HARROW

[0kaey]

[halffacedwhiteboy]

It’s good he has you.

[halffacedwhiteboy]

Favorite Costumes: Richard Harrow

[violet-owl]

Richard Harrow 3x03 // 4x06

[violaobanion]

4.12 Farewell Daddy Blues // 5.06 Devil You Know

[so-i-was-lost]

“…and I can’t recall who I was before”

[morethanagun-blog]

A very descriptive and detailed profile of your muse. Repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. If you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own! When you’re done, tag 15 other people to do the same!

tagged by stolen from: @silverheartsilverskin​

—————————————————————————-

NAME: Richard Harrow AGE: Mid-twenties SPECIES: human GENDER: Male ORIENTATION: Heterosexual PROFESSION: soldier, veteran, bodyguard, bootlegger, hitman, babysitter

—————————————————————————- { PHYSICAL ASPECTS } BODY TYPE: Relatively tall, slender, even a little lanky. Reasonably well-built, though he lacks the tone and definition of a dedicated athlete. HAIR: dark brown. EYES:  hazel-green SKIN: light/pale HEIGHT: 6′ WEIGHT: around 165 lbs. —————————————————————————- { FAMILY } FAMILY: (eventually/verse-dependant) wife Julia Sagorsky, adopted son Tommy Darmody SIBLINGS: Twin sister, Emma Harrow PARENTS: Unnamed, both deceased ANY PETS?: yes [  ] || no [ x ]   —————————————————————————- { SKILLS } Physical Prowess: 10/10 with firearms, 6.5/10 otherwise Speed: 10/10 with firearms, 7/10 otherwise Magic: 0/10. —————————————————————————- { LIKES } COLOURS: muted greens and browns, white. SMELLS: baking bread, crisp morning air, freshly-chopped wood. FOOD: anything home-cooked. FRUITS: gooseberries, apples. DRINKS: cider. milk. ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES? yes [ ✓ ], rarely || no [ ] 
favorites: apple cider

—————————————————————————- { OTHER DETAILS } SMOKES? yes [ ] || no [ x ] || Occasionally [ x ] -- used to, before his injury DRUGS?: yes [] || no [ x ] || Occasionally[ x ] DRIVER LICENSE?: yes [ x ] || no [ x ] EVER BEEN ARRESTED? no [ ] || yes [ ] || almost/detained [ x ] —————————————————————————- DONE! Now tag other 15 people [ or more/less if you want ] to do it!

@unatonement​ ; @boozelegger​ ; @kingcarnation ; anyone else!

[rightdowntothelastbullet]

[tgreywolfe]

Buster, Natalie, and son.

Look at their hands.

[halffacedwhiteboy]

Who are you? A soldier. 

[morethanagun-blog]

boozelegger.

Mickey didn’t APPRECIATE this, he could control his own business, his own crew and warehouse, he didn’t need Jimmy’s dog snooping around with threats so willingly tossed before him.  The drawn weapon hadn’t been a pleasing sight neither, but it clearly did as intended.  Mickey was being obedient.  The erratic beat of his heart, having deafened him as the drum pounded mercilessly within his skull, begins to settle as his wide eyed stare follows the gun as its abandoned beneath his coat, and Mickey allows a shaken sigh to breeze through parted lips. 

There’s nothing remotely amusing about his attempt at humour, it has him stand in cautious silence.  Steps back are taken to avoid Harrow as he passes, fingers rub over one another as he watches him inspect the crates ready for pick up;  fuck, he’s sure everything had been checked over thrice, he half expects him to note something he’d know to be far from Jimmy’s expectations. 

     “ Did he say what about? “     the weapon may have been abandoned, but Jimmy’s anger looms over him far heavier than a pistol to the temple,     “ We’re ready, as promised, you tell him everythin’s in order… “

Richard didn’t look amused, after that last comment.

“ He’s coming tomorrow. You tell him. ”

As far as Richard was concerned, everything looked in order. If he was being honest with himself, he wouldn’t have been able to tell much difference anyway. A quick look around the warehouse told him there were at least fifty crates of liquor, which would take at least four trucks. Jimmy’s extra trucks and men would make the loading faster, ideally getting everything going before Mickey or Nucky were any wiser to what was really going on.

“ Are you, mm... expecting trouble... on the road? ”

[morethanagun-blog]

"Who are you?"

“ Richard. ”

Among the bustle of the Chicago train station, this woman addressing him stood out. He removed his hat, holding it to his chest and giving a slight nod down to her. She was clearly a woman of station, well-dressed and of confident demeanor. A lady, through and through.

She was not the person he had been waiting for. He wondered now if that person was coming at all.

“ Mm. Richard Harrow. Who might... you be? ”

[morethanagun-blog]

"Is that a gun? "

He thought he was alone out here in the woods.

The sound of her voice caught him unaware, and he snapped his attention left, thoughtlessly, catching her gaze with his one good eye, surprise painted across the remainder of his face. In the same moment, he muttered a halfhearted apology and scrambled for his mask.

The trenchgun in his lap fell to the earth in the awkward, embarassed commotion and he didn’t meet her gaze again until he had the mask secured to his face.

“ How long… have you been standing there? ”

[morethanagun-blog]

This is terrible.

“ It’s just business, ” he growled, but there was an obvious edge in his voice. He stepped carefully over the first of several bodies – thugs from up north, he’d guess, probably Masseria’s goons. Or goons of Masseria’s goons. Richard never bothered figuring out who worked for whom, exactly, out of New York. It got too complicated. Didn’t concern him.

Glancing back at Mickey, he looked tired. A little sad. These were young men. Kids, probably just trying to make it in the world. Just getting by. “ Right? ”

Leaning down, he rolled one of the bodies over, patted his pockets and pulled the gun out of his stiff hand. The smell of liquor, spilled from dozens of shattered bottles, filled the musty warehouse, and mixed with the acrid stench of spent gunpowder.

He squared his gaze with Doyle.  “ Mr. Thompson… is gonna wanna know about this. Mm. ”

Richard sure as hell wasn’t going to make that phone call.

[rcthstein]

“There was a man once. I DON’T RECALL HIS NAME. Frequented the billiard parlors downtown. He made a comfortable living wagering whether he could SWALLOW CERTAIN OBJECTS, billiard balls being a specialty. He’d pick a ball, take it down his gullet to here, and regurgitate it back up. And one evening, I decided to challenge this man to a wager. TEN THOUSAND in cash for him to do the trick with a billiard ball of my choosing. Now, he knew I’d seen him do this a dozen times, so I can only surmise that HE THOUGHT I WAS STUPID. We laid down the cash and I handed him the cue ball. He swallowed it down. It lodged in his throat, and HE CHOKED TO DEATH ON THE SPOT. What I knew and he didn’t was that the cue ball was one-sixteenth of an inch larger than the other balls. JUST TOO LARGE TO SWALLOW…The moral of this story is that if I’d CAUSE A STRANGER TO CHOKE TO DEATH FOR MY OWN AMUSEMENT, what do you think I’ll do to you…?”

[speakeasyanne]

[wordsnquotes]

It was good for a while, being empty. I didn’t hurt anymore. But as time went on, it was like I could hear myself from far away, begging for permission to come back.

Myra McEntire, Hourglass (via alleyspat)