling review?"
"Ah. Right." The Author puts down the nachos, leaning forward onto her knees. She pulls in a deep breath, closing her eyes.
"A negative, but constructive, review is one that basically says, This didn't work for me, and here's why," she begins. "Sometimes I'll disagree, but that's okay. More often than not, those reviews allow me to catch mistakes, improve the story, or just get better as a writer. I really value those, like I value all of the reviews. Even when I'm moderating them, like the guest reviews, that's why I almost NEVER delete any of them. Even when they're negative."
"And a trolling review?"
"A trolling review is one that basically says, This is crap, and then moves on without ANY further explanation," she laughs bitterly. "It doesn't help the writing. It doesn't provide good feedback for the writer. ANY kind of content creator on the internet will tell you the same: All trolling does is discourage us from creating. It's just straight-up negativity, and that helps no one."
The Author sighs, leaning back into the couch cushions and shaking her head. "You know something, though?" she says quietly, "The trolling—I've gotten a couple weird reviews, but I can't believe that we got all the way to chapter forty-one before the first review telling me my stuff was crap showed up. In that way, I'm really super surprised. I mean, the people on here—this site—they're fantastic."
She thoughtfully stares at the end of her pencil, twisting it and twisting between her pointer fingers. You raise your eyebrows.
"The fans mean a lot to you… don't they?" you ask.
She nods, biting her lip and staring into her lap. After a few moments, The Author lets out a bitter bark of laughter, shaking her head.
"They probably mean way too much to me," she admits. "Even the one that trolled me on the last chapter. I mean—that's one of the main reasons I can justify doing this fanfic. If people are enjoying it—like, even random teenagers I'll never meet—then I at least know that I'm making somebody happy. You know?"
She sighs, and begins to get up from the couch. You follow suit, and she flips the notebook open again, pulling the pencil from her hair.
"Speaking of the story," she says, "It's probably high time that I actually get BACK to it. I mean—I have a favorite chapter coming up pretty quickly, here."
"Favorite chapter?"
"Let's just say that I'm moving the plot forward, while diving into another backstory that stays true to the character presented in the movie, and indirectly tackling some serious social issues, while placing Rise of the Guardians into a historically accurate context," The Author grins. "You know—just expanding on a really great character that doesn't get a ton of screen time. I cover it a lot quicker—like, no flashbacks or anything—but Jack's backstory pales in comparison to what I've figured out for this character. And the others, but we don't get into their backstories for a long while, so this one is sort-of a sneak peek for the kind of stuff I've got coming up later."
"And you're still specifically interpreting the movie—not the books," you ask, "Um—right?"
"OH, yeah. THAT'S for sure. We've got about three more chapters before we get to this one I'm so excited about, but I'll even give you a hint," the girl giggles, shooting you a quick wink as she touches her pencil to the paper. "It's titled: Sand. Thanks for dropping in!"
CRASH!
.
.
The Author turned around to Jack and Elsa again. Seeing her walking towards them, Elsa put her hands on Jack's chest, gently pushing him away. He quickly snuck another kiss, before reluctantly letting Elsa go and taking a step back.
He turned back to the girl with the notebook. "What's with the crashing?" Jack asked.
"Hey!" The Author retorted, "If you can think of a better 'changing from past tense third person to present tense second person' sound, then be my guest. Not to mention—OOO! I just thought of another PUN!"
"Oh, you gotta be kidding m—"
"—The CRASHING," The Author declared, "Was the sound of ME—BREAKING the fourth wall!"
Ba-DUM, ktch!
"Isn't that a theater term?" Jack sighed.
"Yeaaaaaaah, yeah, yeah; watch me not care, Frosty."
"So, what happens now?" Elsa asked hesitantly.
"Oh… right," The Author sighed. "Yeah, you go back to where you were before, I fix everything to be exactly the way it was, I wipe your memories, and I leave. It'll be like none of this ever happened."
Elsa looked down, her face filled with disappointment as she forlornly glanced towards Jack.
"Like this never happened," she echoed sadly, gently running her hand over her opposite wrist.
Jack sighed. "There's really no other way?"
"Not that I can think of. Not that makes sense with the plot."
They sighed, walking slowly over to the bench and sitting down again as the girl scribbled in the notebook, the couch turning into a hard wooden chair, the food disappearing, the books of records flipping themselves open again.
Jack and Elsa sat down, and Jack put his arms around her waist again, disappointed that he couldn't do anything more. He then looked back to The Author, nodding.
She pulled in a deep breath, writing something down and snapping the notebook shut.
A few moments passed in silence.
"Uhhh," The Author started slowly, "Did… did it work?"
The pale couple jolted, whirling around on the bench with shock.
"Who are you?" Elsa gasped.
"Whoo-HOO!" The Author exclaimed. "It DID work! YES!"
"Wait, what?"
"In a moment, you won't remember, dawling. But, in the mean time," the girl giggled, "I am… nothing more than a figment of your imagination."
Looks of confusion and shock swept across Jack and Elsa's faces. The girl shook her head and shrugged.
"It was fantabulous meeting you both," she grinned, writing something down in the notebook. "But, I think we should really get back to the story now. Toodles!"
POOF!
And The Author was gone.
.
.
And, in conclusion, despite the trolling, this "satire" outtake chapter was weirdly fun to write. As a general rule, I don't take requests. We get back to the story in the next chapter. See ya in "Once a Shepherd," folks! :)