Ghost Always Having To Step In When Soap Is Meeting A New Lieutenant, Because He's A Demolitions Expert

nothing more flattering than someone saying "oh don't get her going" in reference to you when a topic you're passionate about is brought up

And what if I give Soap a younger sister that joins the SAS a year or two after Soap does because their home life wasn't great? And what if she worked hard like him, busted her ass like him, to be put in his unit so they could be together because he was the only comfort she had? And what if she got to his unit the day he died, not even having a chance to see him after a year because their leaves never lined up? And what if the last memory of her brother she has his his body being carried with blood dried to his head as Ghost brings him to where he needs to put the body? And when Price has to call her to see the body that's the first time 141 got to meet Soap's sister? The sister he bragged about all the time? The sister who was almost a mini him, with a similar interest in demolition and explosives? And what if Price pushes her up a rank so she's a Sgt?

Price using Soap's sister as his replacement, holding her to a standard that's basically impossible for someone who has been a sergant less than a month. Making her self esteem lower and lower until Laswell has to step in and make Price see that Soap's sister isn't him. That Soap may live on in his sister in a sense, but that doesn't mean she is him.

I just love Soap's sister being very similar to him and being emotionally destroyed by 141. Idk why I live for it

Simon riley as not-terrible-but-struggling dad hcs :

Simon really thought he could do kids. For you. After all, you managed him, didn’t you? You loved him gently, without breaking him. You softened the edges of his sharp, jagged past, made him feel like maybe he wasn’t the monster his father had always painted him to be.

But when it came to his own children? It wasn’t that simple. He couldn’t just flip a switch. He couldn’t be gentle like you were. With them, there was no softness in his hands, no warmth in his words.

He was too afraid, always second-guessing, always wondering if the anger he fought so hard to bury would surface. He promised himself he’d never turn out like his father, but the fear never left. And now, standing there, unable to reach his kids the way you reached him.

"He’s Your Dad, There Will Always Be Some of him in you" His mother’s words would haunt him. Some nights, while deployed, he would stare at pictures of his kids and wonder if the parts of himself he hates are already in them — if he’s ruined them without even meaning to. (He'd never say this aloud, not even to you.)

When he’s home, he would stand in doorways a lot, just watching. He doesn’t really know how to join in. If the kids are playing, he’ll awkwardly clear his throat and maybe say, "Crack on," before walking away.

If he tries to play with them, it's stiff, military-like "Right, team, operation clean up toys" and the kids just kind of stare at him like he's grown a second head.

His eldest looks up to him desperately, but Simon is so afraid of 'messing him up' that he keeps him at arm’s length. It kills him, because deep down, he wants to throw the football around, teach him how to build things, even just sit on the floor and play video games — but he doesn't know how to be there without feeling like a fraud.

He’s even worse with the girls. He thinks he's too rough, too cold for little girls who deserve someone softer. Once, his youngest proudly handed him a card, the words "Velcom back dady" scribbled on it in crooked letters. It made Simon’s heart swell, but the warmth in his chest but he didn’t know what to say beyond a simple "Thank you" and an awkward hug, followed by a quick kiss on the cheek.

He felt like he should do more, like he should say something meaningful, but all that came out was a stiff smile and a quick retreat into his own discomfort.

He kept every card, every messy scribble, locked safely in his drawer, a secret place where he could look at them when the weight of being a father became too much. But no matter how much he treasured those little moments, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his kids, especially his daughter, thought he didn’t appreciate them. That maybe, in their eyes, he wasn’t doing enough.

He watched how natural you are with them. How you can make them laugh until they’re red faced, how you know exactly what to say when they cry. And somewhere deep inside, he resents himself becausw he thought he'd be better for you.

But he is the dad who checks the locks three times before going to bed. Who makes sure the first aid kit is fully stocked. Who taught his son how to throw a proper punch "just in case" but can’t tell him he’s proud out loud. His love comes out in safety, in protection but not words, not warmth.

He genuinely believes his kids prefer you. And it's true. He tells himself he’s just the "boring parent," the "strict one," the one they tolerate until he goes away again. (The reality is, they miss him constantly. They just don’t know how to bridge the gap either.)

His son once left a drawing on Simon’s desk, a picture of the whole family holding hands, and Simon stared at it for an hour, too scared to pick it up.

And when all three of them in their teenage years, they've entered that "I hate everyone" phase, and if things weren't strained before, it's worse now. The snide remarks, the cold stares, the refusal to engage, it all hurts more than he admits. And he tries not to take it personally but damn.

One evening, Simon catches his eldest daughter sneaking out of the house, heading toward a car that's waiting outside. It's late, and she's dressed up, clearly for a date. He watches from the shadows, unsure of what to do. He doesn't want to be the overbearing father who controls every move she makes.

He doesn't know how to approach it without making her feel trapped, especially when he's barely ever around to set any kind of example. Instead, he stays back, watching as she disappears into the night.

Whenever you try to talk to him about it, Simon nods and says, "Yeah, you're right. It's just a phase," but he never admits that part of him feels useless. He feels like an outsider, like his kids would rather be anywhere but with him.

He doesn't voice it because he knows it's irrational, they're growing up, they're becoming independent, but the guilt lingers. He doesn't know how to connect with them when all they seem to want is space, and that makes him feel like he's failing them.

(honestly cried a little thinking too much about it bcs most of this just me projecting my own relationship with my father) (I'm sorry)

ur so talented

Idk guys I don't think he found it funny...

Plus a maskless version because even pouty he's handsome

Idk if I should put a cw but... mention of murder and spoilers for s1

Okay, okay, hear me out

Bear, who felt like God had taken his firstborn daughter as punishment for the murder of an innocent child during a mission, saved a 13 y.o. girl, though he wanted to bring Rip home more than anyone else on the team.

And Caulder, who literally once rejected Rip as his commander because of a broken trust, shot Nasry and stopped him from killing Rip. 

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH

HELP

Ghost wasn’t even looking for you two. He just needed to grab a goddamn med kit. That’s it. A simple in-and-out trip to the supply closet.

But the moment he opened the door, he knew.

Grunting. Breathing. Whispers. The thud of something hitting metal.

He paused in the doorway, completely still, staring into the dim room as his brain registered what he was seeing.

Soap. Shirt halfway off. Neck covered in bite marks. Mouth open in some silent, stunned expression of praise the lord and ruin me more. Hands gripping the edge of a crate like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

And you? Pressed against him. One hand buried in his hair, the other dragging slowly down his back, nails scratching like you were claiming territory.

You didn’t even look away when Ghost appeared. You just kept your body flush with Soap’s, breath brushing against his ear as you looked directly at Ghost and said,

“Occupied.”

Soap finally realized they weren’t alone, eyes wide as he choked out, “*Ghost—fuck—*this isn’t—”

Ghost held up a hand. “Nope.”

Just turned around and closed the door without another word. Stood in the hallway for a moment. Processing.

Then muttered, “They’re gonna burn this place to the ground and call it foreplay.”

He walked away. Found Gaz.

“Don’t go in the supply closet.”

Gaz blinked. “Why not?”

“They’re in there.”

Gaz paused. “Doing what?”

Ghost didn’t stop walking. “Pick a verb.”

first mini fanfiction im so sorry if its horrible guys im trying😭🫶 (disclaimer: hate will be blocked and removed, this is jst smth silly i thought maybe ppl will be intrested in, may be spelling errors and grammar errors)

pink is yn, pink and slanted is yns thoughts, blue is ghost

Ghost being your mentor in the 141

-

Youve just arrived at the 141 base a few weeks ago, your previous CO has bumped you up to a higher role, joining the 141. Which means higher pay, higher respect and more experience!

0630, training begins. On your way to the gym, you check the bulltin board in the hallway, which reads what higher up youll be training one on one with. Oh no. Ghost. Look, its not like you have bad blood with Ghost, hes just well.. huge, and very scary. Well thats probably better then Soap, whoever that is. Whats with his callsign? must be a good cleaner.

You make your way to the gym, opening the door and taking in your soroundings, all the rookies, a few of them being roudy and shoving eachother around, a man with a bucket hat and a beard... and the infamous skull masked man staring directly at you. Shit. You lock eyes. Staring compititon? Maybe? No? Is he zoned out? Whats happening right now? He beckons you over with a nod, you slowly approach.

"Hi."

He nods. "Ghost. Your trainer."

He speaks?

"Hi."

"Youve already said that."

Whoops.

You look up at him in fear.

He sighs.

"Name?"

"Y/n."

He walks to the sparring mat, expecting you to follow. You follow. He turns to face you.

"Lets start with the basics. Step up on the mat."

You step up.

"Stand like this." He stands like hes prepared to fight.

You copy. Your not very good at copying.

"No. Like this. Fists higher up."

"I am?"

"No your not."

He grabs your wrists and adjusts your stand.

"Better, Try and throw a punch."

You awkwardly throw a punch at his side. He dodges

"That was shit, harder. Be quicker on your feet."

You throw another punch at his gut, actually hitting him.

"Better, not hard enough."

You punch again. It hits his side.

"Harder."

You punch and miss.

"Harder."

You punch harder.

"Atta girl. Again."

You throw a punch, instead of just dodgong, he dodges and grabs your fist and sweeps undrr your legs.

You fall. Your on the ground. This is embarrassing.

-

Uhhh, past 2? this is short i dont plan on making it a full fanfiction but maybe?

shitpost art study with Ghosty

AAAA

pov: you just looked up from flirting with sgt. mactavish for the past half hour in the rec room wyd

this is my first headcanon/yap so pls dont judge me lol😭 anyway headcanons(?) of what Simon Ghost Riley is like in a relationship🫶

tw: abuse mentioned (no detail)

-

Finds it hard to love and trust, this fear def started from his fathers abuse throughout his childhood, and never actually seen what real love is like w his parents

Somewhat emotionally unavalible, at last in the beginning, id imagine that during an argument w his lover, he'd shut down or get frustrated and say things he doesnt mean. I dont think he would be great at communicating either, often shutting down things that worry/upset him. With all of this i believe w time and an understanding lover he would be a lot better

Definetly would get to know all of his lovers friends, interests, hobbies etc

Very respectful of boundaries etc

-

this is kinda short but yeah... these r just my opinions!!! first real post hehe