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forkanna · 5 years

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Back To The Future and related concepts © Robert Zemeckis/Bob Gale/Universal. Frozen and related concepts © Diznee. This story, plot, and prose © Jessica X and Fruipit. Artwork ©Captnducky. All rights reserved.

WARNING: This story will contain coarse language, incestuous romance between a mother and daughter, and some smut. Also contains Punzanna (Rapunzel/Anna) content. If you have a problem with any of those things, DO NOT READ.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is where the plot begins to diverge a lot more from that of the films. Part I followed the movie very closely, but the many little differences made it impossible to stick that close to the Part II script – or close to it at all. So we went where the writing took us. Sorry for it taking so long for us to get it out there to you, but we hope you are still along for the ride!

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

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The sky flashed. The lightning struck.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment. All ten fingers clamped down around the steering wheel as Anna accelerated toward the thick cable strung between the lampposts, sparks erupting all around the DeLorean. The flux capacitor was ready and only needed the nuclear reaction to power the time-jump. And it was getting it; no sooner had Doc connected two wires at the last possible moment was he blown back from the force of the electricity racing through the connection into a shrub.

Anna McFly squeezed her eyes shut, praying she made it home.

…And then suddenly she was coming to a stop, skidding sideways into a bus stop bench. It made an awful screeching din as it was uprooted from the ground and sent flying back into the nearest building, cracking a single brick with its corner before clattering to the ground.

That could be worried about later. For now… she had to look around and hold her breath.

Cafe 80s. GameStop. Verizon.

She was in 2015. It worked. Despite all the odds, she and Doc had got the stupid time machine working and sent her back to the future.

"FUCK YEAH!" she screamed, slamming the heel of her hand into the steering wheel. "I didn't die!"

Opening the door to the car, she was seconds from jumping out and doing a happy little dance when a familiar van came tearing down the street. Oh no. She didn't die, but someone else would, and soon, if she didn't get a wriggle on.

But it was okay. She could do this. They were from out of town. There were multiple shortcuts she could use to get there before they did. She could do this. Twisting the key in the ignition, the engine roared to life. Briefly.

"No, no, no!" Anna screamed, whacking the steering wheel with her hand. She tried again; once more, the engine sputtered, and died. Why? Of all the times for an engine failure…

She didn't have a car. She didn't even have a skateboard. As she took off running down the street, she had only one thing: desperation.

Never before in her life had Anna run that fast. She lost sight of the van, of course, but she knew Dell Valley like the back of her hand. She was heading straight for Twin Pines Mall.

But one lone teenage girl couldn't outmatch angry armed nationalists in a van, and as she rounded the hill that led to the mall, she knew she was too late. No time to call out, no time to warn Doc the way she had hoped. Only enough time to see bullets raining down onto his chest, blowing him backwards and onto the pavement from the far side of the parking lot.

Before she could even cry out, she heard her other self scream. That was eerie; even worse was watching a radiation suit-clad Anna come around the corner of the truck, shaking with anger and grief. The newly-arrived Anna shared the rage, and could only look on helplessly as she peeled out in the DeLorean. She wanted to do something else, but what could she do? If she interrupted, it would be one of those paradox things. No… all she could do was wait until the flashes of light and fire-trails gave proof of her disappearance.

Then she saw the nationalists firing off the rocket from their launcher, which streaked for the car… and instead blew a huge crater in the ground in front of them. Unable to swerve in time, they drove straight into the crater, totalling the van and probably knocking everyone inside unconscious.

"Good," she managed to mumble through her veil of tears. Hastily, she started running down the grassy hill, tripped, and rolled the rest of the way down. Then she hopped up to sprint for Doc's side.

It only took a few seconds for her to reach him. Collapsing on the pavement next to him, she brought a hand up to press at his face. "Doc…" she whispered. But no answer came.

Goddammit. Barking out a rough sob, she removed her hand. It had other things to do, like wipe at her tear-streaked face. God life wasn't fair. There was a cough – and it must have been her. After all, she was completely alone now…

"Anna…?"

Fuck, she could even hear his voice…

"Anna!"

Her hands were pulled roughly away, and Anna found herself staring at a very surprised, very not-dead Doc Pabbie. His eyes were wide and concerned, and he looked as though he were expecting Anna to say something. But she was entirely mute. Finally letting go of her hands, he brought his own up to his chest, slowly peeling away the lapels of the hazard suit. There was something underneath, and when Anna realised what it was, she felt she could have sobbed again.

"A bullet-proof vest," she croaked. "How… how did you know?"

He looked away at that question, lined features a little ashamed. "Back in '85, your video. And then your insistence to tell me something. Even if you didn't specify… it really doesn't take a genius to figure out something truly heinous would befall me." She looked at him, and he smiled. "Also… an elf left me this."

And from his pocket he pulled out a letter, weathered and yellow. Anna recognised it immediately. She had left her plan B, which had felt as pathetic a backup as a Plan Z when she left it; had he truly found it? She was a little surprised he hadn't just thrown it out.

"The letter," she breathed, eyes streaming so much that she could barely see it. "Oh… it's ripped down the middle…"

"I did start to tear it up when I first found it," he sighed. "No man should know too much about his own destiny. But then I figured…" A little shrug. "What the hell?"

Laughing, she threw herself into a hug, gripping him tightly – full of so much more happiness than the last time she had. The man hugged her back, even though his laughter was punctuated by a groan of pain. After a minute, she pulled back to ask if he was alright.

"Just fine," he grunted, pushing upward and onto his feet as they gathered up their things and prepped the truck to drive away. Olaf had to be coaxed out from underneath, but eventually he responded to his master. "Though I'm sure I'll have some beautiful bruises from the impact of the bullets, at least they didn't puncture."

"Right; guess that would still hurt, even with the vest. But… I'm so gla-"

"Please, Anna," he chuckled softly, though his eyes were full of an almost grandfatherly affection as he opened the door for her to hop into the passenger's seat. "I'm fine. But I do believe we have some debriefing to do."

"Right… guess that's true." Taking out her phone to call the police about the terrorists, she hesitantly muttered, "But I'm just so damn glad to be home."

CHAPTER 1

By the time they got back to Lyon Estates, the non-functional DeLorean stowed safely back in the confines of the truck, Doc looked quite a bit more sober than he had after cheating death. She had debriefed him about her adventure into the past, understanding that the details were much fresher to her than to him, leaving out some of the more risqué parts that he certainly wouldn't have approved of – but still filling in more details now that they could freely discuss them instead of worrying about past-Doc knowing too much. She felt a blush rising to her face as she recounted what had happened at the dance, leaving out the grisly details from their romp in Elsa's car. Of course, he was there, and knew about the attraction from Elsa's perspective. He did a very good job of not blaming Anna for everything that had happened in 1985, but he certainly didn't look pleased about the turn of events.

"I suppose I should have warned you about the Butterfly Effect when I was doing my demonstration in present day," he sighed. "Well, you're here now, so at least our attempts to correct the issue went off without a hitch…"

"Yeah… at least there's that."

Silence fell thick, and quite uncomfortable. She was sure he could – and probably already had – filled in the gaps that she'd left out. Bone-weary exhaustion was setting in, along with some sadness. The near-miss of the universe ending was now minuscule when compared with the reality of losing her Elsa. The one she'd actually come to know. It would be hard, she thought, adjusting to her new-old life here… but she didn't have any choice. Might as well start getting used to it.

With nothing else worth sharing – at least, not that night – Anna bid Doc farewell as he pulled alongside the kerb in front of her house. Creeping inside, she half-expected to see her mother still waiting up for her, but there was no one. When Anna finally got to her bedroom, she collapsed on the covers, still fully dressed. It only felt like it was about 10:30 – which it was, according to her body.

It still didn't take very long to drift off, despite apprehension for the coming day filling her dreams. But she needed sleep or dealing with reality would be impossible.

~ o ~

When she awoke the next morning, Anna's bones ached from the awkward position in which she slept. At some point, her shoes had fallen off so at least she didn't dirty up her sheets, and she had thrown off her vest before crashing. Could have been worse. Her clock radio had probably been blaring out an old Huey Lewis song for almost a full two minutes before she sat up.

Was it a nightmare? She had to at least address that possibility as she rubbed at her face, stood up shakily. She was definitely starving; she hadn't eaten much last night… whether or not last night was the same night Adult Hans wrecked her dad's car, or the Enchantment Under The Sea dance. So she decided to turn off her brain and go get something to eat.

She only got as far as the living room.

It took a few moments to figure out why she felt an impending sense of disorientation, and when she did, it hit her like a freight train. Everything was different. The bare layout of the house was the same, including the furniture placement and one or two of the art pieces, but the furniture itself was completely different; much more high-end than anything her family ever owned. Some of the uglier paintings were gone, replaced with more tasteful, simple ones, or family photos that looked much less depressing than the ones Anna remembered. The wallpaper was gone, replaced with an elegant coat of paint that couldn't be more than a few years old. And sitting at the breakfast table were John and Wendy…

Except… since when did John wear a suit this early in the morning? Or at all?! And since when did they have grapefruit and muesli on the table instead of Pop Tarts and Froot Loops? Not only that, but there was also a quiche that definitely looked freshly-made, with a few wedges already cut out.

"Uhhhh," Wendy began when she saw Anna pause, staring at her siblings. She probably looked as confused as she felt. "Are you okay, Anna?"

"What- what's all this?" she asked as she slid into a barstool, staring at them. Wendy stared back.

"Breakfast."

"In a suit?!"

At that, John gave a light chuckle. "You know I've been pulling long days at the office," he said.

"Oh, yeah. Hah. Right. The office."

Obviously this wasn't exactly the same world that she had left. Her brother was, at least mildly, successful – at any rate, he no longer seemed to work at the local Pizza Planet. When Wendy stood up from her seat, the differences with her also became obvious; Anna hadn't noticed, but her glasses actually looked… nice, expensive trendy frames. Her hair wasn't an oily, limp mess; instead, it bobbed about her chin in tight curls. Definitely with a curling iron – but they'd never been able to afford stupid luxuries like that.

Maybe she needed to call Doc and have a conversation about that Butterfly Effect thing. Because she had a feeling somewhere, something she had messed up had made a huge difference.

She was just about to ask where her parents were when she heard the front door open. Mr McFly's voice rang through the house, though it was missing some of the reediness. Elsa's voice came through with a reply, and she sounded different, too.

And then they rounded the corner and Anna fell off her seat.

Her dad was in the lead, reaching out to lay his keys on a sideboard in the hallway. He looked to be in great shape, lacking the potbelly of the father she knew, and his grey-streaked blonde hair was in a rugged "rock" style that hung just past his ears instead of slicked back with oil to get it out of the way. On top of that, the pale blue button-up was open at the collar to show off a fine gold chain over his broad, toned chest.

"I… what… you…"

"What's the matter, honey?" he chuckled at her with a slight smile, reaching down to pull her back to her feet. It was still a gentle hand, but a lot more self-assured than he had ever been with her before; the grip was firm, his biceps more than enough to haul her upward.

"What are you wearing? What is anybody wearing?!" she burst out, knowing how stupid she sounded.

"Sweetheart," her mom sighed as she rounded her husband. "Did you fall out of bed and hit your noggin' again?"

And then she saw her. Not her mother… not frumpy Mrs. McFly. This was Elsa, aged thirty more years. Blonde hair in a much more tasteful braid than the younger model, but still braided, still well-maintained and elegant. She was a little plumper, but definitely not out of shape; this Elsa had shed her pregnancy pounds in the name of keeping healthy. Once she pulled her sunglasses off, she saw that there were still slight crows feet at the corners of her eyes, but not the enormous bags that her mother had always been sporting.

This was a woman who loved life rather than suffered through it. And she was beautiful.

"Mom?" she breathed softly, completely confused.

"Ohhh, sweetie," she whispered, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. When Anna froze solid to feel the lips there, Elsa did draw back to look at her for a moment, curious. "Sweetie?"

"Wh-what?"

Then Elsa's expression changed completely – as if she were seeing her for the first time. "Oh."

However, they didn't have much time to exchange that look, or for Anna to respond. Not with the family hovering – and Anna had caught the attention of everyone in the house with her glaringly unusual behaviour.

"By the way, Anna," Wendy was saying behind her, prompting her to whirl around in a circle and look at her sister. "We're not your answering service; that Jennifer Punzel dropped by while you were still asleep and asked what happened to you last night."

"Oh, that's right," Kristoff was saying as he sat down and drew half a grapefruit toward himself. "Wasn't last night supposed to be the big trip up to the lake?"

Anna frowned at him. It was, but… "Yeah, but the car was totalled, Dad."

Immediately, everyone sprung into action. There were cries of, "what?!" and "the car!" as everyone bundled out the door. Anna was swept up with the movement, pushed along until soft hands came from behind, securing her.

"Careful," her mother murmured. Anna swallowed and nodded, trying not to pay any mind to the butterflies. This wasn't fair! She was supposed to have left this Elsa behind, back in 1985. She was supposed to get her alcoholic, depressed mother. She was supposed to help her.

Anna wasn't given time to think on that, though, because soon she was peering out the fly-screen. "Anna Victoria McFly. Don't scare us like that," Kristoff chastised – which was strange enough on its own! If she'd still been sitting, she probably would have fallen from her chair again when Kristoff leaned forward, and called out to the man kneeling in front of the bumper of a distinctly not-totalled car, one that was much nicer than she was used to seeing out front of her house. "Now, Hans, I want to see two coats of wax on that car."

What? Hans? What was that lowlife doing to their car- and Victoria? That wasn't her middle name! Everything was too weird!

Even as Anna looked out, she felt Elsa step closer behind her. "He's lucky he could even get a job after that night," she said, voice low. "A little ironic that it's with cars… since he seems to have so much trouble with them."

Kristoff gave a light chuckle, then moved away, saying something about saving the grapefruit. Elsa didn't move, which meant that Anna couldn't move. Coughing, she cleared her voice. "What night?" she asked softly. Elsa's hands tightened briefly on her arms.

"Oh, you know. You were there, right?"

A spasm of electricity shot through her stomach when she heard those words. What could her mother mean? It didn't make any sense… unless…

"I don't have time to finish it," her father's voice cut through her thoughts. "I'm going to be late for my flight. Just wrap it up."

"Okay, okay, Dad," Wendy sighed. "But I hope you're all packed and ready to go, because I'm meeting Craig for lunch and I don't want to stand him up again."

"Okay, okay, slavedriver." As he passed Anna, he did a brief double-take – seemingly when he saw her hair in its semi-ornate bun. Then he glanced over at his wife, who nodded the barest amount. "Hmm… maybe I should cancel this stop on the tour."

"Tour?" Anna rasped, clutching at the sideboard for stability. Just then, as if he had been waiting for the cue, Hans burst into the house carrying a large cardboard box.

"Guys! Mr. McFly, I think this is it! The proofs for your new one!"

"Proofs? New one?" Anna felt dizzy. Her head was spinning, hands shaking. She was powerless to stop when Elsa pushed her forward again, back towards the kitchen.

"Don't you dare cancel," Elsa said, smiling fondly at him. "You've worked too hard. Leave the… domestics… to me."

Anna had a very strong feeling that Elsa was talking about her, and the panic from mere seconds ago rose up again. There was no room – or time – to make any sort of escape. Kristoff ripped open the box, eyes lighting up as he lifted something from inside of it. And it was…

A book?

"Wow…" he said, giving a low whistle. "Damn, that illustrator is good." Passing it over, Anna's mouth went dry. Her father's name was on the cover. This was his book! So he had continued his passion, after all! This Kristoff certainly did seem happier.

That wasn't what caused the lump rising in her throat, though. Splashed across the cover was the title, jagged future-font displaying the words Blast to the Past. Below that was a girl, clambering from a very stereotypical alien aircraft.

Oh shit.

A loud beep broke the silence, and Kristoff hissed. "Sh…oot," he said, glancing at Anna. "I better get going if I don't wanna miss my flight. Hon, are you sure…?"

It was Elsa's turn to smile. She finally let go of Anna, moving over to her husband to place a peck at the corner of his mouth. "I'm sure. Go enlighten the world, or whatever."

He gave a nod and a smile, eyes flicking between Anna and her mother before he turned away. "Wendy? Are you ready to get going?"

"Psh, yeah, Dad. Just waiting on you. If you moved any slower you'd be a glacier."

So out they finally went. John went along with them, kissing the top of his mother's head in a way that made her sigh and roll her eyes; he wasn't that much taller than her. There were a few scattered goodbyes, but Anna didn't participate; she was too shell-shocked.

Then she and Elsa were alone in the house. For a few seconds, her mother remained at the open front door, watching Hans' auto detailing truck trail away and John and Wendy's cars pulling off toward bigger and better things. Then she gently pushed the door closed.

"Mom? I… are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she sighed, turning back to smile at her. Her eyes held an odd mixture of excitement, dread, and curiosity. "But… I have a feeling we have a lot to talk about… Tori."

TO BE CONTINUED…

#Fractal The Future #elsanna fanfiction #elsanna #fruipit #forkanna writes #jess the writer #Back to the Future

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clarion-call-of-football · 5 years

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15 Tips For Football Coaches To Fix Their Teams

Winning soccer is all about implementation, not tricking another group. You wish to confuse your competition, not your team. At times, I see that a"flavor of the week" crime, where coaches attempt to spend the best plays that they found in pro or college football during the previous week. I recall coaching against a single group that had almost 30 configurations and conducted two plays out of each. They complained to the athletic director we were calling their plays out until they conducted them.

Settle on a couple of plays and find out the alterations so it is possible to implement them in almost any circumstance. Every trainer has dropped to a team whose crime fits on a note card. You just need one well-executed play if opponents can not stop it. Playing a lot of defenses. It is wonderful how many clubs utilize a multiple-front defense. Now, players need to make sure that they line up properly and fret about their shifting keys and assignments. Even professional teams operate a three- or four-man front.

Opt for a defense that fulfills your team's design and grasp it. It's possible to add blitzes and stunts once everybody has learned their missions and techniques.

Players missing clinics. Every ineffective app I worked with experienced players that did not appear for training. This demonstrates the other matters are more important to them. I hear coaches say,"Well, he is my very best player, and when he does not play we don't have any opportunity to win." If that is his degree of devotion, you don't have any opportunity to win anyhow.

This is what some trainers have done:

Should you miss exercise, you do not play this week. Each evening of exercise missed equals per quarter on the seat. Missing clinic means not beginning, and when your copy is doing a fantastic job, you remain on the seat. I have seen coaches enable one miss for each 10 summer workouts . Some schedule a day or early-morning clinic one day each week to permit parents to look after things such as doctor appointments.

I recommend that training staffs make clear what represents excused and unexcused absence if you're likely to distinguish between them. The difficulty I encountered was that a lot of parents were creating explanations or lying to get their kid, so that I stopped differentiating between them.

Head coaches can opt to provide your position coaches ability to excuse licensed absences, or you could authorize all pre-excused absences yourself.

Insufficient practice business. Losing apps frequently don't have a clinic program or don't follow it. Coaches do not understand how long they must practice particular drills, players rate themselves and do not work hard, and parents do not understand when to pick up their kid.

Take a comprehensive practice program and follow along. With mobile phones and timers, it's simple to place the entire exercise plan in your mobile and possess a buzzer noise when every interval is up. Coaches know how long they have for every drill, and if you post the exercise program, players understand just how long they have and provide more attempt to secure more reps. I suggest posting the clinic plan online so every position coach may add detail for their specific position. If you do not have sufficient time to achieve your purposes, you may have to reevaluate your defense or offense.

I visit groups beat themselves by jumping offsides, prohibited processes, delays of sport along with other penalties. A single late-hit punishment could be excused as an crash, but repeat infractions reveals a deficiency of self-control.

Instantly get your plays into the crime, and telephone penalties in training so that your players know about the results.

Each time these players confront contest, they create a justification, whine or produce an accident popularly called the"loser's limp."

Grow an aggressive environment in clinics. Give the winner a reward, along with the winners a punishment. They know that what is a contest and they should find out to compete, win and lose -- each of three together with course.

If the coaches are not there, you can not expect the players to be there. Training isn't about talking a fantastic game on Fridays; it is about correctly instructing players Monday through Thursday.

I would rather have one great assistant who is present constantly than five poor ones that are part-time. I know a family crisis, but there is a work-life equilibrium.

Trainers not at the faculty. I understand this is quite determined by where you reside, and there are lots of fantastic coaches that are not instructors. But in my own experience, if the trainer and nearly all of his assistants aren't at the construction, it is a challenge knowing the association between the faculty and the app.

Do not have a head coaching position in case you are in the construction, unless government assures you they will hire assistants that are teachers.

Nobody should sit five hours viewing a trainer enter information on a computer. Along with the defensive and offensive coaches do not have to see every additional layout their game programs.

Be organized. As a head coach, you probably hired capable coaches you hope. Give every mentor duties and hold them liable, as you maintain your players liable for their duties. As soon as they are finished, make them go home.

Failing to spot the best players. Every trainer has had the participant that resembles Tarzan and performs like Jane. If a participant is getting his ass kicked all week at training, he will not somehow begin playing nicely on Friday.

Play outcomes, not possible. In the event the 160-pound weakling is playing in a higher level than your 220-pound stud, then perform with him.

Unorganized particular teams. Poor performing teams do not possess a set strategy and frequently only practice particular teams on Thursday. The gamers do not wish to be on special teams, plus they do not know why those teams are essential to winning.

Set aside clinic time for particular teams exactly like every other portion of the game. Educate the players why they are significant. Place your best players . Attempt to win matches with particular teams, rather than treat them as an afterthought.

No parent service. Losing apps have a tendency to lack parent participation, and also the parents aren't supportive of their soccer program.

Find ways for your visitors to get involved -- group foods, mothers and mothers wearing jerseys. Provide a course for parents to educate them soccer. Show them how to be reassuring. Lots of parents wish to be supportive, but they might not understand how to help. Tell them your wants.

Deficiency of psychological control. We occasionally see players react to some taunt or push by throwing a punch. Or they allow competitions take them from the match with taunts. Some trainers attempt to"stick it" to other groups by conducting the scoreboard, or else they lose their cool with referees.

Utilize a diversion drill to instruct your players to concentrate. Teach them the appropriate way to react if another team does something dumb. Show them the outcome of what happens with lousy decisions, and instruct them that their targets and the group goals are more significant. Then, model and practice yourself as a trainer.

Losing teams game program to another group's weakness rather than their particular strengths. They fret about what another team will do rather than about their own group's execution. They frequently add a new crime or defense that week because they think it is the key to winning.

I am OK with a little tweak, but I've never seen anything longer than modest adjustments win a match.

There are a lot of reasons for this: badly drawn scout cards, absence of a script that is practice, playing with the players on the scout team.

Place players on the scout team that will give a fantastic appearance. Reward scout team players so that they feel appreciated and know how they help the team win. Have transparent scout cards, and have the players view movie. Possessing a script so that you know what is coming when you are practicing plays. Concentrate on quitting their best three to four runs and moves. If they could conquer you left handed, then they're likely going to conquer you anyways.

I have always found that tutors will need to quit beating themselves until they may be successful against a different group. I am not promising you will win each match with these hints, but it is my expectation you will observe these issues all encounter common places: being coordinated, with time effectively and being disciplined in all stages of training. The biggest obstacle to implementing those modifications is taking the opportunity to take action.

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