I threatened to write this for months, so here it is. As a head's up, a pretty graphic depiction of inserting a menstrual cup into one's vagina.
In
"Choose me"
You shouldn't have done this, Leia,she thought to herself angrily. You shouldn't have taken a risk like this. Not for something important, not for today.
But that's why you decided to try it today!retorted another voice in her head. You did itbecausetoday is important!
Leia Organa didn't mind wearing white. Most days, in fact, she rather liked it – it reminded her of home, it gave her a tiny sense of control, it felt her feel like maybe she wasn't so terribly changed from the naive, optimistic, righteous girl she'd been before. Even if often she was more often than not wearing many mismatched layers of mismatched cream, it was worth it – worth, too, the ubiquitous teasing from the insufferable captain of the ship whose 'fresher she'd now locked herself into for – gods, a quarter of an hour?
She'd locked herself into it for the few days she didn'tappreciate wearing white – namely, four days out of every month, when white became the absolute bane of her existence, right up there with communal autovalets (throwing her stained underthings in beside others'?) and waiting in (the albeit very short, given the sparse numbers of young women in the Alliance) line at medical for her monthly allotment of cheap, bulky, belt-requiring sanitary napkins.
Belted?she'd said, horrified and skeptical, when they'd handed them to her for the first time. She didn't show her princess colors often, but – belted?
Standard-issue,had been the reply, and not for the last time she wondered how on earth there'd been money for that pretty princess gown for the press on Yavin but not for pads with goddamn adhesive. What was this, the dark ages?
(Well, it certainly was a dark age, but…)
Anyway, belted was no good, not at all, not for white, not for a white gown, and not for a white gown worn while giving a speech during an important broadcasted event like the one she (and Han, and Chewie) was now hurdling at lightspeed towards. So when on their last mission she'd seen a corner shop selling those small silicon cups promising discretion! comfort! no leakage! ease!she couldn't resist buying one. Choose me,it seemed to say, the being on the packaging smiling at her and looking like someone who would never again have to run her bloody underwear through Captain Han Solo's autovalet alongside his bloodstripes to conserve water. Yes,she'd said to the little thing, flushing with gratitude for a solution to this ridiculous issue, I choose you.
Except the damn thing didn't seem to be choosing her.
Yes, she knew she was short, was small. And yes, she knew that smallness translated to – other parts of her body. Even if she was a virgin she wasn't wholly unfamiliar with the contours of the place between her legs. And yes, she'd heard the first time getting the thing – in – was tricky. But still – she was a princess, a military leader, an icon of hope and power – how could she not insert a tiny silicon cup into her own goddamn vagina?
If only the Falcon wasn't such a mess, if only it was jerkingand bumpingevery five seconds, if only this fucking 'fresher weren't so small that the only way to really get a good angle was to strip off her panties, put one foot up on the sink, one on the floor, lean into an impossibly deep squat, pinch the cup and hold her breath and shove––
"Goddammit!"Leia cried, tumbling onto her ass and crashing into the door as the Falcon jerked. "What the hell!"
"Such language from a princess!" Damn the captain, damn his smug voice. Closer now – she guessed he'd stepped away from the controls after the jump. "Could ya hurry it up in there? Damned hair and makeup is taking far too long."
"Leave me alone, Han," she snapped.
"No offense, but feel like certain – ah, bodily functions should probably take priority over all your princess primping. So if ya wanna just finish up your lipstick…"
"I'm not doing my makeup! I'll be out in a minute, just go…" She righted herself and tried the same position, feet reversed – foot on the sink, foot on the floor, deep squat, pinch, shove–– "Ow!" she yelped, jumping up and plucking out the halfway-inserted object. Okay, so clearly she hadn't pinched enough––
"Ow? Pull out an eyelash, sweetheart?"
Foot, foot, "Go away!"
"Not enough beauty sleep?"
Squat, pinch… "Han, go!"
She could practically hear his delighted, mocking grin: "Well, s'what I'm trying to do, sweetheart, but you're still hogging the damn 'fresher, so––"
Shove –– "Kriff!" she swore loudly – that didn't feel right, not at all – maybe if she just – used her fingers to twist it a bit? Or – if only she could see…
"Hey, is everything alright in there?" Han asked from behind the door, sounding almost – concerned? "You uh––" Was he flushingout there, was he embarrassed? "Need any – help or anything, or––?"
Without thinking, she blurted out, "Could you go into my things and get my hand mirror?" and in an instant she could literally hear him choking––
"You want me to get your – hand mirror?!"he gasped out, and she burned with embarrassment and frustration. "Uh, if you say so, Your Highness – are you tryin' to do some––" He was practically choking again, as if he couldn't believe his good fortune at the ribald jokes she was practically laying right in his lap, "Inspectin'?"
"Fuck it, never mind," she hissed, and steadied herself, this time squatting low with both feet far apart on the floor. "Never mind!" she called a little louder. "It was for my hair, for seeing the back of my hair,but never––"
"Then can you let me in already? Like I said, I gotta––"
"I saidjust a minute."
"Said that five minutes ago – don't make me override the lock, princess!"
"You wouldn't dare," she snapped, feeling around a bit between her legs – yes, this time she'd be strategic… "And anyway, I've just as much right as you to be in here––"
"Like hell you do! It's my ship!"
Squat…"Right now it's under the Alliance––"
"The Alliance's domain! The Falcon? Are you kiddingme?"
Pinch…"And technically,because I rank higherthan you––"
She could hear him growloutside that door, banging his fist against the door. "You're a real goddamn piece of work, aren't you?"
"Therefore I––HAN!" And SHOVEbecause then the door was wide open and she was squatting spread wide with her hand between her legs but she was covered up by the long skirt of the white dress – "Han Solo, what in seven star systems do you think you're––"
"What the – Kriff! You said you were – fuck!Sorry! Damn! I'm sorry!" He was leaping back, mortified, but she was too busy realizing that it was in, she'd gotten it in!
Leia stood up ramrod straight and stuck up her chin and washed her hands before striding out of the 'fresher. "All yours," she said, flashing him a superior smile. "So sorry about the delay."
He was bright red, still, and fuming, and stormed to the 'fresher without a word, slamming the door behind him, and as she laughed to herself at his outlandish reaction she realized that for the first time in weeks she was actually beaming.
That is, of course, until the 'fresher door swung open. And then there was Han Solo, wearing a smug smirk of his own to match hers, lounging in the doorway and dangling from his hand her left-behind white panties.
"Forget something, Your Worship?"
She stormed over and snatched them from his hands, just as mortified as he was a second ago. Even, then. In a rare moment of contentment the thought flashed through her head that for this single moment there was nowhere she'd rather be than smirking and sparring with this strange, outrageous insufferable man.
I actually agree with the headcanon that they have some kind of injectable with which to deal with periods within the Alliance. But I do have such a blast remembering that Star Wars was made in the 70s and thus writing fic accordingly (with belted pads going out of style for adhesives, for example).