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songs in suits

The vagaries of the human mind are unfathomable. Some fraction of it is mine.

to become immoral and die

related headcanon post that you should feel free to ignore:

Cole has always been a tidy person—OCS only left him with weird tics about making the bed and dismantling and cleaning his .45—but the only things he never manages to put away properly are his books. Even if they are stacked neatly on the bookshelf, they inevitably vanish at some time or another, only to end up marking the places where he’s been reading: tattered copies of Arthur Conan Doyle on his daughters’ nightstand for the nights when Cole comes home early enough for a bedtime story, a small stack of pulps in the bathroom, Shelley and Keats and Byron, left over from college, next to his side of the bed, and occasionally, on quiet Sunday afternoons, Marie will find Cole lying under the coffee table, head propped on a sofa cushion, intent on nothing but The Sun Also Rises.