Tony Lyckholm

Tattooer. 38.

[tonylyckholm]

tw: drugs, violence

Basics

Full name: Anthony ‘Tony’ Lyckholm

Date of birth: May 5, 1984

Hometown: Sedona, Arizona

Gender: Cismale (he/him)

Religious views: Used to be a non-practicing Catholic but as he grew older said fuck organized religion altogether and is now agnostic. 

Sexual orientation: Heterosexual

Relationship status: Single, emotionally unavailable 

Occupation: Tattoo artist + owner of Infernal Affairs Tattoo

Neighborhood: Bighorn Hills 

Personal

Mother: Ingrid Lyckholm (alive)

Father: Henric Lyckholm (alive)

Siblings: None

Children: None

Pets: Suzie (German Shepherd), Abaddon (Ball Python)

Education: High school diploma

Financial status: Middle - though he is very very comfortable because he’s an excellent saver. 

Criminal history: 2 battery convictions 

Smokes: Yes

Drinks: Yes

Drugs: Yes (functional stoner) 

Mental/Physical ailments: Generalized anxiety disorder, social anxiety disorder. 

Personality 

Zodiac: Taurus

MBTI: INTJ-T / The Architect

Enneagram: The Investigator

Temperament: Melancholic  

Moral alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Positive: iron-willed, self-sufficient, trustworthy, loyal, perceptive, protective

Negative: aloof, harsh, reclusive, tempestuous, self-destructive, cynical

Neutral: secretive, evasive, observant, isolated, nervous, sarcastic

Introvert or extrovert: Introvert

Nervous ticks: Running hands through hair, rubbing back of neck, fidgeting hands, jaw clenching

Favorites

Book: Blood Meridian or the Evening Redness in the West by Cormac McCarthy

Movie: The Evil Dead

T.V. Show: Breaking Bad

Band/artist: Black Sabbath

Song: Into the Void by Black Sabbath 

Food: Apple crumble

Drink: Black coffee

Color: Navy blue

Season: Winter

Place: Sonoran desert 

Biography

His parents hadn’t quite known what to do with him. Perpetually wavering between intervening and leaving him to his own devices. Henric and Ingrid Lyckholm never feared, but they worried as most parents did. Anthony Lyckholm never said much. Not as a child, nor as an adult. That wasn’t to say he didn’t have anything to say—for he had quite a lot to say about many things—but he kept quiet. It was safer that way. 

Tony had a very mundane upbringing. Henric owned and operated a deli in Sedona while Ingrid worked as an interior designer. They had a nice, quaint home tucked away in a corner of Arizona. Not much happened in that corner. Tony was an only child and he loved it. He couldn’t imagine having a sibling and doing sibling-like things, such as sharing a room and toys and fighting over space intrusions; he treasured the solitude and being the sole receiver of his parents’ attention. He became very close to his parents; they were his best friends and his confidants and would be the only ones to fill that role for the rest of their lives.  

Things were stagnant for a long time, he remembered. Tony never took any interest in sports or academics or girls like the rest of his peers did. He could never fathom the concern they had for school functions and who was fucking whom on the football team. He was always the odd man out. Although he was intelligent, Tony couldn’t have cared less if he failed, or by some stroke of luck, passed his classes. And for this, he was always treated with a combination of curiosity, dislike, and fear. Tony kept to himself and took no shit. 

Then something happened that he would never ever forget. 

Life had just begun. 

Earlier that day, in the 6th grade, after school, Tony saw the most powerful image of brooding men dressed in all black with large cross necklaces and long, shaggy hair at a local comic-book slash drug store. He asked the owner who it was, to which he replied, “That, kid, is Black Sabbath.” Tony ran immediately to the nearest record store and asked the worker for a Black Sabbath record and walked home with Paranoid tucked tightly under his arm. He inhaled his dinner that night. Tony asked his parents if he could take their record player to his room just for tonight. They said yes. 

Blaring through the speakers the first chord of War Pigs/Luke’s Wall struck and he was gooseflesh all over. Tony shuddered. The roaring riffs grabbed and shook him. The thundering music, the pure magic that heavy metal was, was felt overwhelmingly in every cell of his body. He was fucking spellbound. The thread between reality and fantasy unraveled. From that day he would never be able to shake the intense and consuming feelings he’d experienced. The music spoke to him in a way he couldn’t articulate. And all he knew was that he needed more. 

His days were spent in solitude, listening to Black Sabbath, Motörhead, Iron Maiden, and Slayer on his Walkman. He swiped magazines from local bookstores and thrift stores and began putting up posters and reading interviews of his favorite musicians. He noticed there was one more thing these guys had in common besides heavy metal: tattoos. There were no shortages of monsters, winged creatures prepared for combat, naked pin-up girls, skulls, curse words, homages to other musicians, God and Satan, and serpents and roses nestled next to each other and the beautiful juxtaposition of it all. Though he thought he’d never feel something as powerful as his first Sabbath listen, Tony had now discovered tattoos. He began tattooing himself with sewing needles and India ink he had stolen from the local craft supplies store. They were rough and jailhouse-looking and he was thoroughly possessed. He wanted adventure, excitement, danger, indulgence, and everything. And he knew this would be his way out. 

At 16 Tony managed to convince a local tattoo artist to allow him the opportunity to shadow him, ultimately granting him an apprenticeship upon turning 18. He surprised the community of artists surrounding him, as well as himself, with how skilled and quickly he was able to pick up the art of tattooing; he knew he’d found his niche in life—his outlet by which he was able to draw his passions into existence. Henric and Ingrid had suggested art school, but Tony declined and showed no interest in further pursuing higher education after high school. His work and abilities proved promising and that he would be able to reach great heights in his career as a tattoo artist without the need for a degree.

Reaching his 11th year working at the same studio, he itched to get out of town—more than ever with two jail sentences under his belt for battery—and re-establish himself someplace new. He found out his girlfriend at the time was cheating on him and “a dude ended up running into my fist, like, 40 times” and a drunken brawl involving weapons. He was good enough to open his own studio but the competition was always tough and he didn’t have the confidence. It took quite a bit of pushing and shoving from his parents to gain the assurance to do so and before the 12th year hit, Tony had secured empty studio space in Providence Peak, Colorado. It was nothing fancy, but it was his and it was perfect.  

An esoteric morgue where the walls are bathed in the glow of blood-red lights, spaces filled with occult objects not for the faint of heart, tattoo supplies lined on surgical trays, and tattoo chairs that look an awful lot like electric chairs. You aren’t sure if you’re getting a live autopsy or tattooed as you’re taking a seat. This was Tony’s studio, Infernal Affairs Tattoo. His little slice of hell.  

He accepts walk-ins. If you dare. 

[tonylyckholm]

Status: open @providencepeakstarters​

Location: a little further down just on the outskirts of Bighorn Hills 

This was the first place he’d found following his move to Providence Peak. A little nook between the mountains and the water, away from the town and its lights, noise, and people. There were the occasional wanderers looking for a place to smoke or hookup, but he hadn’t minded so much as it was an unspoken rule out here to keep it down and mind your own fucking business. That, and at that point he would already be well on his way to a level of calm where he couldn’t get too upset.

Tony had been sitting on the hood of his truck, nursing the blunt between his fingers, listening to the low, palpitating flow of the tide. His mind had finally gone quiet after an entire day spent with a strained neck and a few drunk and unruly customers. Everybody and everything just needed to shut up for a minute. And things had been going nice and quiet — till now. Bright lights illuminated the otherwise nearly black of the night and trees, coupled with the sound of crunching gravel, and hands instinctively went up to cover his eyes. The sudden flashing momentarily pierced his temples. Cops rarely made it out here and there were no other colors he could make out save for white. 

“Turn off your fuckin’ headlights,” Tony bellowed out. “Fuckin’ hell.”

[tonylyckholm]

I HATE TO ADVOCATE DRUGS, ALCOHOL, VIOLENCE OR INSANITY TO ANYONE, BUT THEY’VE ALWAYS WORKED FOR ME

↳ a playlist for tony lyckholm

sabbra cadabra - black sabbath || damage case - motörhead || down on the street - the stooges || executioner’s tax (swing of the axe) - power trip || blue monday - new order || n.w.o. - ministry || dead head - godflesh || a dangerous meeting - mercyful fate || long way back from hell - danzig || shop lift - eyehategod || kool thing - sonic youth || sports - viagra boys || now i wanna sniff some glue - ramones  || marijuana - brujeria