this is my strength

The Black Comic Alliance, the collective of content creators behind the viral #DCSoWhite campaign, has officially announced Stage 2 of its advocacy movement: DCBlackout, a coordinated protest calling on readers, supporters, and content creators to withhold financial support and pause content creation tied to DC Comics publishing initiatives until meaningful structural changes are made around…

Our children, who were supposed to wake up to the joy of Eid and the sound of Takbeer, now wake up instead to the sounds of bombing, to hunger exhausting their tiny bodies, and to fear that never leaves their eyes even while they sleep.

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"I'm going out," Tim said. He had changed, and was now wearing a pair of sweats and a hoodie; there was a backpack slung over one shoulder. "Okay," Superman said. He was floating six inches above the bed. "I need you to stay inside. Gotham isn't safe after dark." Superman snorted. "Babe, I'm Superman." "I know. Just… please?" "Whatever." "Will you stay indoors tonight." Superman rolled over so he was looking straight into Tim's eyes. "Yes," he lied. Tim's eyes narrowed for a moment, but then he shrugged. "Cool. I'll probably be back pretty late, so don't wait up for me." Superman waited five minutes after he heard the front door slam shut before opening the window and neatly swooping out. The air outside was heavy, humid from the summer heat lingering in the darkness, and scented with pollutants. Superman paused for a moment, and took in the sight of Gotham spread below him. The city lights sparkled in the night; red and white along the major roads, pink and green and blue where the neon nightclubs glittered their advertisements. Superman had seen bigger cities, of course. But only in the infopacks that Cadmus had uploaded to his head; seeing the evidence of massed human life spread out beneath him was, like, totally different.

day 1: big boots to fill /joie de vivre @90skonweek

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The effects of the war on Gaza are still present in the details of daily life, especially in the lives of those who lost their homes and found no alternative but tents.

I am the mother of a child born during the war, specifically at the height of the bombing, amidst the sounds of explosions, fear, and insecurity. Today, two years later, we still live in a tent.

Living in a tent is not life, but a daily struggle to secure the most basic rights.

Pure drinking water is not easily available. We have to carry it from long distances, and we may wait for hours to get enough water for one day.

Food is also not always available, and we often lack basic ingredients. Sometimes I don't have anything to feed my child and have to wait for aid or donations to arrive.

There is no electricity, no place to shower, and no toilets.

We are not looking for luxury, but for the bare minimum of dignity: a roof over our heads, clean water, and enough food.

Please, any donation, no matter how small, will help us in our war for survival.

My campaign vetted by Ghost90

This Gazan says their mother needs medical attention ASAP so if you've got a bit to spare, consider throwing some their way, they're vetted