I came across a disturbing Facebook post this morning that said Barnes & Noble should have a display, front and center, of every banned book.
Banned Books.
Oh, yes, that’s a thing! It’s terrible, isn’t it? All the personal experience and trauma, these writers (rock stars) bravely poured into their work, erased from the modern curriculum? Historic tragedies and calls to action, dissolved?
(Moment of silence for the culture)
Alas! Have no fear. Barnes & Noble does have that display for you to explore.
Here is a list of the Top 30 best-selling, and most challenged, banned books:
1. The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
2. The 1619 Project: A New Origin Story
3. 1984 by George Orwell
4. Fahrenheit 451: A Novel by Ray Bradbury
5. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (Harry Potter Series #1) by JK Rowling
6. To Kill A Mocking Bird by Harper Lee
7. Animal Farm by George Orwell
8. Of Mice And Men by John Steinbeck
9. Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt
10. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
11. Lord of the Flies by William Golding
12. Slaughterhouse-Five, or The Children's Crusade: A Duty-Dance with Death by Kurt Vonnegut
13. Their Eyes Are Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston
14. The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
15. The Hate You Give by Angie Thomas
16. The Color Purple: A Novel by Alice Walker
17. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey
18. Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie
19. Beloved by Toni Morrison
20. Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson
21. Stamped: Racism, Antiracism, and You by Jason Reynolds
22. All American Boys by Jason Reynolds
23. Where The Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak
24. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
25. How the Word Is Passed: A Reckoning with the History of Slavery Across America by Clint Smith
26. Where the Sidewalk Ends: Poems and Drawings by Shel Silverstein
27. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
28. The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls
29. Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood by Marjane Satrapi
30. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (Hitchhiker's Guide Series #1) by Douglas Adams
Snapshot, noun, an informal photograph taken quickly, typically with a small handheld camera. Or, a brief look or summary.
A drabble collection of Squid and Mickey’s relationship as told through the nostalgic gloss of growing up in the 90s.
Inspired by Hodgepodge by Car on Ao3.
------
“When’s Mickey back again?”
Squid shrugged. “I dunno. A few hours?” It came out sounding like a guess.
It wasn’t a guess. She insisted he have her flight itinerary—she wrote it in her last letter, in her loopy, glittery handwriting, twice.
As if he’d forget.
She went to Georgia every summer to go to her grandfather’s peach tree farm, so it wasn’t like it was a surprise. But even he had to admit he felt the full weight of 17-hour distance between them this time. When she called to catch him up on her day and ask about how things were going in Texas, instead of feeling like she was standing in the room next to him, within reach, she sounded distant. A world away.
It wasn’t that he missed her. It was just…summer was weird without her. It didn’t feel right.
“Cool.” Zig bobbed his head after the word. Squid wasn’t sure if it was the weed doing it or because he resembled a bobblehead. Probably both. Zig took another pull and let out a long stream of smoke from his nose. It’d always made Mickey laugh. “Want me to leave when she gets here?”
Squid’s nose wrinkled. “No. Why?” The water of the swollen creek splashed and gurgled as he yanked his legs out the water, it threw darkened dots onto the rolled-up legs of his jeans bunched by his knees. He made a beeline for their fishing poles, the bark of the log they sat on scratching his feet. Their shirts lay discarded on a couple branches of the logs, nature’s coat rack.
“You act funny when she’s around.”
Zig was funny, with his wild hair sticking out in all directions, habit of fiddling with a Rubick’s cube, and sorting video sections by runtime at his job at Blockbuster.
“No, I don’t.” He skimmed his fingers over the range of jigs nestled in little pockets of his tacklebox. It was a useless motion; he already knew which one he wanted to use. He had good luck with the 3/16oz weight; why mess up a good thing?
“Yeah you do. You get all squirmy. Kinda wiggly.”
Wiggly? What was that supposed to mean?
He turned, fishing pole in hand, ready to tell Zig where he could stick that opinion when the words got stuck on his tongue.
Mickey hurried down the banks of the creek with agile movements, floating from foot to foot with each hop. Twelve years of dance could be thanked for that; they made her legs toned and strong. Speaking of them….
Where did they come from?
And since when did she wear shorts that short?
He didn’t remember her legs looking that long and sculped. Or tan. A light honeyed brown replaced her winter-pale skin, making her round, blue eyes pop in contrast. Her usual baggy t-shirt was replaced with a fitted tank top, short enough the hem didn’t meet the top of her shorts, giving a glimpse of her abs. Her beat-up black Converses were the same, though the canvas was a little more frayed. The toe caps still held the sharpie doodles she insisted he decorate them with before she left.
Something squirmed in the pit of his stomach as her greeting of Zig bounced around the creek. Her voice was the same but not; same energy, a bit deeper inflection. Not as high pitched and kiddy as he was used to. More…mature? Was that even possible?
Squid cleared his throat; mouth having gone dry at some point which was weird. And even weirder, something fluttered in his chest when she righted herself from leaning over to hug Zig and locked eyes with him. “Squid!” She tucked her black hair behind her ear, her eyes light up, and she almost toppled over in her rush to move across the log before slamming into him in a hug.
It was the force of that hug that made his breath rush out of him and not the feeling of her being pressed up against his bare torso, because why would it? She’s hugged him before. They’ve hugged before. It wasn’t anything out the ordinary. It was completely normal, even.
“I missed you,” she stated so plainly he didn’t have time for his brain to restart and catch up before she moved on, noticing the pole in his hands. “Did ya catch anythin’ yet?” Her southern accent always came back stronger after she returned from Georgia. A few weeks into the school year and that would be wiped away. He took it in, holding it close.
Ungluing his tongue, Squid managed a shrug and nonchalance. “Nope. Was just about to get started.”
“Got a pole for me?”
His lips twitched at the obvious joke that was right there and it was such low hanging fruit to reach for but it’d be worth it. She’d roll her eyes and sigh in the way that left him oh-so-satisfied of getting under her skin. But the look Zig shot his way made that urge die on arrival. Instead, Squid thrust it towards Mickey without a word.
“What’s the bait?”
“Grubs!” Zig called out, almost too cheerfully. He dragged his long legs through the water, chopping up the otherwise smooth surface, rocking from side-to-side as if becoming a metronome to music only he could hear. Which he probably did.
Mickey looked up at Squid with a sheepish smile and the bat of her thick lashes. “…Can you…?”
She’d never been able to bait her own hook if worms or grubs were involved. She freaked out when they started wiggling in her hand and that was before the hook pierced their body. Squid always baited her hooks.
Smirking, he said, “Sure thing, Princess.”
He waited for her nose to wrinkle, for her to huff or stomp her foot, cross her arms while vehemently demanding for him to stop calling her that.
Instead, she beamed, dimples popping so deep in her cheeks his fingers stumbled. And the prick of the hook in his finger didn’t strike through him as much as the earnestness in her declared, “My hero.”
My new headcanon for barfbag was that he was kinda girlypop when he first got to CGL and was like “all of these loud musty ass boys keep trying to either befriend me or make me eat dirt I gotta get out of here…maybe I should kill myself?”
There's something that feels very authentic to me about the way Holes portrays depression. It's never explicitly stated, but there's a quiet sadness that Stanley always carries with him. He's always just kind of passing through things, his main reaction to questions is to shrug. It's like a quiet background noise to his life. When he's on the mountain with Zero and he says that he finally likes himself, it's not a momentous occasion, it's a peaceful acceptance of who he is.
When you receive a mysterious invitation to a remote Scottish manor, the offer seems too good to pass up: survive a high-stakes social challenge and walk away with up to $30 million. The rules are simple—but deadly. Among the twelve participants are three hidden traitors, eliminating one houseguest each night. The goal? Unmask the traitors and banish them before they take you out.
From the moment you step into the grand, shadowy estate, alliances form and suspicions rise. You’re drawn to two unlikely allies: a washed-up teen heartthrob who was once your childhood idol and a laid-back, free-spirited hippie with a disarming smile. The three of you vow to have each other’s backs, determined to survive the twisted game together.
But as the nights grow longer and the body count rises, trust isn’t the only thing complicating the game. The tension between you and your new allies simmers beneath every whispered strategy session and late-night rendezvous. The heartthrob’s sharp charm and lingering glances leave you breathless, while the hippie’s easy touch and soulful gaze pull you in deeper. Lines blur as alliances shift—and the desire tangled between the three of you threatens to ignite into something reckless, dangerous, and impossible to resist.
With lust clouding judgment and betrayal lurking around every corner, survival becomes more than just strategy—it’s navigating the dangerous pull of two men who both make you burn. In a game where hearts are as fragile as trust, you’ll have to decide: Can you afford to let your guard down when the greatest threat might not be the traitors—but the two men you can’t seem to resist?
Because in this game, the only thing more dangerous than betrayal… is falling for the wrong person. Or worse—falling for both.
By reading my works you are signing an agreement that if you put my works through AI or repost my works or anything like that, i get to hunt you for sport
I just wrote 8 pages when I haven't written in months and was beginning to think I'd never be able to again. Idk what it is, but I am sharing and manifesting this energy for every writer who sees this. May you write 8 quality pages effortlessly and find joy writing once more
