This is a WIP, but I'm posting what I've got so far in order to shame myself into finishing it.
Captain Phasma was not a romantic. Her life was the First Order, in a way not understood by more than a handful of people.
She spent most of her time with her troops, overseeing their training as well as commanding them in battle. At the same time, she deliberately kept herself apart from the men and women under her command, firmly believing that familiarity bred contempt.
Phasma had been assigned to Starkiller Base together with General Hux and Kylo Ren for quite some time, and she had cordial working relationships with her fellow officers, even if they didn't always see eye to eye in matters relating to the troops and politics. Phasma abhorred politics. Hux, unfortunately, was a product of it. Phasma tried to not hold it against him.
General Hux was, admittedly, a decent enough officer even if she considered his lack of practical field experience a liability.
Kylo Ren, meanwhile, might be a mercurial presence, but Phasma respected his prowess in the battlefield , even if she did not appreciate the hushed fear he inspired in her troops.
Still, at the end of the day, Captain Phasma was still a woman of flesh and blood.
She had needs, dammit.
Which is why, when she literally ran into one of the many civilians on board, she couldn't help but notice how solid his body felt against hers, and how, for once, she was not a head taller than everyone else in the room.
She was wearing her full armor, as she always did outside her own quarters, and yet he'd hardly flinched when her muscular frame barreled into his.
Phasma was impressed.
“Apologies, civilian,” she said.
She had instinctively grabbed hold of his arms in the initial scuffle and now she stiffly released them, but not before noting with satisfaction that his biceps were very well-developed.
Now released from her grip, he took a step backwards.
Further study revealed that her initial impression had been correct – he was a tall man, even if his posture left something to be desired. If he'd been one of her stormtroopers – but he wasn't, which was why she was allowing herself this scrutiny to begin with.
His blond hair was most definitely not regulation; it was a riot of curls that sat oddly on his long and pale face.
His nose was large, his mouth was broad, and he had a scattering of moles on his cheeks, forehead, and even on his chin.
He was squinting suspiciously at her from behind large and unfashionable glasses, and Phasma found herself thinking that she would like to see him smile sometime; feeling oddly certain that it would suit him.
“Apology accepted,” he said, sounding like a man who was not wholly familiar with the concept of politeness.
His voice was pleasant enough though, even if it lacked inflection.
Phasma nodded at him, and continued on her way. She did not have time to dawdle in out-of-the-way Level 78 corridors.
She did, however, deliberately seek out the level 78 cafeteria during her lunch hour that day.
Re: Phasma/Matt the radar technician pt 1/?
Captain Phasma was not a romantic. Her life was the First Order, in a way not understood by more than a handful of people.
She spent most of her time with her troops, overseeing their training as well as commanding them in battle. At the same time, she deliberately kept herself apart from the men and women under her command, firmly believing that familiarity bred contempt.
Phasma had been assigned to Starkiller Base together with General Hux and Kylo Ren for quite some time, and she had cordial working relationships with her fellow officers, even if they didn't always see eye to eye in matters relating to the troops and politics. Phasma abhorred politics. Hux, unfortunately, was a product of it. Phasma tried to not hold it against him.
General Hux was, admittedly, a decent enough officer even if she considered his lack of practical field experience a liability.
Kylo Ren, meanwhile, might be a mercurial presence, but Phasma respected his prowess in the battlefield , even if she did not appreciate the hushed fear he inspired in her troops.
Still, at the end of the day, Captain Phasma was still a woman of flesh and blood.
She had needs, dammit.
Which is why, when she literally ran into one of the many civilians on board, she couldn't help but notice how solid his body felt against hers, and how, for once, she was not a head taller than everyone else in the room.
She was wearing her full armor, as she always did outside her own quarters, and yet he'd hardly flinched when her muscular frame barreled into his.
Phasma was impressed.
“Apologies, civilian,” she said.
She had instinctively grabbed hold of his arms in the initial scuffle and now she stiffly released them, but not before noting with satisfaction that his biceps were very well-developed.
Now released from her grip, he took a step backwards.
Further study revealed that her initial impression had been correct – he was a tall man, even if his posture left something to be desired. If he'd been one of her stormtroopers – but he wasn't, which was why she was allowing herself this scrutiny to begin with.
His blond hair was most definitely not regulation; it was a riot of curls that sat oddly on his long and pale face.
His nose was large, his mouth was broad, and he had a scattering of moles on his cheeks, forehead, and even on his chin.
He was squinting suspiciously at her from behind large and unfashionable glasses, and Phasma found herself thinking that she would like to see him smile sometime; feeling oddly certain that it would suit him.
“Apology accepted,” he said, sounding like a man who was not wholly familiar with the concept of politeness.
His voice was pleasant enough though, even if it lacked inflection.
Phasma nodded at him, and continued on her way. She did not have time to dawdle in out-of-the-way Level 78 corridors.
She did, however, deliberately seek out the level 78 cafeteria during her lunch hour that day.