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Cody - Blog Posts
I wonder would they get along if they ever met? (I did the meme)
Ink belong to @comyet
I guess its like a late birthday gift for noah but yeah i just wanna draw my own noco family au
I love frost having a beef with a child (this took way too long than it should've been)
kelsi belong to @n00dl3gal
Jody belong to @same-name-supremacy
Chelsea belong to @spectrumbunny
Cassidy belong to @totally-trans-island
This is..some weird crossover i have ever made to be honest but oh well
I like how i fucking emo fied my own cody (this bitch is just full of angst)
And some ouftit design for him (also fun fact cody has scar and freckles too but he hide it with alot of make up)
you've drawn cassidy like. twice now, i almost feel obliged to draw your fem!cody but idk when i'll find the time— spam me with requests or pictures of her. my memory is shit
Oh sure that be cool and also i'm drawing my cody desgin at the moment maybe you could use it as a refrence later! :3
Here's the afterlife sibling you might know two of them (lasidah and cody) so i'll talk about the other's later there this total drama au i want to really make but unsure if i want it as a fanfic or comic but you can found out bit of the story with the flowers,the flowers hold symbol that is a huge par of the four of their story you can guess what kind of flower it is and what symbol it say well then thats over imma just gonna draw more stuff now...
Haha oops my bad...
Week 4 of nocovember this one maybe not the best but i just wanna draw this scene
Nocovember created by @zuureleena
I forgot to draw her too :,( or maybe the frame i used is too small anywho here chelsea she kinda act like that one mom friend in the grup
But also cassidy
Chelsea belong to @spectrumbunny
Cassidy belong to @totally-trans-island
Two hyperactive teens,some tired parent...
,and some gremlin
Kelsi belong to @n00dl3gal
Jody belong to @same-name-supremacy
Cassidy belong to @totally-trans-island
Week 3 of nocovember with my own noco family au (maya and jack are noco's kids)
And nocovember was created by @zuureleena
Week 3 of nocovember with my own noco family au (maya and jack are noco's kids)
And nocovember was created by @zuureleena
Week 2 of nocovember is done (and maybe you guys could guess wth is going on there)
Nocovember was created by @zuureleena
Week 1 done baby! (God i love them sillies)
Nocovember crated by:@zuureleena
It's just my au of cody's parents...lets just say they aren't that well
I already love this au 💖 (from the creator of #ruisant)
Yeah another drawing of the au (with lasidah now)
Yeah another drawing of the au (with lasidah now)
The two alices (i'll eventually draw more about the au)
I don't know why i keep making weird au :')
Just a thought:
It's not Cody or Kote, it's Koté (kōt-æ).
...
No one ever said that the Mando'a to Basic pronunciations/spellings we have are exact, it's not a far fetch if when writing his name Koté, a Mando'a word, in Aurebesh liberties are taken on account of Aurebesh not having accent marks.
As to everyone calling him Cody, most Jedi and everyday citizens wouldn't know Mando'a, it would be like how English speakers used to (and still do to an extent) change names for easier pronunciation. Miguel = Michael, Yeshua = Joshua, Pièrre = Peter. It's not that far of a stretch.
*None of this has any connection to canon like at all.
So, I'm rewatching The Clone Wars and.....it is much more depressing the second time around.
"You showed me something today. You're exactly the kind if men I need in the 501st." - Rex ("Rookies")
Hi! I was thinking a Rex or Cody x Gen!Reader(maybe they’re a bounty hunter or just a Mandalorian) where they’re working together and they get accidentally married in mandoa and don’t find out right away? 💕
This is probably not what you requested but hope you like it either way.
“One Too Many”
Commander Cody x GN!Mandalorian Reader
The campaign on Desix had been long, bloody, and miserable. So when word came that the Separatist holdouts had finally surrendered, Obi-Wan Kenobi declared the night a rare “official respite.”
The planet was a dustball at the edge of nowhere — the kind of place smugglers, bounty hunters, and desperate soldiers all stumbled through sooner or later.
You were there for work. Quick job, quick pay, quick drink.
You hadn’t expected to find half the Grand Army of the Republic crowded into the cantina. You especially hadn’t expected to find him — broad-shouldered, scarred, handsome in a way that was dangerous when someone was three shots deep.
Cody.
You didn’t know his name at first. Just another trooper, you thought — until you saw the way the others deferred to him. Until you saw the way he held himself, even off-duty.
Like a man carrying an entire war on his back.
You liked him immediately.
You were reckless like that.
The 212th’s celebration had started simple: a little victory, a little breathing room, a little dust-choked cantina at the edge of nowhere.
Then the liquor came out.
One drink turned into three. Three turned into seven.
You barely remembered how it started — one minute you were slumped over the bar next to a broad-shouldered, grim-faced trooper who was nursing a drink like it was going to run away, and the next you were both howling drunk, arms thrown around each other, laughing at something Waxer said about when Cody bought you a drink.
Mando’a started slipping from your mouth when you got drunk — curses, jokes, old wedding songs you half-remembered from your clan.
Boil dared Cody to kiss you.
You dared Cody to marry you.
And for some kriffing reason, Waxer got it into their heads that you should actually do it.
There was a chapel down the street.
A real one.
Old Outer Rim-style — rustic, rickety, still covered in someone’s half-hearted attempt at decorations from a wedding months ago.
“You won’t,” Boil slurred, clinging to Waxer.
“I kriffing will,” Cody said, jabbing a finger at you.
You were grinning so hard your face hurt. “You won’t.”
He grabbed your wrist and started marching, half-dragging you through the dusty street. Waxer and Boil stumbled after you, cackling like a pair of devils.
Behind you, Master Kenobi — General Kenobi, The Negotiator, Jedi Master, paragon of wisdom and serenity — trailed along with a wine bottle in one hand, sipping casually like he was watching a street performance.
“Should we… stop them?” Waxer hiccupped.
Kenobi just raised an eyebrow. “Why? It’s quite entertaining.”
Inside the chapel, some sleepy old droid still programmed for ceremonies blinked itself awake when you all stumbled through the door.
“Are you here to be joined in union?” it asked mechanically.
“Yeah!” Cody barked, waving his hand. “Get on with it!”
You were laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe. Waxer was sobbing into Boil’s shoulder from laughter. Boil was recording it on his datapad.
You were pretty sure you threatened to punch Cody halfway through the vows, and he threatened to throw you over his shoulder and “get this over with,” and Waxer tried to officiate at one point but got distracted by the ceiling lights.
The droid somehow got the basic requirements out of you: names, yes, consent, yes, promise to stick together, sure why not, insert your clan name here, slurred into nothing.
“By the rites of union under the local customs of Desix,” the droid droned, “you are now spouses.”
There was a long, stunned pause.
Cody blinked at you, bleary and still holding your wrist.
You blinked at him, grinning like an idiot.
Waxer whooped.
Boil flung rice he stole from the droid’s ceremonial basket.
Obi-Wan gave a golf clap, smiling into his wine bottle.
Cody tugged you in by the front of your shirt and kissed you square on the mouth.
It was clumsy and a little sloppy and completely perfect.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, chuckling low in his chest.
“Remind me to actually take you on a date next time,” he muttered.
You snorted, dizzy and stupidly happy.
“You’re such a cheap date,” you teased.
“You’re the one who married a clone after six drinks,” he shot back.
Obi-Wan’s voice floated lazily from somewhere behind you.
“This isn’t the first Mandalorian shotgun wedding I’ve attended.”
You flipped Kenobi off over Cody’s shoulder without looking.
⸻
Your head was killing you.
It was the kind of hangover that felt like someone had stuffed a live thermal detonator into your skull and set it to “gently simmer.”
You woke up sprawled across the pilot’s chair of your battered little freighter, helmet on the floor, boots still on, jacket half-off.
You groaned, clutching your head, trying to piece together what the kriff happened last night.
You remembered… the cantina.
Maybe some clones?
Drinks?
A lot of drinks.
And then — nothing. A void.
Total blackout.
You muttered a curse under your breath, shaking off the cobwebs.
“Not my problem anymore,” you said hoarsely, slamming the hatch controls.
The ship lifted off with a coughing rumble, engines flaring as you tore away from that cursed dustball of a planet without a single look back.
Freedom.
Peace.
Hangover and all, at least you—
—CLANG.
You jumped, hand flying to your blaster as something banged inside the ship.
You spun around, heart hammering, expecting a bounty hunter or a drunken mistake you forgot to ditch.
Instead, a half-dressed clone trooper stumbled out of your refresher.
You stared.
He stared.
Both of you looked equally horrified.
“What the kriff are you doing on my ship?!” you barked, blaster half-raised.
The clone — broad, buzzcut, golden armor pieces still strapped to one shoulder — squinted blearily at you.
“…Am I still drunk?” he mumbled, rubbing his face. “Or are you yelling?”
You pressed the blaster harder into your hand to resist the urge to shoot the ceiling out of pure frustration.
“Who the hell are you?” you demanded.
“Uh.” He looked down at himself, like maybe his armor would have answers. “Waxer.”
“Waxer,” you repeated flatly.
There was an awkward beat.
He looked around, frowning harder. “This… this isn’t the barracks.”
“No shit, genius,” you snapped. “It’s my ship.”
Waxer scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish.
“I… think I followed you.”
“Why?”
He shrugged helplessly. “I dunno, vod. You seemed… fun?”
You pinched the bridge of your nose so hard you saw stars.
This was a nightmare.
You had to focus. Okay. One problem at a time.
“Do you remember anything about last night?” you ground out.
Waxer leaned heavily against the wall, thinking so hard it looked painful.
“Uh… bar… drinks… Boil dared Cody to…” He trailed off, brow furrowing. “Somethin’ about a chapel?”
You stared at him, ice sinking into your stomach.
“…A chapel?”
“Yeah,” Waxer said, rubbing his temple. “Pretty sure there was a wedding? Someone got married?”
You nearly dropped your blaster.
“No, no, no,” you muttered, pacing in a tight circle. “Not me. Not a chance.”
Waxer gave you a once-over, squinting.
“You do look like you got married,” he said, way too cheerfully for a man half-hungover in your ship’s corridor. “You got that, uh, post-wedding… glow.”
You shot him a look so poisonous he actually flinched.
“You’re lucky you’re not spaced already,” you growled. “Sit down, stay quiet. I need to figure out what the hell happened.”
You turned back toward the cockpit.
Waxer called weakly after you:
“Hey, uh… if you find out if I got married, let me know too, yeah?”
You groaned so loud it shook the bulkheads.
⸻
Cody woke up face-down on a crate in a supply room.
His mouth tasted like regret and sawdust.
His armor was half-missing.
His head felt like it had been used for target practice.
He groaned, dragging himself upright, squinting around.
Where the kriff—?
The door slid open with a hiss, and Boil stumbled in, looking just as rough.
“Commander,” Boil rasped, voice like gravel, “we’re…uh…we’re shipping out soon.”
Cody pressed his fingers to his temples.
“Where’s Waxer?” he croaked.
Boil blinked. Looked around like maybe Waxer would appear out of thin air.
“…I thought he was with you?”
Cody cursed under his breath. “We leave in an hour. Find him.”
Boil nodded, clutching the wall for balance, and staggered out.
Cody scrubbed a hand down his face.
Bits of last night floated in his brain — flashes of a bar, too many drinks, laughing until his ribs hurt — and then… nothing.
Total blackout.
He remembered someone — warm hands, a sharp smile — but it was blurry. Faded like a dream.
Before he could piece anything together, General Kenobi appeared, hands tucked casually behind his back, sipping calmly from a steaming cup of tea.
“Cody,” Kenobi greeted pleasantly. “Sleep well?”
Cody groaned. “Respectfully, sir, I feel like I’ve been run over by a LAAT.”
Kenobi smiled, maddeningly unbothered.
“Well, that’s what happens when you elope with Mandalorians,” the Jedi said casually, taking a sip.
Cody froze.
“…Sir?”
Kenobi gave him a sideways glance, the barest twitch of amusement on his mouth.
“Marrying someone you just met. Very uncharacteristic of you,” he mused aloud. “But then again, everyone needs a little excitement now and then.”
Cody’s mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
“I… I what?” he managed.
Kenobi smiled wider.
“As your commanding officer and friend, let me be the first to congratulate you on your marriage.”
Cody stared at him, stomach dropping through the floor.
Kenobi clapped him on the shoulder once, almost kindly, and strolled off down the corridor, humming to himself.
Cody just stood there.
Brain utterly blank.
Marriage!?
Bits of the night started stitching themselves together in his pounding skull — the cantina, the drinks, the bet, the chapel,— a Mandalorian — a ring of laughter and shouting — a kiss that tasted like liquor and adrenaline—
His hands flew to his body, patting himself down.
There, on a thin chain tucked under his blacks, was a cheap metal band — hastily engraved, scuffed to hell — but there.
He was married.
To someone.
He didn’t even know their name.
“Kriff!” he swore, yanking the band out to stare at it.
Boil popped his head back around the corner.
“Commander, uh, bad news — Waxer’s missing.”
Cody’s eye twitched.
“Find him,” he growled. “Now.”
Because if anyone knew where the kriffing Mandalorian was — the Mandalorian he apparently married last night — it would be Waxer.
And Cody was going to kill them both.
⸻
Cody was stalking through the camp like a man possessed.
Clones scrambled out of his way — even Boil looked like he was about to duck and cover — but Cody barely noticed.
He jabbed at his comm unit again, teeth grinding.
“Come on, Waxer, where the hell are you—”
The comm crackled — and finally, mercifully, connected.
Except… it wasn’t Waxer’s voice that answered.
It was a dry, raspy groan, like someone dying a slow death.
“…Who the kriff is this?” a voice slurred over the line.
Cody stiffened.
That voice—
Mandalorian accent. Rough from a hangover.
Unmistakable.
“This is Commander Cody of the Grand Army of the Republic,” he snapped. “Where’s Waxer?”
A heavy sigh crackled through the speaker.
Then some muffled shuffling.
Finally, a different voice — Waxer’s — came on the line, painfully sheepish.
“Uh… hey, Commander.”
“Waxer,” Cody growled, “you have two minutes to explain why you’re not on the ground getting ready for departure.”
“Okay, so, uh…” Waxer sounded like he was desperately trying to piece his dignity back together. “Funny story, sir…”
“Waxer.”
“I’m on a ship. Not, uh, our ship. The Mandalorian’s ship.”
Cody’s eye twitched violently.
“You’re with them?” he hissed.
Waxer coughed, clearly embarrassed.
“Yeah. Turns out, I kinda… passed out in their refresher.”
In the background, you — the Mandalorian — muttered “Stop telling people that,” which Cody was definitely going to circle back to later.
Waxer hurried on. “They could drop me off at Nal Hutta — You know, least disruption, stay outta the battalion’s way…”
“Nal Hutta is a three-day detour,” Cody barked.
“Yeah, I said that too,” Waxer admitted. “They’re heading to Coruscant next, but it’s gonna take a few days.”
Cody paced like a caged rancor, running a hand through his hair.
“You’re telling me I have to leave you in the hands of a hungover Mandalorian,” he said through gritted teeth, “who I may or may not have married last night, and just hope you both make it to Coruscant alive?”
“…I mean, if you put it like that, sir,” Waxer said carefully, “it sounds worse than it is.”
There was a long pause.
Cody closed his eyes.
He could feel Kenobi’s amused stare from across the camp.
The General was lounging under a shade tarp, nursing another drink like he was personally invested in Cody’s suffering.
Cody opened his eyes.
Fine.
No choice.
“Copy that,” he ground out. “Transmit your vector when you make planetfall. We’ll regroup on Coruscant.”
“Yes, sir,” Waxer said, voice obviously relieved.
The comm clicked off.
Cody lowered the device slowly, breathing through his nose.
“Married,” he muttered to himself, in utter disbelief. “Married to a Mandalorian I don’t even remember meeting.”
Kenobi drifted casually closer, hands clasped behind his back, wearing the smuggest expression Cody had ever seen on his otherwise dignified face.
“Don’t worry, Cody,” the Jedi said lightly, voice positively dripping with humor. “Statistically speaking, most impulsive marriages have a fifty percent survival rate.”
Cody stared at him, hollow-eyed.
“That’s not comforting, sir.”
Kenobi took a sip of his drink, beaming. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
⸻
The ship’s hyperdrive thrummed softly as it hurtled through deep space.
You slouched in the pilot’s chair, wearing the hangover like a full set of armor.
Every noise was too loud.
Every light was too bright.
From behind you, Waxer was perched awkwardly on a crate, looking like he had a lot of questions he desperately wanted to ask — and not enough survival instincts to stop himself.
You groaned, slumping forward to rest your forehead against the control panel.
“Don’t say it,” you warned him, voice hoarse.
Waxer scratched the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly.
“…Sooo,” he drawled, dragging the word out, “you and my commander, huh?”
You made a wounded sound into the console.
“I’m never drinking with clones again,” you mumbled.
Waxer chuckled under his breath, clearly finding way too much joy in your suffering.
“Hey, could be worse,” he said lightly. “At least it’s Cody. Solid guy. Good rank. Stable.”
You turned your head just enough to glare at him, one eye peeking out from under your hair.
“I don’t even remember meeting him,” you hissed. “I woke up in my ship, there was a half-dead clone in my refresher, and now apparently I’m married to your kriffing commander.”
Waxer winced sympathetically, but he was absolutely biting back a laugh.
“Details, details,” he said. “You seemed real happy about it last night.”
“I was drunk!” you snapped.
Waxer shrugged, grinning. “Still. Smiled a lot.”
You buried your face back into your arms.
Maker.
You tried to scrape together anything useful from last night — but it was all a messy blur of shouting, music, the burning taste of spotchka, and — somewhere — a deep, rumbling laugh you could almost remember.
You groaned again.
Waxer leaned back against the wall, settling in comfortably like he was ready to spill all the juicy gossip.
“So…what’s the plan?” he asked, way too casually.
You lifted your head just enough to glare again.
“Plan?”
“Yeah, you know. Marriage stuff. Matching armor. Co-signing a ship mortgage.”
You pointed a finger at him.
“You’re lucky I don’t space you,” you muttered.
Waxer just smiled wider.
“Look, could be worse,” he said again, like he was helping. “General Kenobi didn’t even seem mad. He was kinda proud, honestly.”
You groaned and flopped back into your chair, draping an arm over your face.
“You clones are a menace.”
Waxer chuckled.
“Yeah, but you married one, so what’s that make you?”
You made a strangled sound.
The ship sailed on through the stars — heading straight for Coruscant and the world’s most awkward conversation with Commander Cody.
You didn’t know how that conversation was going to go.
But you were pretty sure you were going to need a drink for it.
⸻
The ship touched down at the GAR base on Coruscant with a smooth hiss of repulsors.
You barely waited for the ramp to finish lowering before you were all but shoving Waxer out.
“Go,” you said, practically herding him down the ramp. “Fly, be free.”
Waxer grinned, shouldering his kit bag.
“Thanks for the lift, mesh’la. Good luck with the husband.”
You shot him a murderous glare as he disappeared into the bustling crowds of clones and officers.
And then — standing at the base of the ramp — was him.
Commander Cody.
Still in full armor, helmet tucked under one arm, looking… somehow even more handsome sober.
His hair was tousled, his dark eyes sharp but… cautious.
You felt the smallest flicker of Oh no he’s hot panic spark in your gut.
Cody stepped forward, clearing his throat.
You squared your shoulders, already bracing for it.
“So,” he said, voice carefully neutral. “About… the marriage.”
You gave him a flat look.
“What marriage?” you said, a little too brightly. “I don’t remember a marriage.”
Cody cracked the faintest, tired smile.
“Right. Well. I’m sure there’s a way to… annul it. Or nullify it. Whatever the proper term is.”
You cocked your head, pretending to think.
“Could just say it wasn’t consummated,” you said casually. “Makes it non-binding in some traditions.”
For a half-second, Cody actually looked relieved.
You smirked.
Right up until a very distinct voice behind you both cleared his throat politely.
Both you and Cody turned at the same time.
There stood General Kenobi, sipping from a flask he definitely wasn’t supposed to have on base, looking immensely entertained.
“I’m afraid,” Kenobi said, with that Jedi-trying-to-sound-diplomatic tone, “that would not be accurate.”
You and Cody blinked at him.
Kenobi smiled a little wider, like he was delivering a death sentence.
“From what I recall — and from what half the battalion will never be able to forget — the marriage was…” He paused delicately. “…enthusiastically consummated. On multiple occasions. That night.”
Silence.
Absolute, crippling silence.
You felt your soul leave your body.
Cody’s face turned a shade of red you hadn’t thought possible for a battle-hardened clone.
You slowly turned your head back toward Cody, your expression completely numb.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“Right,” he said finally, voice strangled. “Good to know.”
You choked on a sound that was half a laugh, half a groan.
Kenobi clapped Cody lightly on the shoulder as he strolled past.
“Congratulations again, by the way,” he added over his shoulder, absolutely relishing your suffering.
You and Cody just stood there on the landing pad, mutual trauma radiating off you in waves.
Finally, you blew out a breath.
“So,” you said hoarsely, “drinks?”
Cody stared at you.
Then — in the most defeated, exhausted voice you had ever heard — he muttered
“Please.”