Apples Are Always Appreciated

The first rays of sunshine are peeking over the horizon, casting light across the town before inevitably speeding towards the city proper. In this way, it’s quite an ordinary day, full of ordinary possibilities. Even the students of CHS seem to be at ease, most still asleep in their beds as that glorious day of Saturday finally arrives. No more teachers or books, and certainly no chance of magical mishaps, bimbo or otherwise. Or at least, that’s what they’d like to believe.

“Consarnit, this is not how I want to start my weekend,” Applejack mutters to herself as she looks over the henhouse; her knuckles firmly positioned up on the tremendous outer swell of her hips. The scene in front of her is not especially bad on the outside, with splotches of red and feathers scattered across the ground, but inside, inside is a bloodbath. Rubbing at the back of her neck, the teenage girl spits once on the ground and scowls. “Darn critters getting up in the fowl again. What a mess.”

As the statuesque AJ stands in front of the flimsy structure as her still much larger brother saunters up behind her and sighs. “Fox?”

“I reckon,” the busty blonde grumbles, glancing back at Big Mac and forcing a grin, “but when keeping chickens it’s to be expected, right?”

The towering redhead gives a nod, setting his lips into a frown. Mac does his best to keep his eyes away from the sometimes endless expanse of smooth, freckled skin that AJ shamelessly bares to the world; the inviting flesh of his sister’s shoulders, back and chest catching the early morning light and giving her a soft, pleasant glow.

With a quick cough, the eldest child shakes off the possibility of undue thoughts towards his sister and gets back to the matter at hand. “Not much good for us though.”

“You can say that again,” Applejack grunts, oblivious to her kin’s focus on her. “We’ve got maybe two, three hens left after this whole mess. That ain’t near enough to keep us in eggs for very long.”

“We could go buy some?”

“Chickens?” Applejack gives a chuckle and shakes her head. “Not without coming out the other side with our expenses looking like they’ve been tarred and feathered. And part of the reason we keep these birds is so we don’t have to buy eggs, so it kinda defeats the purpose.”

Mac nods slowly. “Guess we’ll have to raise some chicks.” Applejack joins her brother, head bobbing up and down a few times before her eyes light up. With a broad smile, she slaps her older sibling on the shoulder and grins.

“You sure are right on that count Big Mac, but not before cleaning out the henhouse and shoring up the walls and wire. I got a call I need to make, so can I count on you to get started on that?”

“Eeyup.” Another nod, and as AJ sprints up towards the house, he cups a hand to his mouth and calls after her, “But who are you calling this early?”

Flashing her brother a grin, the green-eyed girl shouts back, “The only other girl who knows more about critters than I do!”

Ah, well that explains everything. Rolling up his sleeves, Big Mac sets about the dirty business of cleaning up the henhouse massacre. With any luck, he’ll be able to rinse off the coop and possibly himself before AJ’s pretty pink friend drags herself out of bed.

As Applejack hurries through the kitchen, she flashes her guardian a smile. “Morning Granny.”

“Eh? Wuzzat?” the rotund, heavyset, elderly woman glances about before spotting her granddaughter. “Oh, Jackie. What’s got you so riled up this early in the morning?”

AJ sighs, slowing to a stop and giving the matriarch of the family as serious a frown as she can manage. “Fox in the henhouse.”

“Oh dear. I suppose I better not plan on any eggs this morning then.”

“Afraid not, but don’t you worry.” Grinning, the bimbo brings up one of her sizeable arms and flexes. “I get the feeling that we’ll resolve this quicker than a hog muching through slop.”

As Applejack begins to clack and jiggle away, Granny nods and calls after her, “Well, I’m headed to the school to handle a couple things and I’m taking your sister too. I’ll leave some breakfast out though.” Despite acknowledging her grandmother’s words, they barely register on the girl’s radar. After all, she’s got a farm to manage.

Hopping onto her bed, AJ gives a girlish grunt as she feels her sizable chest compress at the impact. Despite her best intentions, the usually focused female takes a moment to roll her weight, delighting in the sensations of alternating pressure on her breasts. But even still, it’s only for a moment; the girl’s phone quickly finding its way into her hand as she dials the familiar number. The ringing seems to stretch on for an age before a husky, quiet voice picks up on the other end.

“Hello?” it croaks, just the right mix of tired and sweet that causes a delighted thrill to run up Applejack’s spine. After losing her voice for a moment, the blonde clears her throat.

“Mornin, Fluttershy. Did I wake you?”

“Oh, Applejack. Good morning to you too and, maybe a little,” the girl’s voice continues, visions of the incredibly stacked girl languishing about in her bed flitting through the farmer’s mind. Fluttershy’s arms stretched upwards in what would otherwise be an innocent motion, but the action instead forcing her already massive mounds into an obscene position, undoubtedly begging for the attention of anyone who catches sight of them. A quiet cough brings the blonde back to reality as her friend prompts her again. “But that’s okay, I’m sure you called for a very important reason.”

Shoot, if Fluttershy’s words were any more like honey, then AJ’s ear was developing a sweet tooth. Collecting her thoughts, she bobs her head once. “Sorry ‘Shy; I’m so used to being up at this time I didn’t really think you might still be a little out of it. But, y’see, we had a fox get into our henhouse last night-”

“Oh no!” Fluttershy squeals, at once sounding alert. “You didn’t hurt the poor dear, did you?”

“Nah, critter hightailed it out before we were even awake.”

“Well that’s good.”

“But not before he got his mitts on most of our chickens.”

There’s a lengthy silence, followed by an all to brief, “Oh. Oh dear.”

“Oh dear is right; now I got a coop but not enough chickens to fill it; so I figured you might be able to help me out.”

The seconds tick by and AJ can imagine Fluttershy squirming on her bed in discomfort. This, of course, begins to bring up questions of what the pink-haired girl wears when she sleeps. Or perhaps the more accurate question, what is there to wear for a girl so positively enormous that most anything she wears ends up looking like it is two or three sizes to small? It’s an amusing and arousing enough thought that AJ is happy to run with it while her friend sputters together a response.

“Um, well, why would you ask me?”

“Ain’t that obvious? I’m looking to keep the fox and his kin away from my chickens in the future. I figure you’ve got a couple suggestions on how to deter the varmints.”

There’s a sigh of relief. “Is that all? Well of course I can do that AJ; I’d be happy to.”

“And,” the word hangs in the air, the blonde straining to hear her friend breathe, “I reckon we could talk about some of what you’ve been doing with your magic.”

“Applejack, I don’t-”

“Hold on a minute, Sugar Cube,” AJ says with a note of sternness. “I realize you’re probably not too keen on letting everyone else know what you’ve been doing, but we’re both in the business of animals. If there’s anyone who’s gonna get what you’ve been working on, it’d be me, right?”

After another brief wait, Fluttershy sighs. “Okay. And, I really have wanted to talk this out with someone, but I wasn’t sure that anyone would understand.”

“Well here’s my promise, I’ll at least hear you out. And maybe we can find some way to help each other, yeah?”

“Right. I’ll see you in a little while, okay, AJ?”

“Good enough. Drive safe, ‘Shy.”

With that out of the way, Applejack makes her way back downstairs and helps herself to a bit of breakfast before switching with her brother. By the time Fluttershy arrives, Mac has already rejoined his sister in finishing cleaning the henhouse. Upon seeing her friend, AJ slides her gloves off and drops them to the ground. “I’ll be back in a bit, Mac.”

“Eeyup.”

The blonde smirks and hustles over to her friend, her bare thick thighs brushing together with each step. As she approaches, Fluttershy puts on a smile and nods her head.

“Good morning again, Applejack.”

“To you too, ‘Shy; I’m sorry about calling you out so early,” AJ responds with a sheepish grin.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that, I’m always available to help a friend with a critter conundrum.” The pink haired girl pauses long enough to giggle at her statement before scanning the yard. “So, you said it was a fox that was causing you trouble?”

The blonde nods and waves a hand towards the fencing. “That’s what I’m thinking on account of the mess it left behind. As you can see, we’ve already taken to replacing the wire where the fox got in, and we’ve cleaned the blood out of the house too. At last count we’ve got three birds left.”

Fluttershy nods, only paying her friend half a mind as her eyes linger on the rather robust form of the blonde’s brother. Biting her lip, the quiet girl holds back a smile as she admires the young man’s thick, muscled forearms. The steady rhythm of tensing and relaxing causes her heart to pound a little harder each time he brings down the hammer. Forcing an awkward swallow, Fluttershy turns back to her rather confused friend.

“Y’all right there, Sugar Cube?”

“Huh? Me? Um, yes,” the excessively busty girl squeaks, instinctively crossing her hands in front of her crotch and forcing her breasts up and out as they are sandwiched between her arms. Almost as quickly, Fluttershy relaxes, sending her chest jiggling as it is released from the slender confines of her arms as she responds in a halting tone. “I was just, admiring your brother.”

“Mac?” Applejack glances over her shoulder and grins. “Yeah, he’s a real piece of work, ain’t he? Always up for a hard job and I rarely even get a single complaint out of him. I might be sunk on some of the chores if he weren’t so amiable.”

Fluttershy blinks, almost able to see the intention of her words flying right over the blonde’s head. But her curiosity simply can’t let the implied statement pass by, and so she tries again. “Well, of course there’s that, but I was talking about how much he’s matured since you,” the larger girl’s voice trails off into the aether as AJ raises an eyebrow.

“Since I, what?”

“Since you, um, used your magic on him?” The upturn at the end of Fluttershy’s hopeful question is offset by the serious glower that takes place on AJ’s face.

“Magic? Shoot, I ain’t done anything to Big Macintosh; he’s all natural and home grown.”

Wide-eyed innocence rolls across Fluttershy’s face. “Really? All, of that?” As her friend nods, the girl glances back towards the solidly built boy working around the henhouse. “He must be as big as a bear. I wonder how I never noticed before.”

“Well that’s neither here nor there,” AJ says as she places her hands on her hips, “but I want to make one thing clear. I haven’t changed, and don’t have any intentions of changing, any member of my family; least until we can sort out what’s what. I mean, did you see Twilight’s ‘family’?”

The slightly sarcastic intonation of the last word is not lost on Fluttershy, who nods her head in quiet agreement. Granted, Shining Armor was certainly a fine piece of meaty muscle, and from what she had seen, neither was Twilight’s father; not to mention the absolutely MILFy proportions that the mother of two was sporting. But Twilight’s own place in the world had altered with them, leaving her with two distinct identities, that of an occasionally airheaded human girl, and a pony princess. Perhaps it would be best to wait and understand the magic a little better before using it for such purposes.

“Besides,” AJ adds, “the last thing I need is to give support to that obnoxious hearsay that country folk shack up with their kin. I mean, can you imagine what everybody would say if Mac and I were going at it? Best to let sleeping dogs lie, and I’d appreciate it if you would too, okay?”

“I think I can manage that,” Fluttershy admits, thought the thought of her blonde friend trying to manage her already large brother’s post-magically massive member between her breasts does cause her to tremble; a feeling which intensifies as she envisions taking the smaller girl’s place and successfully suffocating the red rocket. There are advantages to being friends with a girl whose brother is well hung, after all. But shaking loose her dirty thoughts, the now blushing Fluttershy circles back to the matter at hand. “So, foxes.”

“Foxes,” AJ responds, nodding. “What’ve you got for me?”

Reaching into her bag, Fluttershy rummages about for a moment before pulling out a bag full of multi-colored strands. As she hands it over the Applejack, the farmgirl turns it over in her hands a few times, making a face and raising an eyebrow as she looks back to her friend.

“It’s hair,” the busty girl says with a smile, “human hair from hairdressers around town. I collect it.”

After a moment, Applejack sighs and waves the bag in her friend’s face. “Yeah, I can see what it is well enough, but why do you need so gosh-darn much of it? Wouldn’t yours or mine do just as well?”

“Well, I was thinking that foxes are largely nocturnal hunters,” the critter caretaker begins, “I don’t have a lot of experience with raising them, but most animals like that are heavily reliant on their sense of smell.”

Another round of rummaging results in a set of leggings, and a big smile on the girl’s face. “It’s an old pair of tights that I can’t fit into anymore! We put the hair in here, tying it off at a few points, and then the fox might think twice about coming into an area with so many different human smells from different people.”

Applejack rubs her chin with her thumb, nodding a little. “All right, that’s a step up from what we’ve already been doing. We’ll put that over the henhouse door. Anything else?”

“Mhmm, but we’ll need something from Big Mac.”

“Then we’ll save that for later. In the meantime,” Applejack grunts, sitting down on the ground and beginning to work on tying a knot into one of the legs of the tights, “you can tell me about what you’ve been up to with your magic.”

Fluttershy coughs, coloring as she kneels down beside her friend and forces a smile. “Oh, you’re not really interested in all of that, are you?”

“You bet your right teat I am,” Applejack mutters under her breath, grabbing a handful of hair from the bag. “I’ve got a family to keep in eggs, and I reckon you’ve got some ideas on how that might work.”

There’s an anxious squirm on the part of the pink-haired girl, leading the farmer to sigh and try anther tactic. “Listen, I know you’ve been using Angel-”

“W-What? How?” Fluttershy hisses, biting on her lip. “Oh, you didn’t see anything, did you? Oh dear…”

“Nothing like that, ‘Shy, but it’s really obvious. You love that bunny more’n Twilight loves a good book. So what’d you find?”

Seeing that there’s no way to shake off the belligerent blonde, Fluttershy sighs and focuses on tying knots into her old tights. It takes a little while for her to work up the nerve, but her confession eventually begins to spill past her lips. “You aren’t wrong about me using Angel, but I only did it because I love him so much.”

Applejack bobs her head. “Mhmm, go on.”

“Well, Angel’s always been a little, um, special; he can be very willful in every aspect of his life, from food to what catches his interest. And,” Fluttershy pauses, wetting her lips with her tongue before finding her voice again, “and one of those is does.”

AJ’s face contorts in confusion. “Wait; are you trying to make a jackalope ‘Shy? I mean, I know we’re dealing with magic but-”

“No, no, a female bunny,” the pink-haired girl corrects herself. As Applejack gives an understanding grunt and bobs her head, Fluttershy continues. “It’s just that Angel doesn’t really like other bunnies, he never has and I thought it was so sad that he might go through life without having a special bunny buddy of his very own; never having a bunch of bouncing bunny babies.”

Holding her hands to her cheeks, Fluttershy holds back a small squeal at the thought of so many cute, fuzzy critters bouncing around everywhere. Applejack remains silent, but still wears a gentle, knowing smile. After giving her friend a moment to collect herself, the blonde leans in. “So what’d you end up doing?”

“Oh, nothing too special,” Fluttershy shrugs, tucking loose strands of hair over her shoulder, “I just pet him like I normally do, but with a little extra push of magic.” At her friend’s expectant stare, she continues on to the end of her thought. “And, after a week or so, he grew into a great, big buck. You know, for a bunny. But after that, he was much more eager to get to know the does.”

AJ gives a victorious grin. “So it does make critters more sexually viable. I knew you’d bring me good news. But,” there’s a note of concern in the farmgirl’s voice. “uh, what about the does? Or anything else that might be a little odd?”

“Nothing else about Angel, no, but after a few times the does were much more amiable to his, um, insistence on doing the,” Fluttershy pauses, her face coloring as she searches for the right word, “th-the Bunny Hop. The size and viability of their litters increased as well.”

A low whistle escapes the farmgirl’s lips. “Well that last bit’s pretty much right what I’m looking for; lots of eggs to feed a hungry family. I don’t much like the sound of everything else though. What if the magic ends up affecting me and my kin?”

“I don’t think you’d have to worry about that,” the bustier of the pair cuts in, “because this isn’t a sexually viable situation. Without fertilization, eggs are just eggs, right?”

“I reckon,” AJ grumbles. “But I’m still a mite concerned.”

Fluttershy nods her head in agreement. “And I understand, but I really think it will be a non-issue. And, even if it is, the magic should be diluted because it’s the hens who are receiving the brunt of it.”

The pink-haired girl catches the word ‘probably’ before it can roll of her tongue, falling silent as she observes the still distraught girl gnawing on the tip of her thumbnail as she mulls her options over. Finally, AJ turns back. “So, you think you can just make it so the hens are producing more eggs?”

“Absolutely.”

Applejack nods again before continuing. “On that note, what do you think might happen if we do fertilize the eggs? The chicks aren’t going to grow up to be super hens, are they?”

“Oh no, my little Angel’s bunnies have been growing at a regular rate, though they do seem to be a little more, um, amorous than most. I have so many that I’ve had to ask some good friends of mine to take them off my hands.”

“Well that sounds like a problem I’d like to have,” AJ smirks. “If I’ve got your word on this that it’ll work, then I can’t think of any reason why I shouldn’t go through with it. Let’s round up those turkeys and get this magic started.”

“I thought you said they were chickens?” Fluttershy asks with a frown. The two girls exchange glances, and then giggle before going down to the fence. “But, what about you AJ? Did you ever find those apples you lost?”

“Unfortunately no,” the blonde grunts as she begins easing her way towards the still agitated fowl. “But that was an age ago; I can’t imagine that there’s anything left of those apples but mush, or at the very least no one in this family would want to use them for anything other than fertilizer. That’s the benefit of working with something organic, I suppose.”

Fluttershy nods her head, giggling as her friend dives at one of the chickens and sends the birds flying. Applejack really is such a clever girl, it’s good that their group has someone like her around who can keep a level, reasonable head.

===

“Hey Granny, where d’you want these crates?” Apple Bloom asks, wheeling several small boxes into the kitchen at Canterlot High School. The wrinkly, smiling face of Granny Smith peeks around the edge of the wall and then bobs towards a nearby table.

“Right over there Apple Bloom. I’m about done with things over here, so just heave them up onto the table and you can scoot on out.”

The young teen nods and does as she’s told, moving the crates from the dolly one by one. After finishing her task, the redhead wipes her brow with her sleeve and calls out to her now vanished caretaker, “Well, that’s that. You sure you don’t need my help?”

“Oh Apple Bloom,” Granny chides, “I’ve been making cider since I could boil water, and a little bit of weakness in the arms sure isn’t going to make that much of a difference. Don’t you worry about me; you just run along and have a good time with your friends.”

The redhead flashes a smile and hurries off to spend the latter part of the morning wherever it is that the girls meet up when they’re not at the clubhouse. Apple Bloom is an independent spirit after all, and Granny certainly isn’t going to try and rein that in if she doesn’t have to. It’s an admirable Apple trait after all! Right up there with stubbornness.

And is Granny Smith ever stubborn.

As the aged woman shuffles her way across the familiar floor, the lingering specter of her many years rises up behind her, as it is prone to do with increasing frequency as of late. Truth be told, Granny probably should have retired from her position as cafeteria cook several years prior, around the time she threw her back out trying to lift a crate of lunch trays. And then again when her increasingly arthritic fingers changed chopped salad preparation from a daily task, into a painful one. And even a third time when she forgot to turn off the gas stove and nearly blew up the school.

The fact of the matter is, Granny Smith is getting up there in years and it’s really beginning to show. But she hasn’t been broken. Not yet. Even as she hobbles her way through inspecting the crates of apples, those two words reverberate in the back of her mind.

Not with three grandbabies depending on her to give life a sense of normalcy. Not before they can comfortably stand on their own without her. And, being the concerned woman that she is, that means not until her body is finally ready to give out will she stop.

“But it does hurt,” she admits, clenching an apple in her tired grip. “It was a whole lot easier to think those kinds of things when I was a bit spryer than I am now. And I didn’t have to bring help for something as simple as carrying apples.”

Sighing, Granny continues with her sorting, tossing poorly preserved apples to the side. They’d find their use in something, applesauce most likely, but they’re certainly not for use in making cider. She’s almost through the last crate when one in particular catches her eyes.

The fruit itself isn’t especially large compared to some of the others, but retains a luscious pink hue the likes of which the old woman has never seen in all her many years. Wetting her lips, Granny Smith slowly drags her worn, tired, thick thumb along the skin of the fruit, her breath catching in her throat as even the florescent overhead lights grant it an almost hypnotic glow. This simple fruit is bursting with life and, perhaps, something else. Possibility?

“Now that,” the old woman mutters to herself, “is an apple.”

Turning the fruit between her fingers, Granny marvels at its seemingly perfect condition, even being stuck at the bottom of the crate as it was, with a load of apples on top of it for who knows how long. More than satisfied with the condition of the fruit, Granny considers tossing it into the pile with the rest, but instead sets it aside and begins examining the rest of the crate.

By the time she’s finished, the old woman has found around two dozen of the pink pearls and lined them up neatly beside her. She admires them for a moment more before wrestling with what to do with them. The obvious answer is to ration them out across several different batches so that they can accent the flavors of the more prominent apples. But somehow, diluting the taste seems to be almost sacrilegious. Now, this might be a rather awkward sentiment, considering that Granny has yet to taste these marvelous looking fruits, but an Apple knows apples, and even in her old age, Granny is no exception.

“I suppose a separate batch wouldn’t hurt,” the hefty woman mutters, polishing and rinsing the pink apples in the sink. Afterwards, she moves on to the chopping board, her world weary fingers aching as she cuts into the first apple with her knife. A quick, surprised sound escapes the old woman’s throat as a bit of juice flies up out of the apple, but Granny smiles and shakes her head in amazement. “These really are some mighty fine apples.”

The process of slicing the apple is not especially slow, but Granny moves at a lingering pace, her hand trembling with the weight of her years. When the eight pieces of fruit finally lie in front of her, Granny takes a deep breath and steadies herself. That’s one down, and only two dozen or so to go. Not to mention the pile of other apples. Undoubtedly, this is going to be a very long day.

Eying the slices in front of her, the old woman shrugs and smiles, saying, “May as well sample what I’m in for,” before popping one into her mouth.

The first crisp crunch causes Granny’s dulled orange eyes to widen, her jaw going slightly slack as the liquid sweet flavor fills her mouth. It very nearly dribbles out of the corner of her mouth before she catches herself and presses her lips together and swallows. Even still the taste lingers, and the remaining pieces stored away in her cheeks promise even more if she just works her mouth a little more.

And really, how is an Apple going to deny a genuinely good apple?

Granny makes a creaky, throaty sound that barely passes for satisfaction as she munches away on the apple remaining in her mouth. Bringing a hand to her cheek, the old woman sighs and closes her eyes, continuing to ride the sensation for as long as she can. Her fingers tap gently against her face, the slightly knotty knuckles beginning to recede into a more slender, streamlined shape. And so it is with her arms as well, the heavy bulk of aging fat begins to recede, being replaced with old, but still capable muscle.

Even Granny’s heavyset body slims down to a size that can only be called hefty at worst; her clothes and apron hanging loosely on a not entirely unattractive body. Deep wrinkles lessen and flabby skin pulls taut as her entire body, from head to toe, seems to decreases in width. Well, except for her chest, but even that seems to ride at least a little bit higher than before, and likewise with her backside. All told, Granny still looks the part of an aged woman, though one in her seventies rather than halfway through her eighties, and one who took exceptionally good care of her body and skin throughout her life at that.

Instinctively flexing her fingers as she pulls them away from her face, Granny can’t help but smile at the relatively painless sensation. Given her age and how hard she’s worked throughout her life, one would think that arthritis would be wrecking havoc on her body, but somehow the eighty-year old had either lucked out, or stumbled upon some magic regimen that kept the aches and pains of age at bay. Either way, she’s not going to complain.

Now quite certain that she has made the correct decision regarding this special batch of cider, Granny moves on to preparing the other apples she intends to use. Her movements are far more precise now; the smoothness of a tender touch coupled with the practiced grace of a long-time cook soon results in a board full of sliced apples. Granny wipes her forearm across her head, chuckling a little as she eyes her labor.

“I haven’t felt this good in years,” she admits, grabbing another slice as a reward for being able to move so briskly. Granny works her way through the fruit, munching greedily as she dumps the remaining apple slices into the pot she’d been prepping while her granddaughter was moving the crates earlier. After turning on the stove, Granny moves back to the cutting board, unable to hide the almost brisk hop in her step.

While most adults her age are looking to spend the rest of their days in low energy environments, the seventy-something Granny Smith just can’t see that as a possible future. Maybe it’s because she looks like a woman on the soft side of sixty, but she really doesn’t see any reason to stop doing what she loves; that is cooking and seeing the faces of smiling children. Especially her grandchildren.

The once plump cafeteria cook slims down yet again, the muscles in her legs firming up and taking on a tighter shape that does wonders for her lower body. The rather amorphous space where her waist ought to be suddenly becomes quite clear as more than a decade of tired, weighty years vanish from her middle. At the same time, Granny’s clothing shifts a little as well, becoming a better fitting replica, with the apron tied snuggly around her waist and doing a fine job of showing off the size of her slightly saggy chest.

With the pain in her fingers now non-existent, Granny Smith is able to slice up two more batches of apples and get them on the other stovetops before the first is ready for the next stage. Leaving the bland apples to their business, the slightly-less-older-than-before woman takes out her sieve, a spoon, and another pot.

The process of filtering out the first pot is a lengthy one, but made much easier by the fact that Granny can hold the pot with one hand and spoon with the other. Thick lines of pink-colored juice dribble through the tiny metal grates and into the second pot, leaving behind much of the excess pulp and skin, though some makes it through. Unable to help herself, the increasingly younger woman sticks a couple fingers under the sieve and uses them to slurp up a few drops of fluid.

Granny lifts up another satisfied moan, though this time the sound is far from old and creaky. It’s low, delighted, and almost wanton in its intensity. As she slides the pair of digits in and out of her mouth, the not-so-old woman’s hair begins to lighten from white towards an increasingly pale blonde that coils tightly at the bun behind her head before breaking the elastic, sending a waterfall of hair down to the small of her back. Her nails extend as well, becoming longer, thicker, and stronger as they adopt an apple-green coat of polish.

“My, my,” the fifty-looking, seventy-something purrs. “I have got to ask AJ about where she got these apples from; they’d be perfect to use in our alcoholic cider.”

The woman’s body slims down again as she moves to take care of the less-impressive batches of apples, letting her favored batch sieve for a while longer. The once heavyset senior citizen is a thing of the past, instead replaced with a slim-shouldered, high-waisted, long-legged woman who looks to be in the fall of her life, mincing her way through the kitchen on heels that would throw even some experienced girls for a loop. But those are the benefits of age and experience.

The process continues in much the same way for many of the other batches of soon-to-be cider, though Granny really only has eyes for one. The bottling process takes a little while as well, but with her renewed strength and flexibility, the grandmother of three is able to take care of everything in only a matter of hours rather than an entire day.

So it is, as the day approaches early afternoon, Granny leans back against one of the islands, waiting on the last batch of apple cider to finish. Beside her is a rather brilliant bottle of pink-cider, complete with bottle cap and label; bits and pieces of pulp sediment still visible in the liquid. While her eyes should be on the rumbling pot on the stove, the old woman can’t pull her eyes away from the bottle.

“How does it taste,” she wonders aloud, shivering a little at the thought of enjoying a bit of sweetness before it’s had time to set properly. Would it scald her? Would it be inadequate somehow? Would she be less than impressed?

Honestly, it’s the questions themselves that cause her to pop the cap, savoring the robust scent of fruit as it billows out the narrow lid. It is also true that Granny really only intended to take a sip, in case the liquid was too hot or anything but delicious. But the fact of the matter is, the cider is neither of those things. And so a sip turns to a mouthful, and a mouthful to a gulp, and then from a gulp Granny simply throws caution to the wind and goes for a straight, sorority tier chug.

Signs of age continue to pour off her body as the sometimes pulpy liquid travels down her throat. Wrinkles diminish further until she resembles a woman half her original age, with most of her creases being around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. Well, and her breasts too, the result of years of playing back and forth with gravity.

Her legs and hips, marks of Apple family pride, fill in with muscle and healthy, eye-catching fat, as though promising a lifetime of strength. Well, that and implying that even a woman of her age is primed and ready to bear children to anyone who even catches a glimpse of her. The cascade of hair begins to stretch downwards again before taking on a life of its own; twisting, turning, reshaping itself into a pair of proper pigtails, braided all the way down, with a second, shorter pair resting in front of her slender shoulders, reaching down to about mid-chest. A chest that, as Granny’s slowly swelling lips begin to fellate the neck of the bottle, quivers and shakes.

If her spreading hips and thighs were a slight to see, then the cook’s creeping chest is surely a marvel of the world. While they had already been of a fair size, her slightly perkier breasts are now straining the fabric of her shirt to the limit. But still Granny doesn’t stop drinking, and so still they billow out more. Wider than her shoulders. Out past her arms. Sinking lower, wider, threatening to even overcome the not-quite-old-at-all woman’s navel until finally, finally, the last of the liquid passes Granny’s lips.

Granny groans, the once aged croak now a deep, seductive sound that even rings in her own ears, causing her thighs to clench together in response. Her eyes, heavily laden with the same green-apple color as her lips and nails, flutter open, inspecting the now empty bottle. Correction, mostly empty.

With a bit of skillful tongue work, the now-younger woman is able to get at the last few dribbles of fluid inside the bottle. Her top shifts into a single snug piece of fabric, held together only by the simple knot in the middle of her chest. It does little to hide her areola from the world, but then again, the pink flesh is hardly something that ought to be hidden.

Smacking her lips, Granny moans and leans back on the counter. “Oh, I really shouldn’t have drunk that,” she purrs, kicking her heels back and forth. “Now I just want another.” The now forty-looking but actually fifty-and-change year old woman glances over at the seven remaining bottles. Her lip curls into a smile as imagines how well this sample size is going to go over when she starts selling it tomorrow.

===

“-and so, if we have a scarecrow near the coop that has some, ahem, manly scents, it should discourage the fox further,” Fluttershy explains to Big Mac. The young man looks at the straw man on the ground beside her, and then up to the quiet girl. With a shrug of his shoulders, he sheds his shirt and tosses it to her.

“Something like that?”

Fluttershy squeals as she catches the sweaty rag, bobbing her head and trying not to take in the thick muscled frame in front of her. “Y-Yes, exactly like that. Wow, you really are just like a bear.”

“Eeyup,” Mac says with a chuckle and a grin before going over to his sister to help her with the last of the chicken wire.

“I’ve, never taken care of a bear before,” the quiet girl mumbles under her breath, holding the shirt to her face and taking a deep whiff, watching as the redhead leaves. “But, I think I might really want to…”

“We’re back!” Apple Bloom crows, snapping Fluttershy out of her daze as the young girl bolts towards the coop.

“Welcome back,” Applejack says with a grin and a tip of her hat. “Y’all have a good time?”

“Sure did,” the youngest Apple nods. “I got to catch up with the other Crusaders, and, well, you know how Granny gets in the kitchen.”

“That’s the truth,” Mac chimes in, the older brother and youngest sister laughing together as Applejack frowns.

“Cooking? Why’d she have to go out to school to do all that?”

Apple Bloom rolls her eyes and smiles. “Uh, because it’s about time for a new batch of cider to come out?”

Applejack nods, still frowning as her stomach seems to turn in on itself. That was a proactive measure, it seems, as Granny Smith takes that very moment to come around the corner, in all her de-aged glory.

“Yoohoo, Jackie!” the grandmother of three calls out. “I have got to ask you about some of those apples you picked from the orchard. They were divine!”

Fluttershy bites her lip, casting her eyes back and forth between the older woman and her young granddaughter. Gulping, she shuffles over to her friend and whispers, “Applejack, I think Granny might have found the apples.”

Scowling, the blonde pulls her hat down over her eyes. “I reckon… this is gonna be a right mess to have to clean up.” Clearing her throat, she gives her siblings a smile and begins giving orders, “AB, see if you can’t get your brother’s shirt on that scarecrow. Mac, with the truck back, why don’t you head into town and pick us up some nails, so we can finish securing the wire. I’ll go see what Granny wants.”

The three Apples separate, Big Mac moving towards the front of the house as AJ heads towards Granny. Fluttershy watches the scene for a moment before she feels a tugging at her hands. Glancing down, and then around her breasts, she spots Apple Bloom. Frowning.

“’Scuse me, could you let go of my brother’s shirt?”

“Hm? Oh!” the quiet girl squeaks, quickly releasing her grip on the button-down shirt. Apple Bloom gives her a suspicious stare before going to dress the scarecrow.

With a small, anxious laugh, Fluttershy picks up one of the chickens, stroking it gently as AJ storms up to the younger Granny Smith.. Tickling the now-willing bird under the beak, Shy smiles down at her, lending her a little bit more magic as she coos, “Oh, you’re such a good girl, aren’t you? Yes you are. You’re going to lay lots of eggs for AJ and her family, aren’t you?”

And, amidst all of the day’s hiccups, Fluttershy secretly hopes that the eggs maybe might change Applejack’s perspective on her brother. Or, just Big Mac himself. Either would be fine. Both would be great. But from the looks of things, life is about to take another interesting turn. For both the Apples, and the students back at CHS.