>Be Anon.
>Which isn't a hard thing to be, right now.
>Saturday afternoon in Ponyville.
>Lazy, of course. Never liked them busy.
>That's how you find yourself reclined on a blanket under a shady tree.
>Pegasi chirping in the branches.
>Got a cheese sandwich. Some lager, not cold but close enough.
>Life's good. You bite in—
>"What in tarnation d'ya got there, Anon?"
>Choking hazard! Choking hazard!
>Applejack's standing there, hat tilted, glaring at your picnic like it's Equestria's most wanted.
>Brow raised, legs spread, ready to bring the law to all wrongdoers in the land of meals on blankets.
>You glance at what you brought: some crackers, fancy cheese, a sharp sandwich knife…
>Nope, nothing illegal there. She's glaring straight at-
>Strawberry Jam.
"What's wrong with strawberry jam?"
>You reply after clearing your esophagus of a crouton barricade.
>"Ain't apple jam."
>You freeze in mid-bite, trying to process what's going on here.
"There's... apple jam?"
>AJ huffs like you've asked if the sky's blue.
>Which it is. Today, anyway.
>"Course. Heck, we even got Zap Apple Jam!"
>She beams like it's the apple-solute best thing since sliced apple bread.
"You mean the glowing stuff?"
>"That just means it's fresh!"
"That's a little too much magic for me in something meant to be spreadable."
>Her eyes narrow like you've just insulted her entire bloodline.
>"Horseapples! Don't you know an apple a day keeps the doc away?"
"I do. It's not the apple part I have a problem with here, AJ. It's the zap. The whole, rainbow-glowing, possibly radio-active bit. Look at me. Do I even look like someone that can handle the zap?"
>You gesture at your very human, very magic-less self.
>She squints, eyeing up the jam like she's sizing up the competition.
>"Uh-huh, sure. Could've gone with plain ol' apple jam then, is all I'm sayin'."
"I didn't even know it was a thing, AJ! Honest to Faust!"
>For a glorious moment, you almost believe she's gonna drop it.
>That you're out of this bad jam and ready to mosey into butter territory.
>Then her gaze sharpens again, and that hope sinks like a ship against the iceberg that is her stubbornness.
>"Hold up."
>Oh no.
>You tense.
>"Not a single bit o' apple in yer food there."
>She jabs a hoof at your crime scene- uhm… picnic.
>"No pie. No fritters, no nothin'."
>Uh oh.
>"Where's the dang cider, Anon?"
>You panic. Think fast!
"I-I uh… I already ate the apple?"
>Bad move.
>Terrible, actually.
>You can feel her eyebrows rising into the stratosphere even as you say it.
>Applejack leans in, dangerously close, her hat bumping against your forehead.
>"Is that so?"
>You freeze, every muscle in your body urging you to make like a tree and get the hell out of here.
>You know better, though. She bucks those hard.
>"Open yer mouth."
"You- uh… what?"
>"Open yer dang mouth, Anon. I mean it."
>Her voice is stone. There's no room for negotiation here, not with that look on her face.
>You gulp, then part your lips.
>She's not going to do anything weird. She wouldn't dare.
>*Splorch*
>Something warm and wet fills your entire mouth, prodding around your cheeks and teeth.
>It pulls back, your lips making a small pop as they break free of suction.
>You feel drool dripping from your chin. Is it hers or yours? Does it even matter at this point?
>"Mmm… whole wheat, huh?"
>She's just sitting there, like she didn't just pull that stunt right in front of you.
>"Cheddar, huh? Kinda fancy."
>You can feel the heat rising off your cheeks. She's dissecting your sandwich, and you're not sure how you feel about it.
>"A bit o' lettuce."
>It feels like she's dissecting you. Like she's looking inside of you, seeing your soul, judging it.
>"But there's somethin' else in here, Anon."
>Beads of sweat start to form on your brow.
>"A hint o'… shame."
>Beet red.
>Like an apple, if that apple was embarrassed out of its mind.
"That's just... Uhm... picnic anxiety."
>"An'…"
>She inhales deeply, nostrils flaring like she can smell your dirty secrets.
>"An'… a bit of Rarity on yer lips."
"I needed that discount! Okay?"
>You blurt out, much louder than you'd intended.
"Custom underwear aren't ch—"
>Wait! How does she kno—
>"I don't care none 'bout that."
>Oh? Well, that's nice.
>"What I do care 'bout, is the fact there ain't a trace of apple anywhere."
>You can feel your Adam's apple bobbing.
>"Ya lied to me, Anon."
>Buck it!
"You know what, maybe—maybe—I just don't like apples that much, is all!"
>You can barely recognize your own voice as the words fly out of your mouth in a torrent of bravery that can't possibly last long.
"You can't just make me love apples, okay? You're not some kind of crazy apple wizard with powers over fruit that can compel me to shove a bushel down my throat at every moment of the dang day, Applejack! This is my picnic, and I choose to eat strawberry jam!"
>Wow! You're feeling great! You're feeling strong! You're feeling invinc—
>Thunk
>You hit the dirt.
>Applejacked.

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>"Now, sugarcube, I don't wanna sound harsh. But I've been thinkin'. Real hard, even."
>She's thinking? Uh oh.
>You'd crack a joke. Something about the sky falling maybe, but… Well…
>You're polite like that.
>Also, you're tied to a chair.
>The gag in your mouth doesn't help either.
>"Ponies who don't like apples... They're trouble, is all. Every time, without fail."
>Oh boy. Here we go.
>"Think about it! Tirek? Big ol' apple-hater. Chrysalis? She wouldn't even sniff one, no sir."
>You can't really nod or offer any other sign of agreement.
>"Strawberry Sunrise?"
>That mare's name practically spits itself out of her mouth, dripping with contempt.
>"That mare, she hates 'em more than anypony."
>Some deep, fruity betrayal burns in her eyes.
>You blink your eyelids in Mhorse code, spelling out an S.O.S.
>Nopony is coming to save you. Not from her.
>"It's a slippery slope, Anon. First, you say no to apples. Next thing you know, BAM. World domination."
>She leans in, eyes boring into your twisted and rotten strawberry of a soul.
>"It's my duty—naw. My responsibility to make sure ya don't turn into one o' them apple-loathin' fiends, Anon."
>You try to protest, try to let her know that the idea of world domination has never once crossed your mind, and that the one and only time you've contemplated villainy of any sort was that time Rainbow Dash borrowed your toaster for three months straight and didn't give it back until after the cord somehow broke and it 'stopped working.'
"Mmmphgh! Hrnnh hmmn hhngnh mrmmpphg mmf hngh rrrm mfffghhhh hmpht ghrmbl mmmds hnnnnfffn fnn fffflllfff glllmnpppppp!"
>"Now, I know ya don't think you're evil. But lemme tell you, Anon: Evil don't come waltzin' in and sayin', 'Hi there, I'm evil! Nice to meetcha!' Nope. It sneaks right in, catches ya in an imperfection or two. Right through a hole in the heart where an apple should rightfully fit."
>She leans in, her apple-scented breath hot against your cheeks and her eyes burning with the righteous fury of a thousand bushels.
>"You ain't gone bad yet, Anon. But this 'no apples' business? That's a road to ruin, plain as day. It don't lead nowhere good, Anon. Nowhere at all."
>Her voice drops, low, like she's giving you some ancient wisdom that only those who have seen too much would dare utter.
>"First, you avoid apple pie..."
>Her nostrils flare and her pupils shrink to tiny dots, and you're afraid, so very, very afraid.
>"Then... You're buildin' doomsday weapons in a basement… and there ain't no cider. Just… grapes. Grapes!"
>She grabs your shoulder hard. Harder than a hoof has any right to grab anything, ever.
>"That's why I'm here. To save ya from yerself."
>You let out a muffled noise. Is it one of resistance? One of defeat? You don't know. You can't think straight anymore.
>"Don't worry. I know a bad apple when I see one, and this just means we got some fixin' up to do! It won't take long. We'll have you back on the straight and narrow in no time, just you wait and see!"
>The gag is lifted from your mouth, and the sweet taste of freedom fills your lungs. You inhale deep.
>"What—"
>But it's only so she can move the rag from your mouth to your eyes.
"W-What are you doing now?"
>"Blindfoldin' ya, sugarcube. Gonna do a little taste test on ya, nice an' slow. See what ya think of a couple real apple products, re-educate yer tongue a bit."
>Oh, Celestia...
>"Real easy-like. Slow and sweet. Now, open up fer me, Anon. Apple pie, comin' up!"
>Something brushes up against your lips, and you part them without a second thought. Something sweet and tangy touches your tongue.
>It's good. Better than you'd thought. Why did you ever hate apples? That was crazy. Your tongue has never been happier, and you hadn't even taken a bite yet. Juice already fills your mouth, running down your throat, dribbling onto your neck, staining your shirt and pooling under your legs as—
>Wait a minute...
"This isn't apple product! That's horse pu—"