If you cannot write Commander Cody as mutually inclusive:
Hypercompetent
Anxious over thinker
Equipped with an On/Off switch for his sanity & responsibility, with no in between
Chaos incarnate
Name comes from the "Codes & Regulations", which is practically a religious text to the man
Dweeby nerd with a gun
Can curse in an impressive array of languages, but is 100% convinced he'll be struck by lightning—or worse, sent to court martial—so he says "heck" instead of "hell".
Don't talk to me.
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Cody has 100% tapped into the Diaster Lineage's motto: "Do as I say, not as I do".
He'll look to Waxer and say, "Sometimes you're going to order men to death. You'll make mistakes that'll cost lives. You'll just have to learn to live with and move on. This is war. Things happen."
Then, when he's alone, Cody will be internally telling himself, 'I've ordered men to their death. I haven't learned to live with that and I don't know how i can move on,' then uses his dissociative guilt to launch himself into a black hole with only inhuman amounts of work for a distraction.
He's fine. He isn't fine. He wants to go back to his intelligence hole cracking enemy encryption.
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“Dear Force,” he prays. Threatens. He’s arriving at the bargaining stage from left to catch it off guard. “Have I not suffered enough?”
“Mrrrrp!”
“Quiet over there, I’m trying to reach a mystical entity.”
“Myam!”
“Thanks, Ponds. Knew I could count on you.”
Sitrep. Cody’s currently trying to take a nap. It is not going well.
“Why didn’t you turn into shrimp or something easy,” he mutters, shoving the pillow up with his shoulder.
He’s had an incredibly long night in the Jedi Archives trying to help find texts that might help his batchmates turn back into the humanoid assholes they are.
“Mrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”
“Watch the hair, Wolffe.”
Wolffe chooses to ignore him, naturally. He continues impersonating a broken speeder and kneading Cody’s head.
Bly is— “Meep!” - still stuck behind Cody’s back.
Right. Nap.
His head kind of slumps back with the sigh, the stress flowing out of his shoulders like water down a stream—
There’s a rustling. One of them jumps on the couch, it seems.
Silence.
Cody deigns to open one eye and watches as Ponds drags a Jedi robe onto the backrest before nesting in it in quick, efficient moves.
“Is that General Windu’s,” he asks as if he actually wants to know.
As an answer he gets a stuck up tail and a frankly unnecessary view of his brother’s butthole before limbs, tail, and head are tugged into the fluffy ball of fur.
Alright. Time to close his eyes again.
Crossing his arms, he wriggles around until he’s - “Meep?!” - comfortable. Wolffe is still kneading, Bly is fighting a cushion, Ponds is living Cody’s dreams by being asleep and snoring—
“If you stick your tongue into my ear again, I’ll shoot you into orbit, Fox.”
“Rrya?”
“Yeah yeah, come here, you fool.”
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If somehow… Cody found Obi-Wan after he escaped the Empire set during The Bad Batch:
Obi-Wan recognized the sunburst paint before the trooper dropped his blaster, wrong color though it was. Obi-Wan couldn’t let go of his own blaster — too many memories of canon fire, blasters and falling, falling falling
Then Cody is right there, grabbing his wrist, pulling him in. And sure, Obi-Wan could push back, use the Force, escape… but distraught brown eyes have him pinned.
“Obi-Wan.” Shaky, broken voice he knows so well. “It’s me. It’s Cody. Please…”
And thus, Obi-Wan is lost… a trembling shell of the man he once was. Unable and unwilling to fight back.
He’s Cody’s now. Always was.
A breath. Then another. And… “Cody?”
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