Who the Hell is Queen Dopolopolis?

>Well it's day seven as hostage in the changeling hive.
>It was semi-easy enough to capture you after you blacked out at the bachelor party and you were apparently chosen due to the extremely high amount of [spoiler]LOVE[/spoiler] you radiated that night.
>The downside to being a happy drunk, if you could call it that.
>As far as being a hostage though, it was more like you stuck around since you had nowhere else to go being this far away from any pony civilization you were familiar with.
>Your holding cell did little to contain you as their goo was as easy for you to escape from as a jello mold and the cell's bars were as strong as plywood.
>Unfortunately for Queen Dopolopolis or whatever her name was, your friends were used to you getting completely fit shaced drunk and disappearing for days on end especially since you tended to come back with souvenirs.
>Viewing the daily life in the hive got boring fast and you took to entertaining yourself much to the dismay and discomfort of your captors.
>Wether it was your stone faced public masturbation wearing only your dress socks and tuxedo t-shirt or using the glowing green goo you find around the hive to paint obscene images on the faces and bodies of sleeping changelings, they all became wary of you as you walked by.
>The last couple days, you decided to prank the queen herself on several occasions.
>First there was the banana peel and whip cream covered floor of her bedroom.
>Later that day you walked around behind her naked and would spin your meat every time she spoke to one of her underlings and would suddenly stop the moment she would look back at you to see what was so distracting about your presence. Besides the nudity.
>That night as she lay beside the fireplace to go over her plots for ruling Canterlot, you took it upon yourself to give her shit for Christmas by shitting in her chimney.
>The smell of burning turds was only made worse by the amount of eggs you ate from the spawning grounds.
>Yesterday consisted solely of you throwing a saddle on her back unexpectedly and trying to mount her non sexually.
>Your record was 6 seconds before getting bucked off.
>She wanted so desperately to smite you but with amount of happiness you were generating at their expense it was better for her to allow her subjects to feed off your lesser emotions.
>Today though, you've been well behaved.
>Too well behaved for her comfort it would seem as she constantly returns to your cell to check on you, only to find you laying peacefully on the ground with nary a hand down your pants.
>As night falls upon the hive you get yourself up and ready for tonight's prank.
>Traversing through the lesser used tunnels you've noted during your stay, you arrive upon the royal bedchamber entrance hall.
>A single guard stands at the ready in front if the door but is silently dispatched when you slide a paper bag full of dookie underneath him and he stops to take a whiff of it.
>Leaning his unconscious form against an adjacent wall to give him the appearance of being lazy rather than comatose, you make your way into the bedroom with hardly a sound.
>Sneaking up to the side of the bed, you note the sleeping queens gentle smile as she dreams of enslaving pony kind or maybe getting the D.
>Gently you slide the covers off her form and despite a shiver or two from the loss of warmth she makes no further indications of possibly waking up.
>Now comes the tricky part.
>You pull an exceptionally long strand of yarn out of your pocket and unravel it to ensure it's knot free before getting to work.
>Sometime later the queen stirs from her slumber and noting the lack of blanket covering her she moves to get up.
>As soon as she does however, she sees your face rise from over the horizon of the foot of the bed with mad mans smile and eyes sparkling with mischief.
>"What are y-"
>She's cut off when you yank upon your end of the yarn, setting off a complex system of loops and knots being tightened around her body and through almost every hole you could feed the thread through.
>By the time it's all said and done, she's hanging off her bed posts  with her forehooves tied against her body and her legs pulled into an odd bipedal standing position beneath her.
>She would question your intentions if not for the muzzle now keeping her mouth shut and horn restrained from using magic.
>Reaching under her bed, you pull out an easel and canvas and set it up in a position you deem perfect for painting this picture.
>Everything from fear to anger and even curiosity play across her features as you sit and paint with a satisfied smirk.
>The longer she watches you paint her, the more she feels you enjoy yourself and as you gaze upon her form she can taste the small hints of love sprinkled atop your happiness.
>She gives in and allows you to continue painting since she has no other option really while thinking to herself that it might not be so bad to be loved for who she is rather than who she is pretending to be.
>All the while you think to yourself, "God I love painting."
>Today was a good day.