Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wren "Hawk" Yarrow (Original Character)
A/N: Short scene from later in Simon + Wren's story. Takes place in Russia after the 141 finds out Graves has been smuggling weapons for Makarov. Graves takes Wren hostage and tortures her, Simon comes to her rescue, and Wren kills Graves. Simon and Wren have a heart-to-heart one night following, and suddenly they're confessing. Then they're kissing. Here's what happens next...
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Injuries/Scars, Military Themes (Call of Duty), Mentioned Torture (past, by Graves), Implied Abuse (past, by Graves), Mentions of Simon’s Past, Friends to Lovers, Canon-Typical Swearing, Implied NSFW
It was all a blur when he laid her down, large hands surprisingly gentle with her small, bruised frame. She saw him pause… hesitation? She draws her knees up to her chest and waits patiently, her own nerves beginning to get the better of her.
Shit, this was a mistake, I -
Her breath stops when she meets his gaze. He peers down at her, eyes dark and intense, a great strength suppressed between his taught shoulders. “Y’sure you want to do this, Wren?”
His voice is deep, gravelly. She’d be lying if it didn’t turn her on, but she knows the weight of what they’re about to do - she knows they can’t go back.
Maybe I don’t want to go back, a voice screams inside of her, threatening to burst out her chest as she nods slowly, replacing all the things she wishes she could say with a single, ‘yes.’
He hums in acknowledgement and crawls toward her, hands gingerly beginning to explore. He rubs at her sides, her shoulders, and commits each freckle and blemish on her face to memory. His finger draws a line up her jaw and comes to rest on her cheek, right underneath the gash Graves had just given her. She flinches at the contact, despite how gentle it is, as his finger ghosts over dried blood and traces the shape of the gash all the way from the bridge of her nose to the corner of her eye.
His gaze is cold, unwavering as he studies it. She feels him tense up ever so slightly, and for a moment she’s worried he’s gotten cold feet, but he growls lowly and shifts his deep brown eyes to meet hers.
“Fucker had it coming. If you hadn’t killed him, I would’ve.”
“Simon,” she sighs, bringing her hand up to rest over his on her cheek, tiny fingers drawing in comparison to his. He grunts and shakes his head. She’s still reeling over the loss of him - of Phillip - and he knows that. But that wouldn’t make him forgive what Graves did to her.
“I would’ve.”
“I know,” she murmurs, leaning her head into his hand. His eyes soften, though they keep their dark, almost hungry hue. Then he kisses the bridge of her nose, right where the scar began, and dips his head to her neck, softly mouthing at the exposed skin.
His lips on hers earlier that night had been one thing, but his lips on her body now… a heat she’d long forgotten about rose slowly in her core, her breathing hastening as his hands tug at the bottom of her shirt. Simon moves slowly, carefully, because he knows how fragile she is right now.
He wasn’t prepared for the mess of bruises that adorn her chest and ribs, deep purple tones splotched over skin that was far too perfect to be hurt.
His breath hitches when he sees them - all of them - staining the skin of his woman. He tenses again, repressing his anger. Wren recoils out of nervousness, tears welling in the corners of her eyes, and Simon panics, quickly extending his hand out to her. He doesn’t know how to handle this, how to treat her… and he’s scared.
“Graves did this to you?” Simon utters, frozen in place, a deep hatred slowly bubbling up and conflicting with his fear of scaring Wren off.
“Not all of it,” she replies, voice low and somber. “But, most, yeah.”
“Did he… touch you?” He tries with every fiber of his being to keep his voice restrained, but Simon had never been too good at dealing with anger. He could repress it, sure, but that was what always drove so many people away - he was cold, aloof, unapproachable. And when his feelings were now so strong, so overwhelming, all his instincts tell him to run away, to isolate and compartmentalize.
But he knows, maybe painfully so, that deep down he doesn’t want that. He wants her. So he stays, and he waits with tense shoulders and a clenched fist.
“No. Wouldn’t let him.” Her voice trails off as she tries desperately to read his gaze, cursing each blemish that greeted Simon so prominently. Simon breathes a noticeable sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing and his eyes softening. If she looks hard enough, she swears she can see the wetness of tears in the very corners of his eyes, mixing with the remainder of the eyeblack he just couldn’t wash off at this point. She sighs. “I know they’re not pretty. If you don’t-”
“Wren.”
Her eyes snap up to watch him wordlessly undress, his huge hands lingering on the hem of his shirt before slowly pulling it over his head. He stops about halfway through, his hand shaking as he holds the fabric just over his ribs and holds her gaze silently - watching, waiting, debating.
Then he hesitantly pulls the fabric completely up to reveal a long, dark gash across his right rib cage that had never quite healed right. The skin was patched with ridges and divots, dark red marks adorning the mottled skin.
“Hung,” he explains. “Mexican cartel. Corrupted an old captain of mine. I won’t burden you with the details.”
“Si…”
“All these burns,” he nods to each red splotch, so numerous and concentrated that there was hardly any untouched skin there, “Field burns. Or cigarette burns… from my father. This,” he opens up his right hand to reveal a long slit with what looked like scars from stitches, “was from digging out. When I was buried alive with ‘em. Used his jawbone and it fucked up my hand.”
She tries hard to hold back tears - Simon never spoke much about his past. She knew things, of course, but not when he was this vulnerable. But he holds her gaze, and it's intense.
“And everything else? Wren, I have been beaten and shot and stabbed and fucked - if you think I’m going to be bothered by some marks, then I’m a goddamn hypocrite and you’re out of your fucking mind.”
She quirks her lips up into a sad smile, reaching her hand out and beginning to trace each mark on his chest. “Si… ‘M sorry all that happened. I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t need to say anything, Little Bird,” he grunts, leaning back down and catching her lips once more. “Just have me.”
Silhouettes & Songbirds // a Modern Warfare Story - Chapter 1
Pairings (Eventual): Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wren "Hawk" Yarrow (Original Character)
Tags: Military Themes (Call of Duty), Canon-Typical Swearing, Implied Abuse (Past, by Graves)
A/N: I am so excited to FINALLY have this OUT!! Hope y'all love it <3 Looks like Tumblr also crushed my image quality so yay
Kate Laswell folded her hands neatly on the worn-out desk as she eyes the Captain. The scruffy man held his stance, blue eyes unwavering as he only nodded in encouragement. John Price was nothing if not persistent, and the CIA agent knew better than to question him.
“Fine, but I want Sergeant Yarrow on the team. And I’m not asking.” Her tone was low, but it pierced the room nonetheless with the compromise.
Price grunted softly. “You think she’s solid after being back in Urzikstan?”
“She will be if she has to be.” Laswell’s answer was resolute, and she held his gaze as she squared her shoulders. There was no room for negotiation here. Price was silent as he took a long drag from his cigar in contemplation.
“Thought that last assignment was a one-off for her. That PMC really fucked her up.”
Laswell sighed. “We need her, John. Are your men really any better?”
“…Everyone’s got their problems, Kate.” He didn’t elaborate, and she didn't ask. As much as she disliked the risk of a special operations endeavor with current international relations, she couldn’t deny that Price was right - Al Qatala needed handling. She sighed briefly and nodded in acknowledgment.
“What are you calling this task force?”
“141.”
—
A young woman sighed as she gazed out the window. It was a nice day in Rye, East Sussex… she wished she could enjoy it more than she did. For as long as she’d spent off the force, she never thought she’d get used to civilian life. Wren Yarrow was a creature of habit, of constant direction and purpose.
She was a creature of Shadow Company… of Phillip Graves.
There was no meaning in daily tasks that were surely obsolete. Sure, it was a routine, one she clung to at that, but it was nothing more. It was something she did mindlessly, day after day after fucking day.
She felt pathetic - it had been years since her discharge - she should’ve long been over this. And yet, it never seemed to settle for her.
There was always something perfectly boring about living.
More often than she’d like to admit, she found herself reminiscing about her time in Shadow Company… her time with Graves. She wondered if she’d ever stop missing it; missing him…
It was a slow day at the bakery that day. Normally, she found solace in the day to day workings of the store - she could expect the same people every day, she could expect to make the same things…
She thought she knew what she wanted - to come home and run her bakery like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t been called on a whim to ship out to Urzikstan after years of being out of the military.
Life never goes the way you plan it. And she had once again become living proof when Laswell called her that morning just a few months after she had returned home.
“John wants a Task Force. I want you on it.” Short and to the point; Laswell was never much to sugar-coat. Wren could hear the subtle undertones in her voice, though - Kate knows her history, and she knows the weight of her request. Wren knows it damn well, too.
“What’s the situation?”
“Classified. You understand.” She knew that, of course, but it wouldn’t have stopped her from asking.
It was almost embarrassing how quickly Wren had accepted the request. Apparently, uprooting her life and business once more was not a concern as she hung a ‘closed indefinitely’ sign for the second time over the front door and rushed upstairs to pack her belongings. Surely, she was insane, grasping at any straw that presented her with some sort of purpose…
When she laid in bed that night, she wondered very briefly if this is what she really wanted, but the cold truth was that Wren didn’t know what she wanted. She thought a civilian life here would suit her, that she’d grow accustomed to the slow pace of lazy mornings and meaningless conversation, but it always left her feeling incomplete - there was no purpose to serve here, just existence.
So she agreed, and she shipped out the next morning.
—
She was grateful her last leave - though it was intended to be permanent - was only half a year, because owning a bakery didn’t exactly do wonders for one’s figure. She fell back into her training fairly easily and adhered to the strict regimen scarily well… she wondered if that deep-rooted need for a routine would ever change about her.
She wondered if she’d ever live normally, if she wasn’t condemned to this life of purgatory and violence. And yet, she craved it still.
She was put back in contact with Captain Price a few weeks into her training, and periodically he’d fly out to evaluate her progress. But, try as she might, no amount of prying would convince the Captain to tell her even the smallest detail of her upcoming mission…
“Need to make sure you’re solid, Sergeant,” he repeated himself for what must have been the dozenth time over the last few weeks. She huffed in moderate displeasement, but returned to her exercises. Price barked out a few more commands in that low, gruff voice she’d only just recently gotten used to once more before straightening up. She slowed from her jog, the difference in his gaze piquing her interest.
“0500 tomorrow. Nik will transport you to a covert location in Urzikstan. We’ll meet and brief there.” He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t ask. If there was one thing she’d learned from her time with the Captain, it was to keep the questions and the bullshit to a minimum.
Kate must have had sympathy for her, because that night she emailed her a heavily encrypted file containing dossiers of each of the Task Force members.
To: Wren Y. (Sgt., Special Forces)
From: Katherine L. (Chief, CIA)
Subject: Dossiers
Don’t tell John I sent you this. [encrypted file]
CIA Station Chief Katherine Laswell
George Bush Center for Intelligence
Langley, Virginia
She read through them without much thought. They were names on a paper, just like all of her Shadow Company comrades had been. She vividly remembered sitting with Philip and sifting through application after application… back when she felt like she could take on the world. When he made her believe she could.
She sighed. Even years later, she wondered if she’d ever quite get over it. Over him. It still nagged at her - she should’ve long been past it, but Wren was always a creature of habit.
She didn’t like change, and there sure had been a lot of it over the last few years. Maybe this time would finally mean something.
She liked the team well enough. Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost. She knew Price and Gaz already, of course. Soap seemed like an interesting guy, but she made a note to never get on his bad side. All of Ghost’s information was redacted - even his name. It sparked her curiosity, but she knew her place well enough to leave it alone.
She slept well enough that night… It was amazing what a good cup of tequila and a sleeping pill could do.
Evening Lookouts and Quiet Promises - Ghost x Hawk Oneshot
A/N: here's a little oneshot for y'all to get a taste of Simon and Wren before I start posting their full fic Silhouettes and Songbirds! This is far later into their relationship, post-MW2 but pre-MW3.
Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, SFW, Military Themes (Call of Duty)
“So you’re telling me, Johnny drank three tall bottles of pure rum and ran a mission the next day like it was nothing?”
“I swear on my life.”
Simon let out an amused huff. She grinned wide - the world was beautiful beneath their sniper position on an old roof tonight, a vibrant sunset painting the sky above the town strewn below.
“Really, Si, you shouldn’t be that surprised… I’ve seen you down glasses of bourbon that would make grown men cry.” She chuckled lightly, giving him a playful nudge. His eyes narrowed when her shoulder met his, but she knew it was only a facade.
“C’mon… don’t tell me you don’t like it. I know you’re lying.” A cheeky grin, a singsong voice… she knew exactly what to do to get him flustered.
“I don’t like it.” He deadpanned, his stony gaze unwavering.
“And I know you’re lying.”
“Am I?”
“You sure seemed to like it last night.”
His eyes widened at her quip, the obnoxious glimmer in her eye a strange mix of aggravating and amusing as she waited excitedly for his reaction. He inhaled deeply, pressing his index finger to the bridge of his nose.
“Keep it tactical, Sergeant.”
She scoffed. “I hate you sometimes, you know that?”
He adjusted his mask on his face. “That’s not what you said last night.”
She gasped dramatically and smacked his shoulder. He let out a light, easy chuckle - music to her ears. It was rare that Ghost laughed… even rarer that she got to hear it like this.
When Soap laughed, it was like the embodiment of the sun. For Simon, it was the moon - only coming out when the rest of the world is quiet, when he could shine for the few who listen. When she could listen.
“You’re a bastard, Riley.”
“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”
She rolls her eyes. He chuckles again, and… he leans against her. She stiffens for just a moment at the sensation - it was rare that Simon ever accepted contact, let alone initiated it.
“Someone’s in a good mood.”
“Don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Little Bird.”
She smirks before her lips settle in an easy smile. The banter was natural between the two of them; it was familiar. She searched for it, craved it - a sort of fucked up love language for two fucked up people.
But when the lights went low and skin met skin, all the banter boiled down to things they couldn’t ever say in their waking hours. It was why, in moments like this when she swears by any higher power that might be up there that Simon was made for her, she held his wrist gently and rolled his sleeve up, turning his arm to reveal his intricate black tattoo sleeve. When she was tired, she traced the inky designs with her heavy eyes. When she was sad, she watched her tears roll down the deep black. When she was happy, she clutched it like a lifeline, like it was her very will to live, because he was her will to live.
It was why she pulled a pen out of her pocket and traced along the lines of the sleeve, slow and careful and loving. It was why he let her. And it was why, when she finally reached the edge of the sleeve at his upper bicep, she scrawled three words - small, but clear - on the scarred skin.
‘I love you.’
She writes it so he doesn’t have to say it. Not because he doesn’t mean it, and not because he doesn’t want to say it… but some things between them were just better left unsaid. If they both knew, then what did it matter?
So he smiled, and he took her arm in his hand, positioning the marker over the juncture between her arm and her shoulder. Three words - small, but clear.
‘I love you.’
I love you, too. And he did - he really, really fucking did.
(And if she went and got those very same words tattooed on that very same spot, that was nobody’s business but her own.)
A/N1: My gift to @grianm ,, my best friend of almost seven years now RAHHHH. Here's her OC Myles (who will be paired with Soap in the later chapters of Silhouettes and Songbirds hehe) with the 141 on her birthday.
Pairings: John "Soap" MacTavish x Myles "Orange" Prower (OC), Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wren "Hawk" Yarrow (OC)
Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, SFW, Military Themes (Call of Duty)
Days off for the 141 were few and far between, so all of them being on leave was damn near a miracle. A miracle Soap would appreciate much more if he could just pick the right gift.
“I dinnae know what to tell ye!” he exclaims, his deep accent showing with his growing frustration. “She hates gifts. But I’d be a right bastard not to get her anything.”
“A drink and a good night,” Simon quips, chuckling ever so quietly. “Always worked for you before.”
Soap frowns, unimpressed. “Aye, for the hookers.” Simon only shrugs playfully, earning even more of a reaction from the Scot.
“Leave him be, Simon,” Wren cajoles him, but not without winking at Soap. “He’s just nervous for his girlfriend’s birthday.”
“I’m not,” he huffs, crossing his arms. “Last I checked, Tiny over here is the only one making a big deal.” He gestures towards Wren, who only shrugs her shoulders and grins innocently. Soap groans and begins to pace. “Ye two hens have it easy - yer already hitched with a kid!”
“I never gave her gifts, idiot,” Simon deadpans, “Won ‘er over with my effortless charm.” Wren snorts at that, elbowing her husband pointedly.
“Yeah, right.”
But the corners of Simon’s eyes crinkle as he looks down at Wren - his Wren - and Soap can’t help but yearn for that same camaraderie, that same companionship, with Myles.
“This is important,” he sighs. “She needs to know I care.”
“She does, dumbass,” Wren replies. “Tell ya what. Give her those sketches you’re always doing.”
Soap’s face goes tomato-red. “Ye know about those?” Wren snickers in response.
“ ‘Course I do. What kinda friend would I be if I didn’t occasionally go through your stuff?” She teases him easily, relishing in the irritated response she gets from Soap, who squares up his shoulders and takes a step toward her. Simon steps in before he can get any closer.
“Relax, Johnny. I saw ‘em. You left ‘em out in our bunk one night. You’re not very discreet.” Soap’s mouth snaps shut, and his gaze flicks to the ground. Just when he thinks Simon is going to tease him relentlessly, the tall Brit quirks his lip up into a small smile. “They’re not shit. She’d like ‘em.”
“They are shit,” Soap responds in surprise, shuffling on his feet. “I did them too fast, the proportions are off-”
“But you did them,” Wren cuts in. “That’s all that matters.”
Soap thinks for a moment. With a small boost in confidence, he nods and smiles gently.
“Aye.”
–
Myles’ party was held that night at the Rileys’, if only because little Johnny had pointedly demanded to see his uncle that shared his name. Soap and Gaz certainly weren’t complaining, as any night at the bakery always meant a surplus of food.
A few drinks in and Price was already telling war stories, Laswell listening intently to each one as if she hadn’t heard them a thousand times before. Gaz was focused intently on the game displayed on the television, rooting loudly for a team none of them had even heard of. Myles sat peacefully watching Soap play excitedly with his miniature, baby Johnny always enamored with the Scot and his antics.
Simon sighs contentedly as he watches his son interact with his teammate, a warmth rekindled in his gaze that he thought he’d lost a long time ago. Though Simon had always been a man of few words, Wren can see his happiness radiating from his affectionate gaze, his relaxed posture, his loose movements. She only smiles up at him, the two of them communicating silently through bright eyes and contented breaths. Simon extends his arm out ever so slightly - a silent invitation - and Wren gladly accepts, stepping closer to him and settling against his side.
And after they’d all sat down to a big dinner and gathered around the lavishly-decorated cake Wren had baked just for Myles, Soap found himself alone with her on the back patio while festivities wrapped up inside. His heart beating frantically in his chest, he steps up to her awkwardly.
“Hey, Lass,” he begins, unable to hold back a smile when Myles turns to face him, bright eyes and radiant grin threatening to crumble his world at the seams. She says nothing, but she watches him, intrigued, as he offers a small, wrapped orange box to her. “I know ye aren’t big on parties, but I hope ye had fun tonight. I, uh… I drew these… for ye, Hen. Was hopin’ to touch ‘em up a bit, but I never got the chance. I hope ye still like ‘em.”
If Soap wasn’t blushing before, he definitely was now, hyper-analyzing the way Myles let her hands linger on his just a little longer before taking the gift and opening it carefully to reveal a small notebook full of intricate drawings of her, of them, of the team. She loves the hopeful grin Soap gives her as he watches her flip through the pages, tracing over the sketches with her fingers and noting every finite detail he’d so carefully drawn in.
"Happy birthday, Hen."
Myles was never big on birthday parties. But maybe, she muses with a smile that lights up Soap’s whole damn world, this one wasn’t so bad.
A/N2: happy birthday girl i love you and tumblr is honestly the most fitting place to post this like its so real
Always longing for a sense of purpose in life, Wren Yarrow enlisted in the Army at just 18. Young and nimble, Wren passed each test with flying colors and began to work her way up the ranks, often spending most of her time training and focusing on her work. It was there that she would meet and take a liking to a young Philip Graves, who admired her for her dedication and skill as well as her willingness to bypass military rules and regulations to get the job done. The two got together in their early twenties and founded Shadow Company, leaving the Army to pursue their PMC full-time. As Shadow Company grew, so did the stakes of their missions, culminating in an ambush in Urkistan on a high-value target. While the intel was straightforward, the execution was not, and Graves ordered the bombing of a village that had been a known hideout for the HVT… but also housed innocent civilians. Wren fought against this move tooth and nail, but ultimately failed and fell out violently with Graves after seeing his true colors. She was then forcibly discharged from Shadow Company and took a few year long leave in England, settling down into civilian life and running a bakery. Despite the coziness of her new town and profession, Wren always felt that something was missing from her life… until a certain Katherine Laswell called her one fateful afternoon.
General
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She / Her
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Blood Type: O-
Birthday: Nov. 15, 1995
Birthplace:
Nationality: American
Spoken Languages: English, Spanish, some Russian
Occupation: Previously co-founder of Shadow Company (discharged), Owner of Sweet Things bakery (civilian), member of Task Force 141 (current)
Relationships
Simon “Ghost” Riley: Husband (m. 2023)
John “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Katherine Laswell, John Price, Myles “Orange” Prower (OC): Friends
Philip Graves: Ex; enemy
Vladimir Makarov: Enemy
Appearance
Height: 5’6”
Weight: 129 lbs (58.5 kg)
Eye Color: Ice blue
Hair Color: Natural deep red
Hairstyle: Messy side braid
Scars: Prominent gash on left cheek from Graves torturing her. Burn marks all over body from Makarov. Multiple knife scars on her neck from failed enemy killing attempts. General scars from being in the force.
Private: Wren takes a LONG time to open up to people. She’s done some messed up stuff during her time with Shadow Company (and Graves) and suffers lots of trauma, PTSD, and survivor’s guilt.
Self-aware: Knows her struggles and actively tries to improve on them, albeit that journey is incredibly difficult for her. Regularly sees a therapist as required by the military and journals and sketches her thoughts every night. Keeps the journal under lock and key - the only other person to have ever seen it is Simon.
Schedule-oriented: Despite being disorganized, Wren operates on a strict timed schedule from years of being in the military. Conditioned the get up at 4:30am sharp every morning, go for a run, and go through the routine. Averages around four hours of sleep a night (mostly due to night terrors), and gets uneasy if she deviates from her schedule.
Empathetic: Feels deeply and struggles with survivor’s guilt from her work. Is very good at burying her problems and feelings until they boil over, as she often has to appear detached from almost everything in her work.
Quiet: Has much to say but doesn’t say much. Prefers to watch and analyze from the sidelines. Can hold an entire conversation with Simon just through looks and body language alone… Price finds it incredibly unnerving.
Moral: Has a very strong moral compass and will never compromise it unless ABSOLUTELY necessary. Despite her fundamental morality, Wren is still a huge believer in ‘an eye for an eye’ and often takes a LONG time to forgive (if even at all) those who have wronged her. Can also be brutally honest.
Active: Almost ALWAYS moving around. Be it exercising, training, working, etc., Wren DESPISES sitting still because the silence brings out her darkest thoughts.
Intuitive: Has a keen sense of what is going on and will often operate on gut feelings with little to no evidence. Most of the time her sense of intuition is pretty spot-on, although she has gotten herself in trouble on multiple occasions by deviating from the team. For as many doubts as she has about herself personally, she is almost always very confident in her actions.
Military
Occupation: Member of Task Force 141
Rank: Sergeant
Preferred Weapon: Combat Knife
Combat Style: Stealth
Favorites
Color: Sky blue
Food: Any sort of pasta
Animal: Beluga whales. I have no idea why.
Weather: Snow! Wren LOVES the winter (especially when she can warm up with Simon at home)
Music/artist: Indie, loves Dayglow
Likes: nature, playing guitar, singing, light colors, board games
Dislikes: loud noise, being the center of attention, peanut butter
That's it! First Tumblr post after lurking for years YIPPEEE, I've been getting back into writing and I want to start releasing my Call of Duty fanfic starring her so keep an eye out for that!
Playing Casa de Montecristo (JR Cigar) Paramus, NJ OFF RT 17 on Thursday July 28th!!! What a dream!!! Thanks to @ghosthawkbrewingco for hooking us up during their Tap Takeover!!! Come eat drink smoke and rock!!! Make reservations!!! @cdm_paramus #reesevanriper #casamontecristo #jrcigar #jrcigars #ghosthawk #ghosthawkbrewingco #bbq #cigars #beer #mint400records #livemusic (at Casa de Montecristo By JR Cigar- Paramus NJ) https://www.instagram.com/p/CgRu82OrFN6/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
THIS SATURDAY - Acoustic Solo @ghosthawkbrewingco in Clifton NJ • 2PM - 5PM - FREE come eat drink and be merry! across the street from rutts hut baybay!!! #reesevanriper #ghosthawkbrewingco #ghosthawk #mint400records #acoustic #show #concert #craftbeer #njbeer (at Ghost Hawk Brewing Co) https://www.instagram.com/p/CdJjRQXrR1z/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
