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Blue
Blue had always been well-- blue.
He can’t explain it.
Blue was blue; the sky was blue, his favourite blanket was blue, the crayon he and Fundy always fought over was blue.
Blue was blue, and that's how Ranboo always saw it. Blue was always that hue, blue was always one the many colours he loved, and blue was always the colour of the water crashing up to shore. Blue was always blue and would always be blue.
Blue is blue, everything else is everything else.
Yellow
Yellow was yellow, but yellow was also happiness.
Ranboo remembers yellow being the sun and the grass during summer. Ranboo remembers yellow being the colour of lemons and pictures of sunflowers. Yellow was the feathers of baby ducks, honey and the bees that make it.
But yellow was also happiness.
At school, people said yellow meant happy. Yellow was happy question marks, happy exclamations and happy noises and the bright yellow sweater the kid in front of him always wore even if he couldn’t see it.
Yellow wasn’t just happiness either.
Yellow was also disappointing, in some aspects.
Yellow was the colour of old crinkly paper. Yellow was the colour of hot days where he felt like he was burning up, yellow was the bite of someone telling you they wished you were better. Yellow was also disappointment as much as it was happiness.
Yellow was yellow, and always will be yellow.
Red
Red was the colour of roses.
And like roses hurt if you got pricked by their thorns, so did red.
Red was painful. Stinging pain and sticky liquid and blurry vision. Red was of twisted nightmares, seeping bandages, and busted noses. Ranboo doesn’t remember red but he knows it hurts. He knows red things like roses and certain kinds of fish, but in both scenarios, red hurts.
Red was painful, but he knows it's so many other things too.
It was fiery determination paving the path to a goal, making smoke rise in the air, and burning you up until you had reached the water at the end to put it out. Red was pushing through quicksand to save someone; red was unrelenting and ruthless but also triumph.
It was raging love, the feeling of crushing hugs and awkward gift-giving on February 15th. Red was loud laughter and the feeling of being there. The feeling of playing tag and roughhousing outside of the caravan.
Red was red, and that was good.
Purple
Purple is a strange colour.
Purple, much like blue, had always been purple. It had always been the colour purple, had always been the colour of alliums, had always been the colour of potions, had always been the colour of grapes and grape jam.
Purple was something of comfort to him. It reminded him of nights where Wilbur taught them the constellations, days of pointing at pictures in a storybook with Fundy, crushing up purple fruit with Eret and Niki, making a mess of paint with Tubbo and Tommy. Purple was a playful colour. It was calm at first but could turn into something vibrant and funky.
Ranboo liked funky things very much.
Purple didn’t really mean a feeling to him.
Purple was more of an embodiment--a museum, perhaps, of moments he would never want to forget. A collection of the things he loved and things that made him all warm and fuzzy inside .
Purple was strange, and that's okay.
Orange
Strangely enough, orange was cold.
Despite being taught orange was the colour of warm things, Ranboo always thought of it as cold. When things got too hot, you registered it as cold right? (Then again, that could have been just a Ranboo thing.)
But if orange was warm, and Ranboo thought of it as cold, then it must be burning right?
No, it's not.
Orange doesn’t burn or radiate warm light.
Orange was freezing in winter and being numb all over from the snow, coming back in and having your hands still cold even after putting them by the fire. Orange was bundling up to still feel the bite of the wind, orange was the popsicles in the freezer during June. Orange was cold drinks and soda. Orange was the falling leaves, pumpkins, and goosebumps on his skin during autumn.
Orange was cold, and Ranboo couldn’t have it any other way.
Orange defied expectations, to be honest.
Green
Green was fear.
If you asked younger Ranboo about green, he would say it was beautiful and whatever new word he had learned that day.
But now, he knows its fear.
Green is throwing up in the middle of the night because you’re brain finally caught up to what happened. Green is tracing your hands over your scars and reliving what happened. Green was that terrifying smile flashed right before disaster, green was the feeling of sickness in your stomach and biting your tongue as to not scream.
Green was watching someone who used to take care of you on the weekends turn into someone ugly.
Green was fear. Green was always fear and will always be fear.
Pink
Pink was admiration.
Though he had never seen it often, it was.
Pink was hair he braided but never got to see the colour of. Pink was of tales of great battles; pink was of someone believing you could do something. Pink was of searching for praise and that one person saying they were proud of you. Pink was looking up and giving your all. Pink was seeing someone and going that's who i want to be like in the future.
Pink is the memory of being told to get on his feet and do something about it. If you don’t do something, then they’ll always treat you like that. Pink was subtle encouragement and inside jokes and swords clashing in a friendly duel. Pink was someone helping you be strong but also reminding you you’re allowed help. Pink is both admiration and mutual respect. An admiration for when you wanted to be like that person, and mutual respect for when you were.
Pink is two things. That will never change.
Brown
Brown was security.
Brown was warm like a blanket; brown was coco and chocolate chip cookies. Brown was sweets and caramel apples. Brown was what orange could have been. Brown is there. Brown is a rock, a boulder that won’t be moved.
Brown the colour of the earth, the thing that will always be there. Brown will not wither or go away; brown will always be there.
It will be like someone lending you a shoulder. It will be like the shelf with all your favourite books. It will be the dark sturdiness of roots and a trunk and leaves, but it will also be the softness of fur and nose boops with your dog.
Brown is security all in one. Brown is what orange could never be.
Black, White and All Those Other Shades
Ranboo doesn’t know what those are.
They twist and turn and change and shift like a maze. They never stop, they go from dark to blindingly bright.
They are a mystery to him.
Simple as that.