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She’s beautiful when she glares at him, yelling that they can’t just do whatever the hell they want. Her blue eyes crackle with each word she throws at him, fire incarnate. Her body is tense and unwavering, her willpower to defy him at all turns evident in the way she carries herself. Her blonde hair is wound up tight. Just like the rest of her, he thinks. Just as they’re having effect on him, her vehement words are also influencing the rest of the delinquents. She’s stealing his power over them from right beneath his nose, right in front of his face.
And yet, she’s still beautiful.
For this, he hates her.
* * * *
She’s beautiful when he follows her to Wells’ unmarked grave and sees her silently crying. The tears fall down her face, but her lips stay in a tight line, not a single sigh or sob made. She stands there, head held high and shoulder squared, no sign of distress visible besides the tears that leave their marks behind on her dirty face.
She stares down at the newly placed earth, and it almost looks like she’s a statue. How is it possible that someone can be so stoic? So unnaturally still? If it weren’t for the tears, there’s a chance he might’ve thought she herself were dead.
Such strength in the face of disaster is beautiful.
He pities her and her beauty, but also begins to respect it, and her.
* * * *
She’s beautiful, sitting there by the crackling fire, laughing wholeheartedly at something Raven has said. Her arms are wrapped around each other as she hugs herself, her head tilted slightly as she begins to listen to Octavia’s story. Her eyes crinkle at the edges every time she laughs, but also show the reflection of the flames in her bright blue eyes, that shine even in the darkness of the night. Her hair is down, an added layer to keep her warm, even if it isn’t much. She bites her lip, trying to hold back against another smile, one of her many of the night.
Moments like this, when he sees how good a laugh looks on her, he silently wishes she did it more. The way it lights up her whole being is beautiful.
He aches with an unknown emotion he is more than happy to keep unknown.
* * * *
She’s beautiful as she pulls on her bottom lip, deep in thought, her eyes trained on the map in front of her. Her fingers tap on the table lightly, the wheels in her mind obviously spinning at lightning speed. She finally stops tapping and looks up at the people around her and begins to discuss a course of action that they should take in order to secure the remaining 47 that are trapped in Mount Weather.
When she speaks, it demands respect. It portrays its rightfully deserved authority. When her battle plans are pushed aside for one of the adults’, she doesn’t take it lightly. She slams her hands on the table, bringing the attention back to her and explaining why her plan is most reasonably the better course of action.
From that point on, no one questions her authority, whether it be for battle plans or not. The people begin to report to her or go to her for questions. Her natural power seems to attract them to her, like moths to a flame. The way she asserts her presence without really intending to is beautiful.
He realizes he was one of the first people to notice her natural dominance and wonders what took everyone else so long to see it too.
* * * *
She’s beautiful as she stands there, almost crouching and teeth bared in a growl, covered in blood that most assuredly isn’t hers. Her face and hair and clothes are drenched with it, as if the sky has opened up and doused her with blood. However this isn’t the case, seeing as how the ground around them is littered with dead bodies, both on the enemy’s side and on theirs.
She looks savage, feral. Her inner primal instincts having kicked in during the battle, and it seems it’s not easy for her to store it away again. Her chest is rising and falling, hands at her side shaking with anticipation of more fighting. Although she is covered in so much blood, the blood of other people, her blue eyes are engulfed in fury and the braid her hair was tied in is coming apart at the seams due to the weight of the blood. It all draws out her inner passion and somehow, it’s as beautiful as it is scary.
He can’t help but think that this war has turned them all into killers, his heart heavy.
* * * *
She’s beautiful as she rides him into oblivion, both of them grinding into each other as though their lives depended on it. He never gets tired of seeing her naked over him, taking control of their lovemaking. Her eyes closed in ecstasy as her mouth opens to allow a loud, gritty moan to escape. Her thighs tighten around his as she brings herself up and down his length, creating a steady rhythm they’ve come to enjoy together.
The sweat that coats her skin shines in the darkness of his tent, helping to display her soft curves, curves that by now he could recognize even if he were blind. Her loose curls stick to her face, neck, and back with every thrust she gives. Seeing this image above him, he can’t help but thrust up into her as well, creating a whole new rhythm, but one they love even more. And it’s like that that her walls close and convulse around him, her entire body tensing as he keeps thrusting up into her, and the sight of her in this position is beautiful, every time he sees it.
He can’t deny anymore that he loves her.
* * * *
She’s beautiful as she lays there wrapped up in his arms, head resting on his chest as she sleeps soundly. They’re both still naked underneath the covers on his bed, but as he stares down at her, he isn’t thinking sexually. He memorizes all his favorite features of hers that he noticed the very first time he woke up with her next to him.
The way the sun manages to get into his tent, making her blonde hair sparkle like golden silk on his naked chest. Her darker eyelashes reach the tops of her cheeks and appear just as delicate and soft as the curves on her body. Her nose is slender and graceful as she breaths through it quietly as she sleeps. Her dark pink lips are open slightly, but somehow no snores have ever escaped, but drool does, and it pools slightly on him, not that he’s ever minded. One of her arms is wrapped around his waist tightly underneath the covers, as it usually is. Seeing her in this position every morning is beautiful.
He would give up so much to keep her like this forever.
* * * *
She’s beautiful as she finally comes into the power that he’s always known was coming to her. She wears the pin on her jacket, if only to appease the fact that she has to. She doesn’t particularly enjoy wearing it, doesn’t feel comfortable with the fact that it feels as though she’s rubbing her position in people’s faces. She feels that if everyone already knows she’s been elected Chancellor, then there should really be no point of wearing the stupid pin anyway.
But this isn’t what he thinks of when he thinks of her as Chancellor. He thinks of the times he’s seen her lead the masses or lead the very few. In every instance she’s clearly in the position she’s meant to be, knowing what’s best for her people and trying to make it happen for them. He knows it’s not easy for her, because sometimes she has to make the hard choices that require the sacrifice of other people. She has no problem sacrificing herself, but it always takes a toll on her when someone else is sacrificed, and this trait of hers is beautiful.
He doesn’t think anyone could do a better job as Chancellor than his warrior princess.
* * * *
She’s beautiful as she walks toward him, a huge smile lighting up her face. He can feel the same smile on his face as he watches her slowly approaching him. This is just another day when all attention is on her, except this time he knows she’s relishing it. Not the attention so much as the reason for the attention.
When she finally reaches him, she holds out her hand for him, and he takes it softly in his. It feels as though her walk down the aisle took an eternity, but it means nothing to him, knowing that now they are about to spend an eternity of their own together. As the vows are said, he can barely contain himself. She doesn’t take her eyes off him, and the smile never leaves her face. The moment at which they join together and kiss, the rest of their lives intertwined in a way that could never be altered, is beautiful.
He can’t think of any place he would rather be than right here, holding his wife in his arms.
* * * *
She’s beautiful even as she’s cursing him and screaming at the top of her lungs. He wonders if he’ll ever get feeling back in his hand, but the thought disappears as she starts screaming again. He’s excited, without a doubt, but at the same time he’s extremely worried. She’s yelling words at him that he’s never heard come out of her mouth before. He’s positive that if it weren’t for the situation, he would be thoroughly entertained by this side of her, the side he’s never met until this day, this time.
But then all of her screaming and yelling and cursing stops, and suddenly she’s crying with relief. And a whole new kind of screaming happens. The kind of screaming that brings her tears of relief into tears of utter joy. He feels his own tears form as he watches her hold onto their newborn daughter. Sweat sticks her curls to the sides of her face as she presses soft kisses all along the baby’s delicate head, grasping her to her chest tenderly despite the small shrieking that’s occurring. When he holds their baby for the first time, he cries at its beauty.
This is the single greatest moment of his life.
* * * *
She’s beautiful as she sobs into his chest, holding onto their daughter tightly between her arms. It’s a stark difference between the first time he ever saw her cry, over Wells’ grave, and he’s thankful. As much as he had appreciated her strength then, he needs her to open up to him and be there to console her. She hasn’t stopped crying since she heard the news, and even now as they stood over the grave, she can’t look at it without bursting into a whole new wave of tears.
Their daughter doesn’t fully understand what’s happened. She keeps asking where grandma is, asking when she’s coming home. He can’t believe the amount of strength it must take her to explain to their daughter that grandma isn’t coming back, she’s gone somewhere they can’t follow. She holds her sadness and tears until their daughter has gone to sleep and it’s just the two of them together in bed. Knowing that he can be there for her through such a trying time is the best gift she could give him, besides their daughter, and it’s beautiful.
He wants to do so much more, but there’s nothing he can do.
Nothing anyone can do.
* * * *
She’s beautiful as she sits there, staring out of the window. Her gray curls are pulled up in a bun, but a few locks hang loosely around her face. The face that is now more loose itself, skin covered in delicate wrinkles. Her eyesight isn’t as good anymore and her bones give her aches often, but his heart still skips a beat every time she smiles at him with a few missing teeth.
This simple version of her, the one that doesn’t have to carry the weight of hundreds of people on her shoulders, is beautiful.
He looks forward to being like this together as well when they are both in heaven.