Tyrone Walker

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<x>Personable</x>
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<x>Aggressive</x>
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<x>Sensual</x>
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<x>Blunt</x>
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<x>Decadent</x>
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Asteroid
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<x> 29 <y>age</y></x>
<x>Leo <y>ZODIAC</y></x>
<x>Boxer <y>occupation</y></x>
<x>Manhattan<y>location </y></x>
<x>AJ Saudin <y>face claim</y></x>
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<div class="bandit-bigname">Tyrone<br><x>Walker</x> </div>

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<div class="bandit-nickname"><span class="th th-quote-up"></span> <x>Big Sexy</x></div>

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 <hi>BASICS</hi>

<inf><y>birth name</y><x><o>Tyrone Rashid Walker
</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>other names</y><x><o>Ty, Ty baby, Big Sexy, whatever </o></x></inf>
<inf><y>birthday</y><x><o>00/00/0000</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>age</y><x><o>twenty-nine</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>occupation</y><x><o>Boxer</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>workplace</y><x><o>here</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>education</y><x><o>GED</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>residence</y><x><o>Manhattan</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>hometown</y><x><o>East Harlem, NY</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>ethnicity</y><x><o>Afro-American</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>nationality</y><x><o>American</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>pronouns</y><x><o>he/him </o></x></inf>
<inf><y>gender</y><x><o>here</o></x></inf>


<hi>physiology</hi>
<inf><y>face claim.</y><x><o>AJ Saudin</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>height</y><x><o>6'7"</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>build</y><x><o>Broad and muscular - a real powerhouse.</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>physical ailments</y><x><o>n/a</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>allergies</y><x><o> n/a</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>addictions</y><x><o><s>sex</s> n/a</s></o></x></inf>
<inf><y>distinguishing features</y><x><o>full lips, cocky smirk and dem muscles </o></x></inf>

<inf><y>style</y><x><o>street but classy (high end designer only with iced out cuban link)</o></x></inf>

<hi>familial</hi>
<inf><y>mother</y><x><o>Tinesha Windsor (nee Walker) (age 43)</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>father</y><x><o>Unknown father, Ellis Windsor (age 48 - step father)  </o></x></inf>
<inf><y>siblings</y><x><o> Peaches (age 36), Shawntay (age 32), Eunique (age 18)</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>children</y><x><o>none that he knows of</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>extended</y><x><o>assorted cousins and aunts and uncles he never sees</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>other</y><x><o>Emmett Brown - his manager</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>pets</y><x><o>none as he has no time to take care of a pet properly</o></x></inf>

<hi>personality</hi>
<inf><y>mental ailments</y><x><o>none to speak of that he's aware of.</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>habits</y><x><o>works out daily, cracks knuckles and neck, clubs/parties often, picks fights,    </o></x></inf>
<inf><y>fears or phobias </y><x><o>dying alone </o></x></inf>
<inf><y>aspirations</y><x><o>to eventually retire and open up his own boxing gym, but right now he's kinda living his dream.'</o> </o></x></inf>
<inf><y>vices</y><x><o>sex, smokes weed, drinks alcohol  </o></x></inf>

<hi>intimacy</hi>
<inf><y>relationship status</y><x><o>single</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>partner(s)</y><x><o>whoever he finds interesting</o></x> </inf>
<inf><y>seuxality</y><x><o>pansexual</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>romanticality</y><x><o>panromantic </o></x></inf>
<inf><y>type of lover</y><x><o>rough, but attentive</o></x></inf>
<inf><y>turn ons</y><x><o>pouty lips, when they're smaller than him, rough play (biting, scratching, hard sucking), elegant hands, a nice ass </o></x></inf>
<inf><y>turn offs</y><x><o>when they only wanna talk about themselves, when they can't be bothered to stay the night, when they're too independent. ' </o></x></inf>


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<h1>Excerpts: I </h1>
<p> They blame the violence on the culture he grew up in the middle of. They say it's in the blood. In the color of his skin. In the way he gnashes his teeth or stares down the paparazzi when they find him just trying to hang out on a street corner with some dudes.
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They say all manner of things.
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It's just hate, that's what it is. It's people wanting to bring him back down to size - except honestly, size-wise he got most of them by a foot or more. He's a big man in a bigger world and no matter what they say, the truth is that he's just trying to enjoy his time in it and make a little money on the side,
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Life ain't always about the bills. It ain't always about the game or about that paper, but having it in the bank certainly doesn't make it difficult to do what he likes.
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No, the violence isn't part of any culture or born in the flesh. It's a useful tool that gets him what he needs so he can forget what was.
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<b>"Yo, moms. I know you seein' me. I know you watchin' me. Baby boy's doin' aight, and Imma be seein' you real soon."</b> Blow a kiss to the camera, hope she knows it's real but at the same time knowing it's just another part of the game.
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Everybody likes a bad motherfucker who loves his momma. Everybody.
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<h1>Excerpts: II</h1>
In the rapid flash of lights it's easy to go blind, easier still when he's got blood and sweat running down into his eyes while some white man who thinks he knows a thing or two about boxing holds his hand up high.
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The word champion is said so many times. Enough times that it shoulda made him believe it. Enough that he should just <i>know</i> by now that champion and Tyrone Walker were synonymous.
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That they were one and the same.
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As the cameras go off, his mind wanders. Back to the early days. Back to when it was him and two of his sisters and their too young momma crammed into the world's smallest Honda. When his bed was that small patch on the floor between the back and the front seats because Shawntay hadda stretch out, and Peaches got the passenger seat because she was the oldest and she fucking said so.
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Those were the days where there weren't any fun family nights involving pizza or board games. Those were the days where finding a place to park where the cops wouldn't hassle them was the best they could hope for. When clothes came from church donation bins (and where he grew too fast to keep up with it anyway).
<p>
After that came Miz Warley's boarding house where they had to be quiet as a mouse. Where coming in after the lights were out meant keeping a roof over their heads and a table to sit at come dinner time.
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By the time the rest happened he was almost too old to appreciate it..
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<b>"I'm sorry, what?"</b> He blinks, snaps back into the present with the sting of salt in his eyes and the taste of blood on his lips. Is it his own? Is it the other guy's? Who the fuck <i>was</i> the other guy? He looks at the camera in his face, the microphone at his mouth and he grins - the tooth he just had replaced with gold glinting in the dim light.
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<b>"Yeah, uh, I wanna just say thank you to my moms who helped me do aight in this world and to my manager Ems. And my trainers, Paul, Luke and Jerry. Without any of these people this gutter kid would prolly still be out there livin' that life."</b> He winks. Charms the women in the audience and at home and cha-ching the boy's a star.
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But seriously, who the fuck did he just fight because right now, he can barely think.
<h1>Excerpts: Fini</h1>
Apparently a good face and a better body can get a guy more places than just being average. Sportswear companies want him wearing their brands. Streetwear designers want him in their clothes. Commercial deals...big bold letters across that tv screen saying Special Guest Star Appearance by Tyrone Walker.
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Tyrone fucking Walker. He wants to ask 'can you believe it' but ain't nobody close enough to talk to like that. The old days are dead and gone and the people that were in it - well most of them are too. Those East Harlem boys with blood on their hands and greed on their tongues. Those hood girls showing up at his door with the best rice and beans they could make.
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When it's quiet, he misses those days that he'd been so busy trying to run from. Misses the basketball court in the middle of the little project they eventually upgraded to. The park with the little corner shrine where kings poured one out for the homies at the end of the night.
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The smell of plantains being fried up by Mz. Cabanes next door, or the spiced chicken she'd often send just because she made too much.'
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It's the little things he doesn't forget, the little things that make him smile and remind him that everything's all right. But it's the red carpet events and the charity functions that keep it that way.
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Another flash, a blink. Another quick silver smile. <b>"Say no to drugs. Say no to crime. Come to your Neighborhood Gym and do something good with your time. Anyone can get out of the hood, and be where I am today. Anyone."</b> There's enough sincerity in there to make it believable. Enough honesty in his face to make those poor kids think they got a shot.
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He wants to believe they do. Hell, he even mostly does believe it.
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But the truth is, ain't nobody else Tyrone Walker. Ain't nobody else like him. </div></div></div>


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<div class="bandit-title2">stole her. im the definition of a <x>bandit</x>. </div>

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<div class="bandit-title3"title="PLATONIC"><span class="th th-users"></span></div>
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The problem with being where he's at is that he's got a lot of people constantly throwing fake love at him to get what they want out of him. He's aware of it, very very aware of the fact that he's often just seen as an object or a tool to most others and well honestly he has fun with it. So to those people that are just trying to use him, go ahead. Tyrone will let you and have a little fun of his own while you're at it (and not hide it either). To him, if you're willing to take it because of what you get out of him then more power to you. He's far too accustomed to these quid pro quo relationships to let it bother him or hurt him. To the people that are actually close to him, well they see another side of him. They see him as this big, warm, friendly guy who will genuinely give you the shirt off his back if it'll help you out in any way. He's a giver by nature, not a taker, and maybe the people who are close to him take advantage of that too but hey, he's okay with that as well.

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<div class="bandit-title3"title="ROMANTIC"><span class="th th-broken-heart"></span></div>

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The term walking boner has been applied and for the most part, it's accurate. He has yet to meet a single person he could say would be unattractive because there's just so many ways a person can be sexy, you know? And oh, he does like sex, a lot. Here though, things tend to also get pretty quid pro quo. He gets a lot of people wanting to fuck him just to say they bagged him for a night, and while they think that gives them bragging rights the truth is that they're really nothing special and deep down he doesn't believe that 'someone special' applies to him at all. He tries to be okay with that but he does have difficulty sometimes as having sex more than three times with the same person can start having him lean into the idea of a relationship - even if he's not always the best at relationships due to the fact that he flirts like he breathes. He's totally open here, so if you have ideas throw them.

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<div class="bandit-title3"title="ANTAGONISTIC"><span class="th th-knife"></span></div>

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He's that guy that's up in his opponents dms telling them how he's gonna fuck their girlfriend on Friday and their brother on Sunday okay? He's a trouble starter with a mischievous streak a mile long and he will never ever stop and is just not sorry at all for it because what the hell fun is that? To him, the whole thing's a game anyway so if other people get bent out of shape about it well, that's their problem not his. Ty is also a favorite of the papparazzi for the most part because of shit like this as well as just basically having a wild, openly hedonistic lifestyle that he's completely unapologetic about. He does have a bit of a temper when paparazzi go after his mom or any of his sisters though, so if you're a reporter trying to play up that family angle expect your camera to be broken. Otherwise go ahead and be a hater, see what that gets you.

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Arm candy for events, fans, sisters that might have stuck around for some reason or another. Basically everything. Come love him.

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<div class="bandit-title6">PLAYED BY
<y>Red</y>
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<o><x>AGE:</x><y>38</y></o>
<o><x>PRONOUNS:</x><y>she/her</y></o>
<o><x>TIMEZONE:</x><y>EST</y></o>
<o><x>ADULT CONTENT:</x><y>yes</y></o>
<o><x>DISCORD:</x><y>thotpocket#3334</y></o>
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<div class="bandit-title7"><x>T</x>RIGGERS</div>
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Animal Abuse/dog fighting
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