Hi, everyone! This is my third fanfiction here at AO3, and I'm starting a series I called" Star Wars Canon", which is basically the fanfiction in which I stick to the canon; they're all connected, pretty much like the Star Wars Canon books, and consist of my main headcanons made up into stories. If you're wondering, "Bound" is not part of it... Sorry :(

But well. This one is a headcanon I thought of after reading the Phasma novel. I must warn from the beginning that it might be triggering for some people. Althought there's nothing explicit, it's still a mature story. Phasma is my favorite Star Wars character and her novel is my favorite book in life (Delilah S. Dawson wrote it so amazingly), but I couldn't help but keeping this sad headcanon in my head after I got to the final part of the book. It's hard to explain why, it's more like a feeling I had, and couldn't helpt but writing it down, and I wanted something that showed Phasma's POV (like the last chapter of the book) so much, too. I created a short playlist on Spotify with songs that remind me of this story, you may understand it better if you listen... I always think songs help getting the feeling of stories. Anyways, here's the playlist (just delete the spaces):

open. spotify user /99rdf7eeh1kra6sn1mtbv0pa9 / playlist / 5sRLupuThKnZjAA5YKGoQh?si = aogR_NYTT1KN7PUeGfd_lw

Well, I think I said enough for now (lol), so I hope you enjoy the story. And I'd like to thank Lady Aran for proofreading it to me, she's such an amazing friend and beta reader! English is not my first language, as some of you might know, so I thank her so much for correcting my silly mistakes and helping me with my writing. She's also proofreading my next Phasma fanfic, that will continue this one and it's like a sequel to the book as well (and will include more of its characters, too - yes, I'm talking about Cardinal). It's a long one, so thanks again, honey, for your time and patience!

Good reading!

Warrior

"Powerful, indeed." she said, when she was able.

Metallic doors were not mirrors, she knew, although she'd discovered what the two of these things were only a short time ago. Putting them together seemed strange, but it was basically what she felt at the moment: that the door in front of her reflected the words she'd said in that ship, while she saw bombs hitting her planet. Bombs, yes, that's what they called them, she knew now. The white helmet that hid her expression back then wasn't the same reflected in the door now, although they were pretty much identical; it had been replaced by a trooper uniform that properly fit her. Anyone walking around there wouldn't see her expression now either, but she could see it. And something else was reflected on that door, that only she could see.

Do what he wanted, or find herself destroyed.

The sounds in the Finalizer were left behind as she entered the surroundings of Brendol Hux's suite. In the door she saw her inanimate and stoic reflection, everything so empty around her; only the protocol droid was standing motionless in front of the door, keeping watch like a silent sentinel. An uneasy quiet smothered the room with a cold and dark embrace.

"In my quarters, at nightfall." he'd said.

It was like an echo in her head, that line, coming and going in her thoughts like she could still hear it, no matter what she did to get rid of it. It sounded harmless, she knew, on the outside; Brendol was just congratulating her on the daily training with Captain Cardinal – that idiot – as always. Nothing seemed unusual.

"I always knew you would do great things, Phasma." he'd said, his graying red hair falling down his forehead and his hands on his chubby abdomen. "I will be out on an occupation mission, leaving you to the care of Captain Cardinal. Upon my return, however, there is a matter we must discuss."

"And what is that, General?" she'd asked with little reverence.

Brendol walked down the room a little, reminding her for a moment that some manners of his people still seemed funny. On Parnassos, when someone wanted to say something, they would just say it. There was no procrastination or trivial theatrics.

"You know, I brought you here for a reason, but not just one. You must understand that I gave you possibilities for a new life, one in which all of your abilities will be very useful. Obviously, it will come through retribution."

She'd always considered herself experienced. The best warrior on Parnassos always knew what to expect. But in that moment her thoughts were pretty innocent: service, training, death… But if it was that, why would Brendol tell her now, if he'd said the matter should be discussed when he came back? She stared at her surroundings for a moment and suddenly noticed that they were alone in the room.

She remembered looking at him, confused underneath the white helmet, and somehow he noticed it perfectly, staring at her with a swarthy smile on his face.

"You finally understood what we're talking about."

Yes, she had understood. Those words hovered in the air, as toxic as Parnassos's rain, and she remembered her mother's words, from before the Scyre: "Don't be caught by your enemies. Die fighting. They can do to you such horrible things that you can't even imagine".

Too little back then, she'd fit her mother's description perfectly, and learned to fight till death that never came. But now, in the First Order, she was not among enemies, so fighting till death would be pointless. It was in that moment that the thought from the ship came back to her head. And it would keep being there for the rest of her life.

Brendol approached. In his face, satisfaction. "My perfect warrior." he said, in a slow and pleasant way, like he could see through her trooper uniform "When I return. In my quarters, at nightfall. The door will be open."

It was open. Phasma knew it. The reflection stopped her, however. It wasn't like she could do something for herself. She needed the First Order. It would give her the closest thing to a future she'd ever had...

(Besides, where would she go if she defected?)

But sacrifices had always walked alongside her. What she had never cogitated was sacrificing herself.

Finally, Phasma passed by the quiet protocol droid and slid the door closed and saw herself in a room that was bigger than the whole Nautilus, but with straight forms, and art, those objects on the walls and corners that were everywhere in Arratu. But those were more subtle, in a way she still couldn't understand. The whole quarter had a refined aura. Even Brendol Hux, seated in a black armchair, close to a bed with greyish sheets. Dark, too. The General looked at her.

"Punctual as always. I like that." he said. Something in his voice sounded different that night. It wasn't his usual tone. It seemed much more excited.

Phasma brought her hands to her helmet, taking it off her head and leaving it on the ground. Feeling her short golden hair against her neck, she gave Brendol a firm gaze. He laughed. That was even rarer.

"Well. Take off your armor." Hux instructed.

For instants that passed like hours, she faced him before complying with the order, removing each rigid part of the white uniform, letting them fall to the ground and accompany the helmet, until there was nothing left but the skintight black bodyglove. Her freezing blue eyes went back to Brendol, who didn't spend seconds in silence before ordering:

"Now the cloths. Slowly."

Once again, Phasma didn't say a word, and moved her hands, now without gloves, towards the corners of the bodysuit that still covered her, pulling it down her shoulders and arms until reaching her waist, and finally, her strong, muscled legs.

Everything seemed cold for a moment, and even if there was no wind, like on Parnassos, she felt it cutting like inside the Nautilus, hitting her nude and rigid back. She steeled herself.

"Good, very good." Brendol exclaimed, without taking his eyes off Phasma for a second "Your body appears better in the short time you've been here." he cleaned his throat, "Not that it wasn't good before, of course. Tell me, do all Parnassian women bear this harsh beauty?"

Parnassos didn't really exist anymore, he knew it. He'd seen everyone there, after all.

"Answer me, Phasma." Different from before, Brendol sounded rugged now, authoritarian like the First Order General commanding his subordinates.

"Most of us." Phasma uttered. "We're warriors, raised from birth. Much like your troopers."

Brendol smiled again. They were warriors. They were a clan. All murdered by her hands, now. Phasma watched the General examine every inch of her body with his eyes. The Scyre people were used to nudity, that was true, but she knew that Brendol's people weren't. For them, nudity was associated with privacy and intimacy. Even if such things did not exist on Parnassos, she knew they were the opposite of what was happening now.

"Lie on the bed." Brendol's next order was given more calmly, the calmness of one who was enjoying what he saw and didn't have to hurry. Phasma finally took her eyes off him and faced the bed on the opposite wall of the room, like it was an enemy she should attack.

The impact of her bare feet against the floor was cold as she walked towards the bed, her posture was firm and her muscles were hardened, crafted from years of fighting and training. She reached for the dark sheets, sitting upon them and reclined her body downward. The cloth was the softest she'd ever felt, but she just longed for the roughness of the rocks and haphazard hammocks of the Nautilus.

Brendol walked slowly – deliberately – towards the bed, enjoying his view.

"Phasma, do I really need to ask you to spread your legs?" he asked with the slightest grin, his eyes dark and full of sadistic intent.

Phasma swallowed hard, gulping back the lump of unease lodged in her throat. Surely, she thought, Brendol didn't do this with every new recruit...so why her? For a moment, she thought about denying him his satisfaction – the greatest warrior of Parnassos bowed to no one! Especially a cowardly, lazy man like Brendol Hux. It didn't matter that he was a General of the First Order... But then she remembered the vulgar display of power Hux had rained down upon her planet, raw and unfettered...and found herself involuntarily yielding before the General, her long legs spreading just enough for Brendol to fit between them.

While Brendol initially wore black leather gloves, he'd already taken them off, and was now doing the same with his General's cap and jacket. His fingers reached out for the warrior below him. They cut like daggers. But Phasma didn't outline the slightest reaction. Even when he moved his hands from her legs to her belly, and from there to her uncovered breasts. It was like being electrocuted, but in low power, that brought pain little by little. She couldn't bear to move.

He wouldn't see her waken. Wouldn't see her suffer.

"I should presume you have already done this on your planet, right?" asked Brendol, his invasive hands in every inch of Phasma's body, and yet she did not react.

"Yes, sir."

Lying was an attempt of protecting herself. Unfortunately, it wouldn't work as planned.

"Then why are you so nervous?" was Brendol's question after that. His voice changed more at every minute, and Phasma tried to ignore it "Do you really think that, in my position, I don't know the difference?"

Phasma felt the General's hand going to her neck, and pressuring it in the very middle.

"I thought I'd made it clear that you must not lie to your superiors." with Brendol's fingers against the muscles of her throat, Phasma had one single wish of killing him right there, as she knew she was stronger, and he wouldn't last a minute against her. But the First Order was not Parnassos. There, Brendol had people to defend him, and it was impossible to escape the Finalizer. Mainly if you didn't know how to fly any ship or control anything that existed there. Brendol laughed again. Phasma wondered if he was reading her thoughts, by chance. "But don't worry about this." he came closer, still holding her neck, talking directly in one of her ears. Now, his voice sounded like a snake's "Know that, among my people, taking away a woman's virginity is considered a prize."

He let his hands loose, but still kept them where they were. Phasma wanted to take a deep breath, but stopped herself from it. Her hands begged to make fists or grab the sheets, but she didn't do it.

Brendol wouldn't see anything on her.

"Although, I must warn you," the General kept on talking, "it might hurt a little."

A sadistic smile crossed his face, and he unbuckled his belt, opened his pants' buttons and pulled them down. Phasma didn't see any of this, however, because she only let herself look him in the eyes, like she did to her enemies on Parnassos, in the fights in which she killed with her own hands, without the help of blasters or weapons of the First Order. Maybe, she was fool enough to think, if those eyes full of darkness saw the rage in her blue irises, Brendol would leave her alone.

He did not.

Phasma didn't look at what was happening. She didn't have to. Living in the Nautilus with fifty people of similar age, she'd obviously seen the act before. And she was tough. She knew how to pretend not to feel pain, or even not allowing herself to feel it when it was needed. However, she was not ready for the pain she felt at that moment.

Once, in a battle, she'd had a spear thread on her belly, with full strength. It took her ripped flesh some days to recover. Not that the pain was worse now, but she wondered how she'd cure it, if Brendol made one more movement inside her body at every second that went by. It was like being perforated by the spear more and more, in the same wound. Phasma wanted to close her eyes, but she knew she couldn't. The General touched her still, with his acid hands, nails that scratched her skin as he put them deep inside to relieve his pleasure. For a moment, she was worried about bruises. Not because anyone would see them, she knew it would never happen.

But she would see them.

Brendol satisfied himself with her body, and she saw how much he did. Even when he closed his eyes, it was like she could see through his eyelids, hear in his hoarse moans of pleasure what he was saying, screaming in his mind.

MY perfect warrior.

Phasma kept on tough, cold and immobile, like the rocks in the Nautilus, but feeling less than them by now. She saw Brendol out of his mind, on pure ecstasy, like no one in the First Order would ever see, sure of that. Maybe they wouldn't imagine that their General was capable of such a thing. Or they would; she didn't know. After all, she was the only woman in the rank and file preparing for a high position. She knew well about that. Her body started to feel exhausted, Brendol's sweat dripping down her skin, covering her completely as he rubbed her with his hands, and, once again, nails. Yes, they did hurt her. All she could see were Brendol's eyes, and disgusting hands on her breasts and neck, while he seemed to thread daggers in her belly. Phasma held her breath for a moment, and when she let it out, she couldn't stop a noise that escaped from her mouth.

Brendol's laugh made her hate herself for it.

The pain started spreading through her body, the movements became unbearable as she felt her muscles begging to relax. But Phasma didn't answer this request. No matter how much it hurt, she would keep strong, and wouldn't let Brendol see the slightest second of despair in her face. He would never see his act reaching her.

And it did. It reached her more and more, at every instant.

Phasma was holding back a scream when Brendol finally stopped. Somehow, when she felt him coming out of her, it was like Phasma's body lost a ton, and she almost let herself breathe in relief.

Almost.

Brendol lay down on his bed, at her left, and she turned her face to the right. Maybe it was because of the hardened muscles, or the pain of that infamous act, but her whole body was in a sore numbness, like the feeling of a fever.

"Don't be so tense." Brendol spit out his words "You'll get used to it."

"Used?" at that moment, Phasma couldn't avoid the question, neither the movement of her neck to the opposite side, where Brendol was getting up to put on his clothes again.

"What? You didn't have this word on Parnassos?"

For the second time, Brendol's non-answer was more than enough for Phasma to understand what he wanted her to.

"Yes we did, sir."

Pushing hard, very hard to look perfectly whole, she got up from the bed and walked towards the pieces of her armor, carefully placing them upon the cloths back on her body. She left her helmet for last, and before putting it on, she turned her cold gaze to Brendol again.

Like some minutes ago, even though they seemed more like hours, he stared back at her. More satisfied than ever. Like he was celebrating an accomplished mission.

"Anything else, sir?" Phasma asked, finally.

A second of silence passed, and she didn't move, didn't vocalize any sound of breath, and maybe didn't even blink. And, finally, Brendol said:

"Nothing. You're discharged. Captain."

She could not see his intentions, so she pretended they were all and at the same time none, only greeting with a reverence, as usual, putting her helmet back and leaving the room through the same door she'd come in.

The hallways to her dormitory went by quicker than she expected. When she reached its door, she went inside in silence, and only removed her helmet when the door was closed again.

No one would come in there now.

Looking in the mirror after the bathroom door, Phasma didn't see anything but her perfect and limpid reflection. With no emotions before the pain. She remembered Brendol telling her about the First Order, telling her how bright her future was in it. For the first time, she missed Parnassos. But Parnassos did not exist anymore, thanks to Brendol too, but, mainly, to her. After all, she had killed her people herself.

Phasma shook her head. In her anger, she was being irrational; the First Order could still offer her a future. The First Order was not the problem: Brendol Hux was. But he had a son, Armitage, she remembered, who didn't seem to like him. Phasma had been there for a short time, but she realized that Brendol had been General for way too long now.

He'd pay with his life for what he'd done that night. So she promised.

And finally allowed herself to cry.

So, as I said before, it's hard to explain how exactly I got to this headcanon. I actually have a list of quotes and scenes from the book that made me think of it, but it's really more about the feeling I got. When it said "do what he wanted or find herself destroyed", this was all I could think about. And the last chapter gave me this feeling again, when Phasma thinks of getting rid of Brendol. Maybe the main reason is that the reason for her to kill him is not completely revealed at any point, so if felt obscure to me.

If you're wondering about the title, it just felt perfect when it came to my mind. Considering my headcanon or not, Phasma is a warrior, I think it was clear in the novel. Maybe some people will think she would struggle against Brendol or something, but I personally think it takes much more strength to just stand stoic and let someone do whatever they want to you because you know there's nothing you can do to avoid it. It's always harder to be harmed without letting your abuser see they're harming you. It's something I try to do every day in my life, but I fail most times. Well, I'm not strong as Phasma, but I learned a lot about strength from her. I'm serious at this, you can learn a lot from fictional characters and stories, and I feel that Phasma actually taught me to be strong. She's the strongest character I know.

If you liked the story and want to better understand how I got to it, I really suggest you listen to the playlist. Those six little songs pass all I wanted to pass with this story.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to comment and tell me what you think! I'm always open to suggestions and criticism. Readers are always the best help :)

May the Force be with you, see you all in my Phasma fanfic that will continue this one (and the novel, lol)! There we will have plenty of chapters to talk about!