As an added challenge (just for you guys b/c I'm a wretch like that), guess which genre the following snippets are. Hopefully, if I have any idea what I'm doing, they should be fairly obvious lol *crosses fingers*
The ship looked like the product of a mad scientist, a scrapyard, and a severe case of boredom. It was a fusion of tradition and invention—-rotating cogwheels, a stack of brass pipes alongside the mast, and the hiss of steam above the groan of the rudder. London had the urge to kick it and see which parts might fall off.
"I'm not getting on that," he announced.
For as long as London could remember, the river separated the healthy from the infected. He'd been taught to avoid it, to respect from a distance its protection against the bodies that paced the opposite bank, some remnant of instinct keeping them from the water.
Now, as he watched the helicopter deposit the latest batch of newly infected—-two disoriented women and a man, his dad—-on the shore, the river was no longer a shield. It was an obstruction. A boundary. And London had every intention of crossing it.
The pixie skimmed papery lips against his cheek. London resisted the instinctual urge to jerk away. Instead, he remained still, his smile fixed, and nodded along to whatever his friend was saying. The pixie giggled and leaned back in. London shifted on his feet and turned his head, pretending to gaze off to the side. Her mouth, crisp like an autumn leaf, grazed his jaw.
Bloody faeries. If London didn't mind the green skin and huge black eyes, the pixie might have been kind of hot. But that didn't mean he wanted her kissing him. He liked to be an active participant in that sort of thing, and it was all kinds of awkward pretending not to have a slender green faerie attached to his mouth.
Thanks so much for doing this with me, guys! ♥