>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—"