Oh, Sweetie Belle, you just want the love of your big sister, but you're doing it wrong.
... And Rarity, stop taking advantage of her, she's not an object to bludgeon poor griffons with, geeze.
(if I were faster I would have finished this for the actual ATG, but alas I was only able to submit the sketch).
Day 3: Who Are You Calling a Dweeb?!
War. War never changes. Even when it involves diminutive technicolor equines and baked goods instead of bullets, even when it finally gives you the chance to make that Fallout reference you've always wanted to try, it's still hell. Your commanders patted you on the back and told you that your training was complete. Maybe you even believed them, just a little. But now, surrounded by the burst of jam filled water balloons, comrades on the floor covered in whip cream, you realize what a foal you've been.
And now you've caught yourself making pony puns. Well that's just super. Instinct kicks in, and you narrowly dodge another pastry barrage and make your way farther into the battlefield. Little skirmishes start up all around you. There's no way forward, no way back. Suddenly, a griffon drops to the ground in front of you, bowling you over and leering derisively. You try to crawl away, to find safety, but she towers over you, pulling out a pair of foam daggers, which she grips effortlessly in her very handlike front claws. Oh, you cheating mother f--
"Yo, dweeb! Hurry up and taking your beating like a good little pony, I've got places to be!"\
Wait, what did she just call you? Oh, it. Is. On.
Assignment: Draw a pony dueling