The Crunchwrap Supreme

In her entire however-many-years she’d been alive, Rarity the unicorn had never been to Taco Bell. 

Primarily, because such a thing didn’t exist in Equestria, the land of magical horsies, but also because Rarity the unicorn did not indulge in fast food, thank you very much. She was a lady of refined taste and impeccable physique, and she wasn’t one to commit a crime against Horse-God-See-Celestia and Fabulosity by subjecting her body to such trash. 

But there she was at a Taco Bell in the human world. 

“Try it.”

Twilight Sparkle stared at her from the other side of the table, a lopsided smile adorning her face. 

“Try it, you say” Rarity repeated, her nose scrunched up in distaste. 

It being… this strange cheesy monstrosity the alicorn-turned-human had put before her. It looked obscene, really. That’s the word for it. An obscene over-indulgence. 

“What is this called again?”

“A crunchwrap supreme!”

Stars, the name was just as bad as the actual thing. She looked around the place, her eyes darting from cheesy tortilla to next. It was all awful. All of it. The bizarre choice in colors, like a child ingested crayons and this was the purple and red result. 

Stars. 

“Out of all the fast food places you could have taken me to, why this one?” Rarity asked, not bothering to hide her contempt. “I thought you hated quesadillas!”

Twilight waved her off. “That was a phase. I was going through stuff.”

“Going through stuff? Darling, you said they scared yo—”

“Going through stuff!” Twilight repeated forcefully before pushing the plate forward. “Come on, try it. I was told by the girls that Taco Bell was the defining fast-food place of their culture.”

“Because of the over-indulgence?”

“Yes, but primarily because it’s an attempt at reproducing another culture’s food gone to the extreme, where it becomes unrecognizable and might as well not be associated with the original culture at all whatsoever.”

Rarity blinked, thrown off. “My, that sounds extreme. The girls said that?”

Twilight shook her head. “Oh no. The lady at the taco truck Rainbow Dash took me to did.” For the final time, she inched the plate forward. “Come on.”

The crunchwrap sat there, taunting her with its evil eyes which it did not have, but if it had them, they would be evil and somehow cheesy. 

She didn’t want to eat it. She didn’t. Her entire body felt repulsed by it, wanting for her to delay and delay the inevitable, to put it off. Like, for example, someone writing nonsense for words and words in a desperate attempt to reach the thousand word minimum said person foolishly promised to deliver. 

Rarity had not foolishly promised she’d write a thousand words of a completely silly idea, but rest assured, this was the equivalent of if she had done that.

“Rarity, you’re just making it worse for yourself,” Twilight pointed out. 

“What if I just have half?” Rarity asked, desperate. A compromise. Please. 

“Half? The deal was you’d eat all of it if you lost! And you agreed to it!”

“Twilight, we’ve all made mistakes. There’s no need to punish me for it.”

Twilight smirked. “You shouldn’t have bet, then.”

“Half,” Rarity pleaded. “Let me just eat half!”

Twilight hummed for a moment, pondering and pondering and pondering this cheesy circular thing until finally, she said: “Fine.”

With but a single word, Twilight Sparkle pulled Rarity back from death’s grasp. 

“Really? And you won’t be cross?”

Twilight giggled. “I won’t be cross,” she said, ever as benevolent as the hypothetical people who’d allow the hypothetical author to do less than a thousand words. If this were Christmas, it would truly be a Christmas miracle. 

Not that Rarity knew what that was because Equestria didn’t have Christmas, but details, details. 

Rarity perked up, pleased by this turn of events. “Wonderful! Half, I can do.”

She just had to stomach half, and then she could run to the bathroom and expunge it from her body. 

She carefully picked it up, breathed in, and then took a bite. 

Twilight watched, mesmerized, and then concerned as before her very eyes, Rarity began to cry. Actual, honest-to-goodness tears formed beneath the unicorn-turned-human’s eyes as she slowly chewed and chewed. 

“Rarity?” Twilight asked, thrown off. “Are you okay? Was it really that bad?”

Rarity didn’t reply. Not because she didn’t want to or because she was crying, but because her mouth was full and ladies did not speak with their mouths full. 

“Are you crying because you hated it?” Twilight ventured. 

And now, Rarity had finished chewing, but still, she could not reply. She could not, and could never reply to Twilight, because it would mean contending with a very terrible thing. A terrible fact that she’d always suspected about fast food in general, but was so afraid of discovering that she’d just resorted to not trying it at all. 

But now she had. 

Now she had, and anger filled her to her very core at the dawning realization that fast-food… that this horribly disgusting-looking crunchwrap supreme was bloody delicious. 

And she wanted five more.