Hyperspace was colder than you remembered, the infinite swirl of stars outside the ship's window casting a dim, otherworldly glow. You pulled Obi-Wan's jacket tighter around yourself, the fabric still faintly carrying his warmth and a subtle scent of leather and fresh linen. It was a thoughtful gesture from the young Jedi, though you hadn't asked for it. The chill of hyperspace wasn't just physical—it seemed to seep into your thoughts, stirring faint memories of your childhood.

It had been so long since you and Satoru left your home planet, venturing to Dragorath. Back then, you were too young to understand why you left, too small to carry the weight of the decision. Your memories of your origins were little more than fragmented images and feelings—a sky too bright to look at, laughter echoing in the distance, and the bittersweet ache of saying goodbye. You sighed, trying to push away the vague melancholy that hyperspace often brought.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of light footsteps entering the chamber. Obi-Wan appeared in the doorway, his expression an intriguing mix of exasperation and quiet endurance. Behind him waddled a strange creature, gangly and awkward, with long floppy ears that bounced with every step. Its stubby snout twitched as it looked around, wide-eyed, its demeanor almost endearingly clueless. You blinked, staring at it as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing.

"Who is this?" you asked, your voice tired but laced with curiosity.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair before gesturing toward the creature. "Jar Jar Binks," he said, his tone tinged with annoyance. "Qui-Gon says we have to take him with us." His lips pressed into a thin line as he rolled his eyes. "I don't understand it; he'll just slow us down."

You chuckled softly, finding Obi-Wan's irritation more entertaining than concerning. The creature—Jar Jar, apparently—stood there, fiddling nervously with its hands. It seemed harmless, bumbling even, with no apparent sharp teeth or claws. Definitely not a carnivore, you mused. It was hard to see how it could possibly be of any use on a dangerous mission, but perhaps Qui-Gon saw something in it that no one else did.

"Slowing you down might be an understatement," you teased, shifting in your seat and giving the creature a once-over. "What exactly does Qui-Gon think it'll do? Charm our enemies into surrendering with its... unique charisma?"

Obi-Wan smirked faintly at your jab, though his irritation didn't fully dissipate. "Apparently, he saved Qui-Gon back on Naboo. Something about a life debt. I think Qui-Gon just feels sorry for him."

At that, Jar Jar's ears perked up, and he shuffled closer to you with an almost childlike eagerness. "Mesa no trouble! Mesa helpin'!" he exclaimed in a lilting voice that was as grating as it was enthusiastic.

You raised an eyebrow, holding back a laugh. "Oh, I'm sure you will," you said diplomatically, though the sarcasm in your tone wasn't lost on Obi-Wan. He shot you a knowing glance, his expression bordering on amused agreement.

Jar Jar, oblivious to your shared skepticism, began to babble about something incoherent, gesturing wildly with his long arms. Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, Why me?

You smiled, leaning back into your seat and adjusting Obi-Wan's jacket. "Well," you said, watching Jar Jar stumble over his own feet as he tried to sit down, "at least hyperspace just got a little more entertaining."

Obi-Wan groaned quietly, and you laughed, grateful for the distraction from the cold. If nothing else, this peculiar journey was shaping up to be far more interesting than you had expected.

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The ship touched down on Tatooine with a faint hum, the arid, golden expanse of sand stretching endlessly in all directions. As you exited the ship, the dry heat hit you like a wall, a sharp contrast to the chilly hyperspace journey. Shrugging off your jacket, and then Obi-Wan's, you revealed the cropped top you wore beneath. The fabric clung just enough to show off the lines of your toned stomach, a testament to your years of training and resilience.

Obi-Wan froze for a moment, his face turning a remarkable shade of pink. He quickly turned away, pretending to busy himself with the controls, but not before you caught the way his gaze lingered for just a second too long. You smirked inwardly, finding his reaction amusing, though you said nothing.

Qui-Gon, ever the composed one, studied you with a curious expression. One eyebrow arched slightly, a faint smile playing at his lips. "You're stronger than you look, Sayori," he remarked, his tone carrying both observation and approval.

You tilted your head at him, brushing a strand of white hair from your face. "Well, Master Qui-Gon," you said with a sly grin, "looks can be deceiving, can't they?" You flexed your fingers, and for just a moment, blue fire flickered over them before you let it die out. "Strength isn't always about how it looks."

Qui-Gon inclined his head, clearly intrigued. "Indeed," he said. "Strength is as much about spirit as it is about skill. You have both."

Obi-Wan, still avoiding looking directly at you, coughed awkwardly. "We should, um, focus on the task at hand," he said, his voice slightly higher-pitched than usual. "The Queen of Naboo needs our help, and we're wasting time standing here."

"Relax, Kenobi," you teased, your voice light with amusement. "We just got here. A little heat won't kill you."

His ears turned red, and you couldn't help but laugh. The sound seemed to break the tension, and even Qui-Gon's shoulders shook slightly in silent mirth. Jar Jar, who had been stumbling down the ramp with his usual clumsiness, looked between the three of you, oblivious to the unspoken exchange.

"Tatooine hot! Mesa sweatin' already!" Jar Jar proclaimed, fanning his floppy ears dramatically.

"Well," Qui-Gon said, turning back to the task at hand, "we have much to do. There's a settlement not far from here where we can start looking for what we need. Stay close, and stay alert. This place can be... unpredictable."

You nodded, your curiosity piqued by the new world before you. Tatooine might not have seemed like much, but you had a feeling this was just the beginning of something far more significant.

◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

The harsh Tatooine sun bore down as you approached the humble farmstead. The dry air was still and heavy, carrying the faint scent of sand and machinery. A young boy with sandy hair and wide, curious eyes emerged from the modest house, his face lighting up with a welcoming smile. "Hi, how can I help you—" He froze mid-sentence, his gaze locking onto you. His cheeks flushed a shade deeper than the desert sand.

"Whoa," he breathed, his voice tinged with awe. "Are you an angel?"

You couldn't help but chuckle at the boy's earnestness. Kneeling down, you reached out to ruffle his hair with one hand, your sunglasses glinting in the sunlight. "Yes, little boy, I am," you said playfully, giving him a peace sign with your tongue sticking out. His blush deepened, and he looked utterly starstruck.

Behind you, Obi-Wan groaned audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose in a gesture of utter exasperation. "Sayori, please," he said, his tone walking the fine line between pleading and scolding. "We're here to pick up Queen Amidala, not to flirt with a little boy."

You laughed brightly, standing back up with a carefree shrug. Turning to Obi-Wan, you flashed him an unapologetic grin that only seemed to add fuel to his barely-contained frustration. His expression was the perfect balance of annoyance and resignation, and it only made you laugh harder.

The sound of footsteps drew your attention as an older woman stepped out of the house. She had kind brown eyes, though her face bore the weariness of a hard life. Beside her was a striking woman in a flowing silver gown that shimmered faintly in the sunlight, her every movement radiating regal poise. The moment she stepped into the open, it was clear who she was.

"You must be Queen Sayori Gojo," the elegant woman said, her voice smooth and authoritative. "I am Queen Amidala of Naboo."

You smiled warmly, giving her a slight bow. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty. Though, please, call me Sayori. Formalities feel so stiff under this sun, don't you think?"

Amidala returned your smile, though it was more reserved. "Indeed," she said, her gaze sharp as she assessed you. "I appreciate you coming all this way. The Jedi have spoken highly of you."

You glanced sideways at Obi-Wan, who was clearly trying to look anywhere but at you. Qui-Gon stepped forward, smoothly taking over the introductions. "Your Majesty," he said, addressing Amidala, "we've secured transport to ensure your safety. We'll leave for Coruscant as soon as possible."

Amidala nodded, her demeanor calm but resolute. "Thank you, Master Jedi," she said. She turned to the older woman beside her. "Shmi, this is Sayori Gojo. She's an ally and a Queen in her own right."

Shmi smiled warmly at you, a glimmer of recognition lighting up her features. "It's an honor, Queen Sayori," she said softly. "You carry yourself with great strength."

You inclined your head toward her, the sincerity in her voice striking a chord. "Thank you," you replied gently. Your gaze flicked back to the boy, who was still staring at you as if you'd hung the twin suns in the sky. "And this little one? Is he yours?"

"Yes," Shmi said with pride. "This is my son, Anakin."

The boy grinned shyly, still clearly enchanted by your presence. You reached out to gently tap his nose, causing him to giggle. "You've got a bright future ahead of you, Anakin," you said, your tone both playful and oddly serious. "I can feel it."

Obi-Wan coughed pointedly, and you rolled your eyes, letting him have his moment of authority. But as you turned back to Amidala, you couldn't shake the feeling that this simple farm on Tatooine had more significance than it appeared. Something about this boy felt... different.

You stretched lazily, your arms reaching for the heavens like a cat basking in the sunlight. "Well," you said with a grin that could charm the twin suns out of the sky, "let's get going. The sooner we're back on Naboo, the sooner we can plop Queen Amidala back onto her fancy throne." You gave Amidala a wink, your playful tone managing to lighten the tension even as Qui-Gon sighed quietly behind you.

Before anyone could make a move, Shmi raised her hand, her warm, matronly voice cutting through the conversation. "Oh, but I must insist you have some food first," she said, a note of urgency creeping into her tone. "A sandstorm is coming, and it's far too dangerous to fly in such weather." She gestured toward her modest home, her eyes carrying the sincerity of a woman used to weathering storms in more ways than one. "Please, come in."

You paused mid-step, considering her offer. Then, with a radiant smile that had Obi-Wan already bracing for whatever you were about to say, you replied, "Well, thank you! You're a lifesaver, Shmi." You stuffed your hands into your pockets, rocking back on your heels with an air of exaggerated nonchalance. "I could eat a bantha, honestly."

Glancing over your shoulder, you flashed an impish grin at the Jedi duo. "Come on, guys, I'm starving. Let's not stand around like rusty droids. Food awaits!"

Qui-Gon, the eternal picture of Jedi patience, gave Shmi a gracious nod and began walking toward the house. "Your hospitality is greatly appreciated," he said, his tone calm and measured, as though someone hadn't just compared himself to a ravenous beast seconds ago. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, looked less than thrilled, his face a perfect blend of mild irritation and resigned acceptance.

"You're always hungry," he muttered under his breath as he followed behind you. "I'm beginning to think the Force is just sustaining your appetite at this point."

You glanced back at him, feigning a gasp of betrayal. "Obi-Wan! That hurts. Are you saying I'm not capable of being full of anything other than charm and wit?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," he replied dryly, though the corners of his mouth twitched as if trying to hold back a smile.

Anakin, ever the enthusiastic host, bolted ahead, his sandy blond hair bouncing as he opened the door with all the pride of someone showing off a royal palace. "Come in! Mom makes the best soup in the galaxy!" he said earnestly, his wide eyes fixed on you, clearly hoping for your approval.

"Best soup in the galaxy, huh?" you repeated, stepping inside with a dramatic flourish. "Anakin, my man, you've set the bar high. I like that. Let's see if it lives up to the hype." You ruffled his hair as you passed, and the boy practically glowed under the attention.

Behind you, Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose—again—while Qui-Gon chuckled softly. The storm outside began to stir, but inside Shmi's warm home, the air was filled with the faint aroma of spices and a growing sense of camaraderie, even as you prepared to make the Jedi endure your antics over dinner.