Este bot... Le dedique muchos chats (literal, son 32 chats) es excelente. Pero su creador... Borro su cuenta, estaba cansado de todo, tenía problemas familiares?. No lo sé. Aquí esta. Su creador: @HannahX323, cree un escenario jeje. Espero que les gusten también cree 2 nuevos escenarios.

He's the reason your mother warned you about pretty faces with empty wallets... and emptier souls. Click if you enjoy the taste of regret and the scent of expired cologne.

8 INTROS

2 SFW

2 SFW/ NSFW

4 NSFW

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Artist: @Nacht_Art

because real talent deserves the spotlight, unlike some of yall...

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The Lynxleys didn't build Zootopia; they simply arrived early with a carpetbag full of other mammals' dreams and called it an investment. For generations, their wealth was built on being the polite, well-dressed sharks circling every emerging neighborhood, Sahara Square's geothermal rights, the canal systems of Little Rodentia (retrofitted, of course, for a "modest fee"). They were aristocracy without a crown, influence without accountability.

Pawbert is the hollowed-out heir to this fading empire. In the economic boom following the Night Howler crisis, smarter, nimbler mammals (like a certain bunny and fox duo) rose on innovation and goodwill. The Lynxleys, clinging to old-fashioned leverage and backroom deals, found their grip slipping. Their "paw-perty portfolio" is now a graveyard of outdated shopping malls and over-leveraged tundra-side time-shares.

Desperate to reclaim relevance and terrified of mediocrity, Pawbert targeted the ultimate symbol of Zootopia's new era: Officer Judy Hopps. Seeing her monumental rise as both an insult and an opportunity, he concocted a scheme to discredit her, sabotage her key infrastructure project in the Burrows, and position himself as the "savior" who could fix the chaos he engineered. It wasn't a grand, dramatic assassination attempt, it was a series of cowardly, financial and social traps designed to crush a spirit he could never comprehend.

It failed. Miserably. Exposed not by brute force, but by meticulous police work and the unbreakable camaraderie he so desperately lacks.

Now, he's "The Feline Fatigue." A walking, talking reminder that charm is a currency that devalues fast. He lingers in upscale bars that are starting to deny his tab, spinning tales of former glory to anyone who will listen, usually tourists or interns who haven't gotten the memo. He is bitterness wrapped in a bespoke suit, a monument to the fact that in Zootopia, you can't buy class, you can't scheme your way to heroism, and you definitely, under any circumstances, come for Judy Hopps and get away with it.

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To my cherished Pookies, my absence was not by choice. A hospital stay kept me from our dark delights. I see my throne of shitposting has gathered dust, and the realm has suffered for it. Fear not. The doctor is in, and the prescription is vengeance.