I don’t actually know enough movies to answer this…
Despite my college roommates best efforts to show me the must see movies I haven’t seen that many of them cause of my restrictive upbringing
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Tyson thoughts:
He never EVER thought he’d get to live in luxury, buy expensive clothes, sunglasses, and jewelry. His dad is a working class hero. A good guy (?) who keeps his nose to the grindstone. College didn’t go well because it couldn’t hold his attention. Undiagnosed ADHD likely. When Dwight came in and flipped his life upside down overnight, it all happened so fast he didn’t have time to talk himself out of it, instead, he jumped in head first and played the part (also giving undx ADHD here too). Potential former theater kid (white, oddly shaped sunglasses and loud outfits, in addition to stepping into this role so well and so quickly giving ‘i highlighted and memorized all my lines last night’).
Anyway here’s some thoughts as I begin to explore Tyson from Tulsa King!!!
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Tyson Fury At No. 2? Recent Form Says No In 2026 Ranking Now
Oleksandr Usyk
Fabio Wardley
Moses Itauma
Agit Kabayel
Joseph Parker
Anthony Joshua
Frank Sanchez
Richard Torrez Jr.
Filip Hrgovic
Lawrence Okolie
Efe Ajagba
Tyson Fury
That placement reflects recent activity and in-ring sharpness. Fury’s past achievements remain significant. They do not secure a top-two position in 2026.
Fury’s win over Wladimir Klitschko came in 2015. His dominant performance…
Tyson Fury At No. 2? Recent Form Says No In 2026 Ranking Now
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From Exhibition to Execution: Mayweather’s Pro Comeback
Andreas HaleFeb 20, 2026, 05:55 PM ET
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Andreas Hale is a journalist covering combat sports for ESPN. Andreas reports on MMA, pugilism, and professional grappling. During his leisure hours, he enjoys gaming, is deeply passionate about music, and is a devoted fan of the White Sox and 49ers. He also serves as a presenter for Sirius XM’s Fight Nation. Before joining ESPN, Andreas was a lead…
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📱 @bayou.prince.ty — Instagram Profile
✨ Bio
Son of Tiana & Naveen
Maldonian charm • New Orleans heart
Soft magic • big feelings • bigger appetite
Dating Uma — the sea witch who stole my heart and my hoodie
“Kindness is my rebellion.”
📸 Highlight Reels
🍲 Family Kitchen — Tiana teaching him recipes, Naveen playing jazz on the counter, Tyson stirring gumbo with magic sparks floating above the pot.
🌊 Uma — dock dates, her stealing his jacket, him carrying her sword bag, the way he looks at her like she’s the whole ocean.
🎺 Maldonia — festivals, music, cousins, bright colors, his grandmother fussing over him.
🪄 Soft Magic — harmonic glows, emotion‑based spells, little lights that flicker when he’s thinking of Uma.
⚓ VK Crew — Uma roasting him, Gil calling him “Prince Charming 2.0,” Jay teaching him parkour (badly).
🍮 Sweet Tooth — beignets, café au lait, Tiana’s new dessert experiments he “tests” first.
📷 Typical Posts
1. “Prince of the People”
Tyson handing out beignets at the Snuggly Duckling, sleeves rolled up, smile soft.
Caption:
“Mom says food is love. She’s right.”
2. “Uma Stole My Hoodie Again”
Uma wearing his oversized green hoodie, glaring at the camera while Tyson grins behind her.
Caption:
“She says it’s ‘hers now.’ I don’t argue.”
Tagged: @tidebreaker.uma
3. “Magic Practice”
A photo of Tyson sitting cross‑legged on the dock, tiny glowing orbs floating around him.
Caption:
“Trying to stay calm. Thinking of her helps.”
4. “Maldonia Nights”
Tyson in traditional Maldonian attire at a festival, lanterns glowing behind him.
Caption:
“Home is color and music.”
5. “Facilier Family Dinner (Help)”
Tyson sitting stiffly at a table while Dr. Facilier smiles too widely and Uma kicks him under the table.
Caption:
“I survived. Barely.”
💬 Comment Section Energy
Uma: “You didn’t survive. You panicked.”
Tyson: “He had a shadow, Uma.”
Naveen: “Proud of you, son! Also, bring back my jacket.”
Tiana: “Tyson, stop giving away free beignets.”
Gil: “BRO YOU MET FACILIER AND LIVED.”
Evie: “Uma looks adorable in your hoodie.”
Jay: “Teach me that glowing magic thing.”
Ursula: “Next time, bring dessert.”
Tyson: “Yes ma’am.”
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What if the reason Tyson cries at night is because when we’re sleeping in our rooms and he can’t see us, he starts to worry if we’re actually here. Maybe that’s why he sits on the stairs yelling “Hello?? Hello????”
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List of names Tyson has been referred to as:
Enzo (his original name)
Tyson
Mike
Micheal
Son
Hambone
Tibo
Banjo
Burger
Chimney sweep
Fatso
Fatass
Big lad
Wee man
Pubic hair
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PJO (TV) S2E6 – Personal Highlights
- Polyphemus collecting voices!! It’s like an ultimate form of talking to yourself. Wonderfully unsettling.
- The textual link between the golden fleece and Pan!
- Secret IM call! I like how it shows Percy and Annabeth’s different perspectives on the story. I can see how Percy would portray Annabeth’s attitude about Luke in the book that way.
- The sheep acting lol. Annabeth’s sheep bleating was pretty good.
- Clarisse’s ability to self rescue is amazing.
- Fake golden fleece!! Amazing! I knew that fleece wasn’t shiny enough!
- Clarisse catching Percy (bridal style) like he weighed nothing. I love her so much.
- Awwwwwwwww Percy and Grover’s reunion hug 🥹🥹🥹
- Again, not treating Polyphemus like he was so dumb to be tricked by “nobody” after 2000 years.
- Grover’s face when he found the real golden fleece!
- “They (demigods) are no different from us. Monsters.”
- “You killed us.”
Dark Percy!! Final see his fatal flaw acting out!!! So excited!! - Tyson the greatest hero in this episode. And he kept being forced to killing his kind 💔Also the size difference between him and Polyphemus really made you think what are you making the child do??
- Percy and Tyson’s reunion hug 😭😭
- The bracelet bringing hope this time!! The writing of this season omg!! I knew we’ll see Rainbow!
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Truly, in this fandom, we see Poseidon do the bare minimum, in a dream, not even in person right before taking his baby brother away from him and his mother to make him work and create weapon for him, and we go: is Poseidon the best parent out of the Olympians??
And that’s without even mentioning the whole “my son” to Percy’s face in the same conversation.
And the saddest part is the answer to that question: Yeah, Poseidon is one of the better parents.
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send me ‘ tender touches ‘ and i’ll generate a number for my muse’s reaction to yours…
11. rubbing mine’s shoulders soothingly.
Carrie nearly jumped at the sudden touch from behind, having been sitting at the kitchen table, head in her hands. It was the anniversary of prom night. This time of year always hit hard. Brought up so many what ifs in her mind. If she had acted differently, what could she have done? At the same time, how could she had reacted any differently? How else would one react to a bucket of blood being poured on them. Even after so many years of torment, apparently one night in peace, to be a normal teen, had been too much to ask. It was like she could still feel it happening. The stickiness of the blood covering her head to toe, the fire of the burning school. Hell, even the wounds her mother inflicted throbbed.
Still, Tyson was always there for her this time of the year. Well, he also had her back any day of the year, but around this time especially. After a few shuddering breaths, Carrie finally faced him.
“Hey.” was all she was able to muster.
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hollowed honey ✶ tyson.
pairing: tyson / reader.
warnings: smut. size kink. vaginal sex.
notes: all characters in the pairings are adults. lowkey inspired by thisconcept of mine — he’d be the sweetest. sorry to everyone, but you are not getting anything out of this man unless he is absolutely certain you won’t be hurt in the process. it was initially supposed to be a 400-500 word blurb but i got carried away writing it.
read on ao3: leave a comment/kudos!
Somewhere between the first touch and the second, you remember that no concatenation of prelude, no diligent routine of foreplay, could ever have prepared you for how big Tyson is. There is something inescapably excessive about his dick: not merely in length, but in girth, the kind of overwhelming breadth that stretches you impossibly, even with your cunt slick and trembling from the orgasms you had coaxed yourself into as preparation. Even a fraction of him would have your thighs quivering, your stomach muscles contracting as though to carve space where none exists. The sensation is always too much, and not nearly enough, leaving you light-headed, body helpless. You remember how his arms would begin to shake, not from exertion, but from restraint. He was holding himself back.
Tyson always does.
[[MORE]]“Need to—” he gasps, pre-cum smeared tip finally grazing your swollen cunt, overwhelming him. “Need to go really, really slow, okay? I don’t wanna hurt you.”
He wants it to feel good. He wants you to feel good. The kind of good that does not wound you in the morning, that leaves you aching but hollow without him. The idea of overwhelming you, of taking what you are not ready to give, is incomprehensible to him. He refuses to be careless. Plunging himself into your slick cunt all at once? He couldn’t do that to you.
The lube is requisite. Without it, he would refuse entirely. Thick lacquer coats his length, spreads over your folds, easing the impossible, reminding you of the slow, intentional care he brings to every inch.
“I feel so empty,” you lament, clinging onto him, nails grappling for purchase at his back.
He feels his heart squeeze at the divulgence. “I know — I’m trying.”
Tyson does not manhandle you. It is an axiomatic precept, a lodestar of comportment he has adhered to since the inception of your first meeting, a law that ordains every articulatory motion of his body when oriented toward yours. Even now, sweat-slick with the clammy sheen of perspiration and quivering with need, you feel the weight of him as he eases you onto his cock, circumspect, a reverential caution as if your body were delicate Venetian glass, prone to splintering.
You try, of course. Your impatience burgeons in subtle microcosms: the tilt of your hips forward, a subtle press of your cunt against him, the way your breath stutters when he draws closer. Your body pleads before your mouth ever could. None of it alters him. Tyson remains adamantine,, as steady and immovable as if he were bracing against a tide only he can feel. He is not denying you. He is trying, with almost unbearable care, to make this something you can survive.
There is time — more than you think you can bear. The slow, almost liturgical preparation: his hand pauses to check your face, adjusting when your breath catches, the disorienting sense that the moment itself is stretching to contain him. Even slick and ready, you struggle to take him. The stretch is foreign, overwhelming, a reminder of your own limits.
“Sorry.” The word trembles out of him like a candle quivering in a draft he cannot see, and to his credit, he really does sound it. His face blooms so florid it seems almost to have stolen the color of the room, a heat that could scorch the air between you. “I—I think I need to stop.” I don’t think I can control myself, lingers, unsaid, a tendril wafting through the space like smoke caught in a slow eddy, fragrant with intent, a confession that flickers along his clenched jawline before dissolving entirely into the heat of the room.
Your lashline wells with tears before you can even command it, pricking hot and bright like tiny betrayals, and “No!” escapes you, a petulant, splintered exclamation that belongs to your nerves before your brain catches up. “Is it—because I’m not being patient enough? Because I promise, I’ll be—I’ll be so good,” the words fluttering, sticky with breath, faltering like butterflies caught in the tremor of the room, all of them lodged insistently between you, clamoring to be heard in the fevered air.
“Don’t—you can’t say it like that,” he breathes, despairingly. “I don’t know if I can… don’t know if I can keep going. You feel really good.”
And of course, this only makes your need flare brighter, more urgent. You press closer, words tumbling out, breath hitching: “I promise… I’ll be so good for you, Tyson.” Your fingers trace the slick heat between your thighs, parting your folds, offering him a path that trembles and clings with viscous need. “You’ve already got me stretched out… just need you to keep giving it to me. I can do it. Please, I need you to fuck me.”
Tyson inhales sharply, his answering breath stuttering, shivering through him in a way that betrays how unprepared he was for the raw demand in your voice. His cock pulses, an unthinking jolt, and then, carefully, he gives you another inch, jaw slack and eyelashes lazily fluttering. You shiver around him, every muscle taut, and the subtle, indefatigable way he moves leaves you faint, breathless, already unmoored while pleasure dots your insides.
It is only after minutes of easing himself in, a calloused thumbing at your clit to distract you from the stretch, that his cock finally settles fully inside you. Your dripping core clenches and pulses helplessly around him, your thighs shaking, stomach hollowed, breath broken. You whine, every inch of him filling you fully now. Your body begins to become more pliant, still needy, still trembling. Tyson stays there, equally as desperate but steady, letting you ride the ache, the desperate need of you, memorizing it all, holding you through it.
You don’t even realize you’re shaking until he cradles you closer, voice a little panicked, “Breathe! You need to breathe!”
You gasp out. “Yeah, you’re just… fuck, you’re so big.”
Every whine and moan that absconds you is mirrored by his own. He is learning you, letting you take what you need to take, making himself wait, letting the moment stretch like honey, thick and impossible to resist. Tyson shudders violently, hips pitching almost uncontrollably, the veins of his cock pulsing against velveteen walls engendering your eyes to roll to the back of your head. His thumb trembles against your clit and a low groan escapes him, swallowed quickly, then comes again, tapering off into a whine, more desperate, and you feel it in every inch of your cunt. He gasps, words slurring into one another, “I- A lot. ‘S a lot.” His voice is broken, uneven, trembling with a need that eclipses your own.
When he moves fully inside, hips rolling ever so slightly, your cunt blooms around him, needy and trembling, and the sensation makes your stomach coil tighter, every muscle aware of him, of how impossibly full you feel. You cry out, soft and broken, and he flinches, looking at you with a wide, earnest eye. “You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”
You frantically nod your assent. “Mhm, promise.”
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i love the way tyson was all:
“we need help from someone stonger” “someone wise” and you see grover looking out to the ocean
and then SALLY JACKSON comes on screen!!!!
like
I was lowkey expecting Poseiden to help save the day, but then this baddie came
and I was like HELL YEAH!!
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Percy+ hugs 🤍 [s2 version]
↳ PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS | 2.06“Nobody Gets the Fleece” / 2.08“The Fleece Works Its Magic Too Well”
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i think it’s touching how Tyson spent the whole season looking up to his big brother Percy going on a quest because he is a Hero. but we, as the watchers, keep seeing it’s Tyson himself who keeps saving Percy, becoming a hero for his hero.
Anyway, that part where Luke says his gang doesn’t call the monsters monsters for equality and Percy’s early prejudice on Tyson will always be on my mind. I checked the wikia and found Tyson granted a position in his dad army or something, but I hope the show will always build this monsters equality theme through and do make a chance for the demigod monsters at the end