So, the colour of the year 2018 is a purple-blue named Ultra Violet. Seeing I love all things purple, I’m not arguing. Even if I can imagine seeing the colour on anything from interior design mags to wedding dresses to ice cream over the next twelve months.
It won’t bother me at all.
On the contrary, it will cheer my days and brighten my moods.
Back before Marvel wrecked my favourite ship, when I wrote fanfic inspired by Clark Gregg’s smile and one badass archer with a love for purple (BowTie or Clint/Coulson for those not familiar with the Avengers Fandom), I made Clint Barton explain exactly what it is about purple that makes it so appealing a colour. At the time, he’d been turned into a walking bomb by a drug that binds to his blood, and he’d been told – tauntingly – that only purple will save him. Here’s how he explains that to Phil Coulson.
Clint huffed, not sure where to start. “What’s your favourite colour?” he asked eventually.
Phil’s eyes almost fell shut as he thought. “Not sure,” he said eventually. “Soft grey? Silver?”
Clint smiled widely. “That makes perfect sense. Solid and stable, creating calm and comfort from chaos. Responsible, dependable, formal, elegant and plays well with others,” he recited with a smirk.
“Is that so?”
“That is so. But colour doesn’t just reflect personalities. It also affects people’s minds and bodies.”
“I know that much, Barton. Tell me about purple.”
The innocuous question felt surprisingly personal. Clint’s neck heated. He felt the flush rise to the tops of his ears, and he forced himself to hold Phil Coulson’s gaze. “Purple is the perfect colour, halfway between the warmest red and the coolest blue,” he began quietly, feeling as if he exposed his soul and not minding nearly as much as he’d expected. “It’s halfway between passion and calm, between action and serenity, despair and pleasure. It’s…”
“How you live,” Phil said softly.
“Purple is like…. a dance on a wire,” Clint said, glad Coulson understood. “It’s waiting for hours, then exploding into action. It’s killing in the hope of doing good.” He shrugged. “Purple is… my life, my job. It describes what I do. How I keep grounded.”
“And why you think you can beat this drug.”
Clint’s breath came out in long rush of relief. Coulson had heard his halting explanations and got it. Very few people did. Clint was glad that Coulson was one of them.