Strawberry Jam


                                            >Be Anon.

                                            >Lazy Saturday, solo picnic under a shady tree.

                                            >Sandwiches? Check. Lager's lukewarm, but close enough.

                                            >Pegasi chirping, or maybe gossiping, overhead.

                                            >Life's good. You bite into your sandwich—

                                            >"What in tarnation do ya got there, Anon?"

                                            >Nearly choke on your inner peace.

                                            >Applejack's standing there, hat tilted, giving your picnic the ol' stink eye.

                                            >Brow raised, legs spread like you've committed high crimes against Equestria.

                                            >You glance at your stuff: crackers, fancy cheese, a suspiciously sharp sandwich knife…

                                            >Innocent, right?

                                            >Nope. She's glaring straight at—

                                            >Strawberry jam.

                                            "What’s wrong with strawberry jam?" you ask, mouth full.

                                            >"Ain't apple jam."

                                            >You freeze mid-bite, processing this sudden accusation.

                                            "There’s… apple jam?"

                                            >AJ huffs like you just asked if the sky's blue.

                                            >"Course there's apple jam! Heck, we got Zap Apple Jam!"

                                            >She beams like it's the best thing since cider.

                                            "You mean the glowing stuff?"

                                            >"That just means it's fresh!"

                                            "Yeah, well... that's a little too much magic for me."

                                            >Her eyes narrow as if you've insulted her entire bloodline.

                                            >"Horseapples! Ain't ya ever heard 'an apple a day keeps the doc away'?"

                                            "It’s not the apples, AJ. It's the zap part. The whole rainbow-glowing, possibly radioactive thing."

                                            >You gesture at your very human, very magicless body.

                                            >She squints, eyes flicking back to the jam.

                                            >"Uh-huh. Still could've gone with plain ol' apple jam."

                                            >You throw up your hands.

                                            "Didn't even know it was a thing! Honest!"

                                            >Silence.

                                            >For a glorious moment, you think it's over.

                                            >The jam? Accepted.

                                            >Apple-shaped bullet? Dodged.

                                            >Then her gaze sharpens again.

                                            >"Hold up."

                                            >Oh no.

                                            >"Somethin' ain't right here…"

                                            >You tense.

                                            >"Not a single bit o' apple in this whole spread!"

                                            >She jabs a hoof at your crime scene—err, picnic.

                                            >"No pie. No fritters. Not even a dang slice of apple!"

                                            >This is it. This is how it ends.

                                            >Not with a bang, but from a lack of apple-based snacks.

                                            >"And cider!" Her hoof stomps, sending dirt flying. "Where's the cider, Anon?!"

                                            >Panic rises. Think fast.

                                            "I-I already ate the apple?"

                                            >Bad lie. Terrible, actually. You can feel it crumbling as it leaves your mouth.

                                            >AJ leans in, dangerously close, the brim of her hat brushing your forehead.

                                            >"Is that so...?"

                                            >You freeze, every muscle screaming for you to run, but you know better.

                                            >Applejack's faster.

                                            >"Open yer mouth, Anon."

                                            "W-what?"

                                            >"Open. Yer. Mouth."

                                            >Her voice is stone. No room for negotiation.

                                            >You hesitate, then part your lips.

                                            >Is she going to… taste-test you?

                                            >Her tongue darts in with the precision of a world-class apple inspector.

                                            >Your life flashes before your eyes. Not much to see.

                                            >She pulls back, squinting, evaluating like she's judging the state fair.

                                            >"Mmm…"

                                            >Is she… savoring it?

                                            >"Whole wheat bread, huh?"

                                            >You blink.

                                            >"Bit o' cheddar… fancy cheddar, mind ya."

                                            >Oh no.

                                            >"Couple o' leaves o' lettuce."

                                            >She's dissecting your entire sandwich. You can feel your dignity crumbling into non-apple-flavored pieces.

                                            >AJ's smug now, tongue tracing her lips like a predator that's found weakness.

                                            >"But there's somethin' else…"

                                            >A pit forms in your stomach.

                                            >"Somethin'… off."

                                            >Beads of sweat.

                                            >"There's…"

                                            >She leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper.

                                            >"A hint o'… shame."

                                            >Oh god. She's tasting your soul.

                                            "T-That's just… uh… picnic anxiety!"

                                            >"An'…"

                                            >She inhales deeply, nostrils flaring like she's sniffing out the truth itself.

                                            >"A smidge o'… Rarity."

                                            >You flinch.

                                            "I… I needed new socks."

                                            >AJ smirks, that knowing look in her eyes.

                                            >"Oh, sugarcube, I don't care 'bout that."

                                            >Oh? Well, that's nice—

                                            >"But what I do care about," she says, voice dropping low again, "is the fact there ain't a single trace of apple anywhere."

                                            >Her eyes lock with yours, unblinking.

                                            >"Ya lied to me, Anon."

                                            >Oh, you're bucked.

                                            >But somewhere deep inside, a spark flickers.

                                            >Maybe it's the sandwich. Maybe it's your dignity on its last leg.

                                            "You know what?"

                                            >You straighten up, chest puffing out.

                                            "Maybe—maybe—I just don't like apples that much!"

                                            >Her brow arches.

                                            >You push forward. You've come too far now.

                                            "Yeah! That's right! I mean, you can't just bully me into being an apple lover!"

                                            >AJ doesn't move. Not a twitch, not a flinch. Just that same, cool look.

                                            "I'm not some pony who eats apple everything! You can't force apples down my throat! This is my picnic, my sandwich, my—"

                                            >Thunk.

                                            >You hit the ground, stars dancing in your vision.

                                            >Consciousness clocks out early. Doesn't even leave a tip.


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                                            >"Now, sugarcube, I don't wanna sound harsh. But I've been thinkin'. Real hard."

                                            >Thinking? That's... a new look for her.

                                            >You'd crack a joke, but—well...

                                            >You're polite.

                                            >Also, you're tied to a chair.

                                            >...And gagged.

                                            >"Ponies who don't like apples... they're trouble."

                                            >Oh boy.

                                            >She starts pacing, hooves clop-clopping.

                                            >"Think about it! Tirek? Hated apples. Chrysalis? Wouldn't even sniff one!"

                                            >You nod, mostly because you like having blood flow to your limbs.

                                            >Also, let's be real—Chrysalis probably does hate apples.

                                            >"Strawberry Sunrise?" She practically spits the name. "That mare's never liked apples."

                                            >Her eyes flare. Some deep, fruity betrayal there.

                                            >You blink in Mhorse code. S.O.S.

                                            >She doesn't notice.

                                            >"It's a slippery slope, Anon. First, you say no to apples. Next? BAM. World domination."

                                            >She leans in, eyes boring into yours like she's uncovered a global conspiracy.

                                            >"It's my duty—no, my responsibility—to make sure you don't turn into one of them... apple-less villains."

                                            >You try to protest, maybe throw in a 'I'm not evil!'

                                            >It comes out more like, "Mmphh mphh."

                                            >Applejack sighs, looking at you like you've failed some ancient apple-based code of honor.

                                            >"Now, I know ya don't think you're evil. But lemme tell ya—evil don't come knockin' sayin', 'Howdy! I'm evil, how ya doin'?'"

                                            >She leans in, breath thick with apples and the certainty of a pony who knows she's right.

                                            >"It sneaks in... right through yer lack of apples."

                                            >Is this... happening?

                                            >"You ain't gone bad yet," she says, eyes burning with righteous fire. "But this 'not likin' apples' business? That's a road to ruin, Anon. It don't lead nowhere good."

                                            >Her voice drops, dripping with grim wisdom.

                                            >"First, you avoid apple pie..."

                                            >She's right up in your face now, the scent of apples and fresh soil overwhelming.

                                            >"Then? You're buildin' doomsday devices in a basement... with no cider. Full o'... grapes. Or worse."

                                            >Her hoof clamps down on your shoulder, firm as her resolve.

                                            >"That's why I'm here. To save ya from yourself."

                                            >You let out a muffled noise—what was it? Resistance? Defeat? At this point, you're not even sure.

                                            >Applejack pats your shoulder, far too gentle for someone who just gave you a monologue about fruit-based morality.

                                            >"Don't worry. We'll fix this. We'll get that apple back in ya, no matter how long it takes."

                                            >The gag is lifted.

                                            >Finally. Sweet freedom. You breathe deep.

                                            >Then—

                                            >The gag goes right over your eyes.

                                            "W-What are you—"

                                            >"Hush, sugarcube," she says, voice sweet as pie. "We're doin' a little test."

                                            "A what now?"

                                            >"A blind taste test," she says, like she's leading you to salvation. "Time to re-educate yer taste buds. Gonna introduce ya to real apple products."

                                            >You can't see her, but you can feel the grin.

                                            "Oh, Celestia..."

                                            >"Now hush. This'll be nice and easy. Slow and sweet."

                                            >Something brushes your lips.

                                            >"Open wide."

                                            >Your brain says resist. But what's the point? You open up.

                                            >Something sweet and tangy hits your tongue.

                                            >It's… good. Really good. Why were you against apples again?

                                            >You didn't even bite, and already juice is po—

                                            >Wait. Hold on.

                                            "This isn't apple product! That's horse pu—"