Lily&Scorpius
Exceptions

She's not one for clichés, it's just, you know, not her thing, okay?

She's always been a special brand of girl. The kind of girl who leaves stardust in her wake and brings boys to their knees with one blazing look and causes storms to churn above the Pacific Ocean; the kind of girl who just glitterssparklesshines. She presses play on hearts and watches them beatbeatbeatall the way to pretty self destruction. Call her cynical, but she wears heartbreak like a crown.

And she's definitely not one to follow rules. Nature broke the mould with her, made her some simpering goddess with too long legs and a sharp tongue, so really, she couldn't follow the rules even if she tried. Cause see, there are books written on girls like her and what they do to averagedullimpressionable boys like them, but they simply can't stay away. She attracts them like weak moths to burning flames and innocent flies to saccharine honey and twinkling stars to sinful night, that's just the way it works. But just because she doesn't follow these so called rules doesn't mean she can't have a few of her own. She's got her guide lines and cross lines and do not cross lines, because Salazar forbid she actually falls deep into that dreadful four letter word.

Oh, they've (teddylorcanlysander) tried; showered the red-haired-green-eyed beauty in six shades of adoration and fourteen shades of that word, but she shuts her eyes and covers her ears because if she can't see it or hear it, it surely doesn't exist in her world. And everyone - by everyone she means her mother and grandmother, bless them - is always saying how one day she'll fall hardest and one day she'll be head over heels. She just calls them crazy and licks the icing off her fingers; she just not out to paint herself in clichés. Not like love sick Lucy and love struck Molly and love drunk Victoire (see the trend?), she is nothing like them.

But there are these things called exceptions, and they seem to go hand in hand with all those rules. Her exception comes in the (dazzling) form of a deep blue eyed, blindingly platinum haired boy with an easy laugh who embraces clichés like they're a thing of fairytales. She can't help but let her lips curve into a delicious smile when he plays with her burning hair or tugs on her oh-its-barely-there skirt. He's rimmed in gold and red that clashes horribly with her green and silver, but she kinda likes the mess they make. She secretly loves the attentive, curious stares they attract and the way his arms wrap around her middle and pin her to walls as he kisses the stardust out of her. And she adores the way he adores her, even if she won't say it out loud; she'll swear up and down and left and right that this is just not happening to her. They're a million clichés all rolled into one glimmering ball of beauty; she is fire and he is ice, she slithers and he roars, she is a Potter and he is a Malfoy, Capulet and Montague, oh the tragedy. It's not love (maybe), it's not (okay, so it is), but whatever, right?

So yeah, she's not one for clichés (but maybe she can make an exception).

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