I opened a fanlisting for Captain Phasma – so join, if you like her!

Small Incident

PHASMA*calm collected voice* I am going to shoot down everyone who mentions this small incident.

HUX: You mean being kicked in the head, almost dying in the trash compactor, facing a deadly inhabitants of some awful planet, falling off the platform to flames, being blew out into space… small indeed!

PHASMA: I ask for permission to shoot you down, General.


“I heard you like corellian hounds, Captain.”

Phasma grimaced under her helmet. That of course had to spread. The cafeterie was open for all officers to come and go and – talk about what they heard. Sometimes the higher ranked charges of First Order were not much unlike a bunch of young Jedi padawans talking over newly got lightsabers. If that comparision wouldn’t be wiped out by her own allegiance.

“They are good in battle, General.”

Hux looked at her with visible disbelief mixed with a slight hope of wanting to believe her. It would be after all strange, if she, of all people, was fond of petting dogs.

“Have you used any during our campaigns?”

“No. But we got few when… I was younger.”

That was almost finishing the topic. The youth has been something Phasma didn’t like to even mention. But something in her voice made him stretch the conversation.

“I can’t imagine you surrounded by dogs, Captain.”

“They were efficient warriors. Owning one was an actual honor between my clan.”


The unwanted image of Phasma, sitting in her settlement, or however that cursed place was called, looking into the night sky, with a big dog head on her knees, scratching it under the ears, crept into his mind.

“Before you ask, General, I wasn’t using them as pets.”

Hux scoffed.

“Liking animals isn’t anything shameful. I had cats since I was young, getting my first when I reached six.”

Getting no response from her, he cleared his throat. Phasma knew almost everything about him, helped him hide many dirty secrets, yet he still couldn’t say the same about her. She was hiding behind that helmet not only her face but also all of dark past, present and maybe even future.

Working with Phasma was easy, she was fulfilling all orders profesionally and without questions. But something in her was making him sure that if she didn’t see personal gain in all of it, his life would have taken a completely different course.

“We should allow your troops for animals.”

Phasma cocked her head.

“I doubt it would be wise.”

“You said they were good in battle. The hounds.”

“On planet where dangers weren’t automated. I won’t send a dog after machine. Nor against a blaster.”

He looked at her sternly.

“This could do at least as a good training.”

She didn’t show if she took his rare joke or not. At least he didn’t have to see her sour dissaproval over his idea, painted on her face.

Practical Jokes

Hux: I sometimes even wonder if you are able to joke, Captain.

Phasma: I am capable of joking, General.

Hux: Tell a joke then, a good one *he crosses his arms*

Phasma: Two stormtroopers enter the canteen.

Hux: Go on.

Phasma: And shoot all who are there.

Hux: And…?

Phasma: This is the end of the joke.

Hux: *looking at her sternly* That proves the point, yes.

New Article – Survivor

I added new article about Phasma. Come, have a read!

Regarding Canteens

She looked at the food that was given to her. She was easy to adapt, in almosty every situation. But even she had limits. This canteen seemingly offered things that weren’t edible.

Phasma once, after being taken from Parnassos, was dining in some canto that seemed a higher standard than others, that she visited later. But for her, it only comes to her memory as Things That Never Should Be Served or Eaten. Since then, she never dines in canteens, only relying on drinks, if the situation demands. Some things never wash away from memory.

She cleared her throat with a non-alcoholic drink, consisting sour fruits. This was… considerably good. At least it wasn’t mangled and fried in deep oil.

Shiny Neck

Finn: When your shiny neck was threatened, you squealed like a whoop hog. The evidence blew up with the base, but you and I know the truth. When I put a gun to your head, you shut down Starkiller’s shields.

Phasma: They don’t squeal.

Finn: What?

Phasma: Whoop hogs don’t squeal. Learn your biology.

Finn: Does it matter?? You squealed when I threatened you!

Phasma: This was not a squeal. Wash your ears.



When she removed the helmet, Phasma allowed the streak of her hair fall over her forehead. She felt almost naked without it. Even if she was now alone, keeping the helmet on was one of her superlatives. This was how her enemies have seen her, her troops have heard her orders. This was her shield before the galaxy and her symbol. She used it as second skin and did it wisely and efficiently.

She touched her face, her fingers sliding through her cheek to stay on the lips.

Only I know how I look.

She didn’t like her look and didn’t hate it. It was only something reserved for her.

Only I know who I am.