The Sun and Rain and the Appleseed

by anonpencil

Rating: mature
Tags: Granny Smith, Applejack, Anon, Second Person, Fetish, Comedy, Random, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Human
Length: 2430

Applejack has always kept her planting secrets well under wraps, that is, until she met Anon. Now, she's willing to open up a bit and tell him exactly what makes all the apples in the orchard so sweet. But is he ready to handle it?

There's no denying that the fruit from the Apples' orchard are simply the finest. Their cider, their pies, and just the apples themselves are flawless. So what's the secret? What makes them so good? It's a question Anon can't resist asking, and one that Applejack is reluctant to answer. Still, she finally decides to let him in on the big family secret, one that's been passed down for generations. And believe me, this secret is a juicy one...

Published 2015-07-07 23:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2015-07-07 23:10:01 UTC

Enjoying the fruits of her labor...

Author's Note

BUY SOME APPLES

Also, if you're hungry, why not bite into one right now? I'm so sure you won't regret eating an apple while reading this story.
Nope, not at all...

Enjoying the fruits of her labor...

It's another fine day in the orchards. Bees buzz, birds sing, and the wind smells faintly of cider brewing back at the barn. Truly, there is no greater day to be alive. As you stroll, Applejack deftly pulls an apple from a nearby tree and crunches into it noisily. She grabs a second one and offers it to you, its red peel gleaming in the sun as if off a gemstone. You smile a thank you at her and take it.

It seems like apples are all she ever eats. Pies, cakes, plain, mashed...there's no end to it. She even looks like she's been gaining weight as of late from the sheer number of them. Hell, you didn't even know you could get fat eating just apples, but come to think of it you feel a little pudgier too after over a year living with these folks. Are these apples making you fat? Eh, fuck it. Worth it.

As you bite into the apple, you can feel the way the flavors dance across your tongue, the way the cool crispness takes the fire out of this very warm day. On earth or in Equestria, there is no place that offers better tasting apples than here. You've asked after the secret to their success before, but the Apples are tight lipped about it.

You understand. You have your own secrets too, and as long as Spike doesn't tell, you'll be fine. After all, he held still when you told him, and that threat to kill everyone he loved should buy his silence, sore anus or no. Still, today you find yourself needing to ask once more.

“Hey Applejack.”

She looks up, cheek full of partially chewed apple.

“What's that sugarcube?”

Her colloquialisms certainly are charming, even when she's spitting apple-bits while speaking.

“I know it's secret, but you've got to give me some sort of hint as to how you make these apples taste so perfect.”

She just smiles and winks at you.

“Aw, ya know I can't let that slip.”

“Just a little hint, please?”

She hesitates before answering, a small grin poised on her face threatening to break into a full smile.

“Wull you've been here long enough,” she says after a moment. “And ya kinda are family now.”

“So...”

She sighs and shakes her head.

“I can't tell ya our secrets, but I tell ya what. Hows about ya come out tomorrow night to help plant new trees with me? It's about time for a new row of em.”

You brighten perceptibly.

“Really?”

“Yesiree.”

You're thrilled, to say the least, but something does seem a little strange about what she said.

“Wait, at night?”

“That's just one of the secrets,” she says with another wink. “We always plant em at night when no one's 'round to see.”

Weird, but whatever. If it helps make these apples so tasty, who cares.

“Alright, I'd be happy to help,” you say with a pleasant shrug.

“I sure hope so,” she says, and she does sound genuinely concerned for a moment.

As soon as the tone surfaced, it's covered with her good-natured smile again as the two of you continue to stroll through the orchards.

——

As the sun sets, you can hear Applejack talking with Granny Smith in the kitchen about preparations.

“And ye got the seeds.”

“Yes Granny.”

“And a waterin pail.”

“Yes Granny,”

“And ye dug the holes already.”

“Yes Granny.”

It goes on and on in a seemingly never-ending checklist. From the other room, you listen to the 'yes Granny's' waiting for Applejack to call on you. It goes without saying that you're insanely curious as to what this secrecy is all about. Is there a special fertilizer? You kinda hope you don't find out that they shit on each seed or something, though that would make sense. Maybe there's something in the water they put on them. You continue speculating until you at last hear Applejack call for you.

You grab your coat and head into the kitchen.

“All set?”

“Yup, all set,” she says with a grin.

Granny Smith isn't smiling though. Instead, she's looking at you with narrowed eyes, scrutinizing you on a level you've never seen before. You stare back, one eyebrow cocked, rather curious as to what this is all about.

“Uh...Mrs. Smith?” you say hesitantly.

All at one, she's very close to you, straightened up as best she can, staring you down with a stern and intent eye.

“Now you listen good,” she says sharply. “This whole shebang is passed down all through the generations, and my kin has taken good care of this secret so don't you go a-blabbin. Got that?”

You blink at her, then nod. She backs away a little, still eyeing you skeptically. Applejack pats one hoof gently on Granny Smith's shoulder.

“Now now Granny,” she says. “Anon's been here quite a time and I could use the help. Yer past yer plantin' prime, and Applebloom is too young, ya know that.”

“Yeah yeah, just keep an eye on 'em,” she grumbles before shrugging Applejack off and heading to the next room.

Once she's gone, Applejack pulls on a shawl and passes you a full watering pale before heading outside. You follow, doing your best not to slosh any of the water. At least you assume it's water.

“What was that about?” you venture.

Applejack just shrugs.

“Ah don't ya mind her,” she says. “She's sore that she can't help with the plantin' a no more.”

“Why can't she? She's in pretty good shape for someone her age.”

Applejack suddenly seems a bit uneasy. She looks away from you and quickens her pace a little.

“She just can't ok?” she says sharply. Then, a little softer, “You'll see soon enough.”

You follow behind in silence sensing you've hit a nerve. But why? What did you say? You trek on through the trees, down rows and past wizened trunks silhouetted in the moonlight. Clouds float lazily through the sky, casting strange shadows across your path. Applejack walks ahead of you like a ghost in her shawl, flickering in the inconsistent light of the stars.

At last, after what seems like miles, you come to what seems to be the end of the orchard. Before you, you see a single, long row of holes, all dug about a foot down into the ground. Beside each is a small mound of earth, looking recently piled there. Applejack stops and gestures to the row with some amount of pride.

“Welp, here we are,” she says with a sigh.
You set down the pale, glancing over everything in front of you. Yep, looks like a planing spot. You look over everything again, but nothing out of the ordinary seems to jump out at you. You turn to Applejack, your expression a questioning one.

“Ok, so we're at a planting spot...what now?”

She looks at the holes and seems to space out for a moment. She's blushing under those light-colored freckles, you realize. Actually blushing. You're not sure you've ever seen her do that before.

“...Applejack?” you say after a minute or so has passed.

She seems to snap out of it. Her ears perk up, the blush fades, and she turns an easy smile your way.

“Well now we plant,” she says. “And a little history lesson for ya too. We've been plantin' this way for over 100 years, all the womenfolk of our line.”

“Only the women?”

She nods.

“Why only the women?” you can't help but ask.

Again, she seems to space out for a moment.

“Ya see,” she says slowly. “We start by takin' seeds from only our best apples, only the very sweetest ones. They we give those seeds love and time and someplace warm to begin to germinate. Once they're just startin' to barely sprout, we plant em.”

That all sounds pretty standard to you, from what you know of gardening with seedlings. You look around for the seedlings, but you don't see any on the ground anywhere, and neither you nor Applejack has carried any to this spot.

“Ok, so where...”

You look back to Applejack, meaning to question her, but stop mid sentence.

As you watch, she walks over to the first hole, head high and more dignified than you think you've ever seen her. She looks regal suddenly, and you can almost feel the generations of mares she's following in the line of. You can almost see 100 years of the Apple family walking with her as she carries on their genes and techniques. It's lovely, majestic in a way.

Then, she stops at the first hole, and squats her butt low over it.

Wat.

She looks at you, face suddenly taut with effort, and manages a little smile.

“Ya see,” she says, strain in her voice. “They need someplace warm, wet, and safe while they grow. And growin' appletrees is in our blood, so...”

Wait, is she going to shit them out? Have they been in her stomach? You're no expert, but isn't that bad for seeds and stomachs alike? But no...that's not what's happening.

From your view, you can see her tail raise, and see muscles along her lower body clenching. Her pussy, which you've never really gotten a good look at before, seems to be twitching and heaving as if it has a life all its own. Then, with a sickening squishing noise, her hole opens a little wider, and a dribble of orangish liquid and a small, coiled shape leak out into the hole. Some part of your brain realizes that the small shape was a seed. In all that mess, she just pushed a slightly growing seed out of her pussy.

What the actual fuck.

She gives a little sigh of relief, and straightens, shaking any extra drops off of her rear.Then she fluidly kicks the pile of dirt into the hole and pats it down with her tail. You just stare at her, quietly gagging to yourself. She moves on to the next hole, smiling at you in a satisfied way.

“We Apples,” she goes on. “always keep a row a' seeds in our wombs while they germinate, nourishing them by eatin' apples and lettin' em grow using our juices. Then, once we feel em start to come outa their shells, we put em in the ground like that.”

That's the big planting secret?! That's what she wanted to show you?! What the fuck is wrong with these horses?

"That's why we love these trees so much," you hear her say. "They're basically our children."

Her slightly growing belly, her blush, the way Granny Smith...

Oh god...does that mean that Granny Smith…

You look out over the orchard in horror, realization setting in. Well, that's an image you won't get out of your head anytime soon. Applejack seems to notice, for you hear a soft noise of strain, a slick, wet plop, and a sigh before she speaks as she births another seed into the ground.

“Yup, most of this orchard was planted by Granny,” she says proudly as she moves on to the next hole, staying in a slightly squatted position this time.

You stare back at her, absolutely sickened by the sight of her again pushing out a sticky, partially grown seed.

“So almost every apple you've eaten,” she says, pausing to shake her juices off. “was from a tree that started growin' inside a her. That's the secret of what makes em taste so good. We flavor each tree with our juices, and you can taste em in the apples.”

Suddenly you feel sick. You feel dizzy.

“What the fuck!” you scream at her stumbling backwards.

“Now watch that language sugarcube,” she says sternly, as her back legs shake like a shitting dogs and another seed dribbles into the ground.

The nausea rises in you as you think of every apple you've eaten, every tree you leaned against, every time you ever climbed in those branches...Oh dear god. With a sound of regret and disgust, you vomit all the apple-filled contents of your stomach onto the ground. You suddenly feel woozy. This is all too much.

“You alright darlin'?” You hear Applejack's voice.

You stumble on a rock as you try to back away from the horrifying, scene. You fall backwards, arms windmilling as you try desperately to catch you balance and fail miserably.

Your head strikes a tree. Hard.

You're out cold before you hit the ground.

As you come to, you think for one blissful moment that this might have all been a dream. Then the sound, the sight, the musty damp smell all come flooding back to you. Nope, that all happened. You open your eyes to see Granny Smith and Applejack leaning over you. You're warm, in a bed, as if nothing was weird or horribly horribly wrong. You know better though.

“Welcome back pardner,” Applejack says gently as she rests a gentle hoof on your shoulder.

Your head hurts fiercely, otherwise you'd jump up and run from here. You can't look at her without hearing that disgusting gushy sound now. Granny Smith nods at you.

“Seems ye took quite a fall there,” she says, and now she sounds much friendlier.

You wonder what's changed.

“W-what...” you begin to say, voice still stumbling and awkward.

Then you shift, and realize that something doesn't seem quite right. Something in your body feels…wrong. You look between the two mares, panic beginning to rise in your chest.

“Now don't fret,” Applejack says soothingly. “I know ya didn't get the chance to plant with us much, and we figure ya deserve another chance. Ya seemed so excited after all. Besides, we've never had seeds planted by the likes a you, and we're plumb curious as to what that'd taste like.”

Planted...by you?

“Yup,” Granny Smith says. “We dug a few holes for ye, got the best seeds. Was a honest pain trying to fit those little suckers in there.”

Yep, legit panicking now.

You stare at the two in horror, mouth working, trying to find words to express a question you really don't want the answer to.

“Y-you don't mean...”

“That's right!”

Applejack reaches down over the blanket that covers you and gently, tenderly pats your crotch.

“Anon, yer gonna be a mommy.”

-End-