#the lipstick is the same legally protected tint

[normal-with-adhd-is-a-joke]

Got some new makeup yesterday which means doing my makeup, sitting in the living room with it on for a while, then removing it 😂

[starlabsforever-blog]

Dude, I have so many. So here's a bunch for Killervibe :) Location (Freelance Whales), I Can't Help Falling In Love With You (Elvis), Hold My Heart (Sara Bareilles), Issues (Julia Michaels), I Dream and Ocean (Charlene Kaye)

I went with Location. The song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqIz5_qbxrA

Also, kudos to @mosylufanfic for giving me someone to bounce ideas off of for this one

I Am Sensing Your Location

The first time it happened, Cisco was right in the middle of a fight. He was taking down a couple of rough customers with Cindy, and needless to say, it was a very inconvenient time to be rendered incapacitated on the ground by a headache.

When he came to, even the scumbags Cindy had cuffed were concerned. Cindy brought him to Julian, much to Cisco’s annoyance (“You realize you just swapped out one migraine for another one, right?”). Julian diagnosed Cisco with a serious case of off-his-meds and referred him to someone who would write him a prescription of dubious legality.

It wasn’t getting better. On the contrary, it was getting exponentially worse, but Cisco hid it from the others as best he could. They had enough to deal with.

At first, he thought it was just the vibing circuits of his brain throwing a fit because of some electrical anomaly, and he didn’t think there was any sort of significance to the vibes. After all, it had been a long while since he’d had random vibes of any importance. Thanks to Cindy, his skills were becoming honed enough that he could see things at will when he needed to. When he had the migraines, it was usually the visual equivalent of static- flashes of light and color, occasionally punctuated by a shape or a blurry image if his brain was feeling generous, but they were disjointed and never made sense. Until he had the fourth migraine, and he saw Caitlin. 

It wasn’t a very clear image; it had the the same cobalt tint and smear around the edges as the rest of his vibes. He saw her face clear as day, but where she was or what she was doing he couldn’t tell.

It happened a few more times, but it was always the same- too blurry, too vague. He was tempted to vibe in on her intentionally, to see if he could clear up the picture, but he didn’t. He told himself it was because of the migraines. Really, it was because he was terrified of what he might see.

“You just couldn’t wait to see me again, huh? You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

“Shut up.” Her hands misted dangerously.

“Actually, I’m kinda inclined to do the opposite of that. You’ve done nothing to convince me that you’re not gonna Frozone my ass as soon as I stop stalling.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Cisco,” she said, and for a second, her eyes were murky blue-brown, like the bottom of a lake.

He stepped forward, hands up. 

Then her eyes glinted, and she said in that horrible, inhuman voice, “I’m going to put you through hell.”  

Cisco woke up screaming.

When his voice gave out, he pulled the covers over his head, bunching his hands up in them, trying to calm down with the breathing exercises Caitlin had taught him a millennia ago. He was drenched in sweat but at the same time he felt cold clear through. He told himself that it was just a dream, that it wasn’t the right shade of blue. It had had the distorted, trippy feel of a hallucination, so it must have been a fever dream or else just stress.

That goddamn fight in the woods. Infantino Street wouldn’t leave him alone. He clutched onto his phone, his fingers hovering over Cindy’s contact, but he ended up dropping it on his nightstand. She was great and she cared and all, but she hadn’t seen him having a breakdown of this magnitude, and he wasn’t sure she would know what to do with him. He wasn’t sure she would be any comfort at all.

What he really wanted was Caitlin. Not the pale, distant woman who’d left H.R.’s funeral, and certainly not the hell maiden he’d just seen in his nightmare. He wanted his best friend Caitlin, who watched The Walking Dead with him, who hated when he stole her pizza pockets, who had spent nights sleeping on his couch just to keep her company. He wanted her so badly and it made him want to cry. 

He sat up and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. He didn’t need any help from his nightmares or his vibes to worry about Caitlin. He had no idea where she was or what she was doing, or if she was even alive, and his overactive imagination had been more than happy to remind him of all of the horrible fates that she could have suffered. That was all this was, was his overactive brain and his anxiety, and the sleep deprivation certainly couldn’t be helping.

With his nightmare fresh in his mind, he was weak. He just had to know that she was safe, that she was okay, that she was alive somewhere. Then that would give him enough peace of mind to sleep. He hadn’t slept much for the last three weeks.

He rifled through his dresser and found what he was looking for, folded up in the bottom drawer. It was a blue t-shirt that said Trust me, I’m the doctor. He had bought it, but she was the only one who ever wore it. The last time she’d worn it must have been months ago, the last time he’d gotten badly hurt enough that she’d insisted on going home with him. He hoped it would be good enough.

He held it with both hands, close to his face. It still had the faded scent of her lavender shampoo. He breathed in lavender and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on Caitlin.

Nothing.

He huffed, frustrated, and tried again. He knew how to do this. These days, he didn’t even need an object, so why couldn’t he do it now?  Maybe he needed to be in the right mindset. Okay, be zen. Calm down. Deep yoga breaths. He picked up the shirt and tried again. Still nothing.

He tossed the shirt to the ground, frustrated. He scoured his apartment, hoping he’d find an old earring of hers or something that would have soaked up her presence, but there was nothing any better than the t-shirt, not here.

He drove his truck to STAR Labs, because the migraine nibbling at the nape of his neck threatened to split his skull in two if he tried to open a breach. He raced to the elevator, his pulse still humming from the adrenaline of his dream.

He tore her desk apart, but everything felt felt too trivial or impersonal. The things he’d used before, Barry’s suit, Zoom’s hat. Dante’s car keys, were more than just a favorite pen or an earring left behind. It had to be something special.

He saw it in the corner of his eye, just a glint at the bottom of her desk drawer, and it felt like a godsend.

Her wedding ring. 

He scooped it up, hands trembling, and closed his fingers around it.

Nothing happened.

He put his foot through the drawer and got a splinter in his leg.

Cisco kept trying to vibe her, but either he hit the same wall of blocky static or he was seized by an unbearable migraine. He took to wearing the wedding ring on a chain around his neck, just to keep it close to him. He decided Ronnie wouldn’t have minded. 

He asked Cynthia if she’d ever not been able to vibe before. “Um, like, hypothetically. Have you ever had a block for a specific person?”

She looked at him a little suspiciously, but didn’t ask. She didn’t ask him for much these days. “Once. My partner. He was in serious trouble and I was trying to- to make sure he was okay.”

It was a striking parallel, but it just made him more frustrated. He never asked for these stupid brain-splitting powers, okay, and the one time he really needed to use them, the omnipotent power of the multiverse had decided, nah, you don’t need to know whether Caitlin’s alive. 

“How did you get past it?” he asked Cynthia. 

She stiffened. “I never got the chance,” she said, and turned away.

The migraines basically kept him from sleeping, ever, so that’s why he was slumped over his couch at 3 AM and at least a little high on pain medication. He was tightly clutching Cait’s wedding ring, his hand loosely over his heart, and not quite on the upside of the spectrum of consciousness when his world sputtered into blue. 

This time, there was no migraine, and no acid trip. He saw Caitlin, with her shock-white hair and pale skin. She turned around and her eyes were brown, they were brown. She wore all black and red lipstick, and she was in a room he’d never seen before. He tried to look around to find maybe a window or any distinct feature that could help him locate her, but there was nothing. Lonely white walls and a depressing beige carpet. She sat on a bed in the corner, playing with something in her hand. 

“Caitlin,” he whispered, even though he’d never tried that before. Predictably, she didn’t look up. He tried to focus on the shiny, silvery object in her hand, and his heart stopped when he realized what it was.

The pieces of the necklace he’d made her.

He had no idea where she’d found the remnants, or why or how she’d kept them. That didn’t matter to him nearly as much as the fact that wherever she was, she still had it and she apparently spent a lot of time looking at it.

Something he’d once made to protect her.

He focused on her face, trying to make out her features through the blurry unfocused lens. Her eyes were downcast and her face was lined, tired. She was slumped against the wall behind that bed, hugging herself.

Even though he was almost positive it didn’t work this way, he tried to project thoughts to her- Caitlin, Cait, where are you? I miss you. I need you. I still want you.

He wasn’t sure it was him calling out to her so much as his heart bursting out of his chest, mourning for her, yearning for her. His hand closed over the ring.and the atmosphere changed.

It was as sudden as a flash of lightning but as subtle as a heat wave. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw her eyes lock with hers. Then the necklace slid out of her fingers.

He came to on his living room floor, still clutching the wedding ring tightly in his fist.

Caitlin stared at the broken pieces in her hand. Its purpose was purely sentimental. Even before Killer Frost, she hadn’t been much of a sentimental person, but having your life turned upside down and fundamentally shaken had an effect on you. 

She didn’t know why she brought these. She shouldn’t have. She needed to spend this time with herself and reflect on herself and if and when Central City ever fit into that picture again, she would go back. Everything around her had changed, and she was changing, too. She had to. 

But she could only be so strong for so long. When she felt this helpless and hopeless, she just held the biggest remnant of the silvery snowflake in her hand, thinking of the hands that had made it for her. She closed her eyes and imagined his strong, warm hands, his smile, his voice, his arms.  

If she allowed herself to, she missed him so badly that it hurt. She closed her hand around the necklace.

I need you

She jumped and glanced around wildly. Hearing things, definitely. She was alone.

And then for a split second, she wasn’t.

Cait

She wasn’t sure if he was there, exactly, but she felt him. She felt his presence like a burst of warm sunlight, like a sudden summer storm, like two arms wrapped around her. 

Then like a crack of lightning, she was alone again.

Cisco slept with the ring around his neck that night. He decided Ronnie definitely wouldn’t mind.

The next morning, his head was full of cotton, but the migraine was gone. He didn’t feel as lonely as the last night before, or as desperate. Something had shifted.

He held the ring against his chest and closed his eyes, thinking with all of his might, Cait, I’m here. Wherever you are, I’m here.

Somehow, what had felt like an unnavigable chasm between them was just the tiniest bit smaller.