#emptyvoid

Lol this panel got me confuse, at first i thought saitama saw tatsumaki 😭 and stich?* Looks so scared poor old man🤧he prob wont live long if things like that keeps on happening lol

Blast is so hot😋 the fact that he want to make void human again means that he really miss it ,since its no human any more yk

And it seems like they want to make the arc shorter cus it feels like the fights are getting closer yknow, honestly i wish that would happen cus i cant wait any longer to meet blue, i wonder if he is still blasts son .

Not only that i really want to know how the neo heroes story will be ,will it change? And ughh i wanna meet that cyborg girl i think its webizawa? I lovee her i hope void just die like homeless emperor so that the arc would be short i really want to meet my babies🤧🙏🏻

But i also want the arc to be long too😭 cus the buddy dynamic of each chac is so interesting like how did flame and wind become so close🤨 like flash and sonic broke the rules right so that means alot of other ninjas broke it to ,but im more curios on blast and void tbh like when did void accept that power? Why did blast let void go and not monitor him?like i get that blast just let it go bcs it was his partner before but why did he let the village exist? Why didnt he stop him? I really hope the ninja from the vilage could like beat void at some point cus yk their childhood and life was taken away from them and their parents also like yk sell them so i hope those old people would die a terible death.

This has nothing to do with what i just said but

I really want to see how suiryu will be when he become a hero will he become a person thats trying to change but does it badly? Or would he still be an asshole but after the martial art arc im sure his not one no more and i think he would ask max and snek how to be a proper hero in a nice matter since he talk shit about them in their face well its actually sneks but i sure he regrets it so much, I wonder if snek quits his job cus he feels like a chac that does their job seriously and hates being taken advantage of by the higher ups

I did not expect to not send another letter to you so quickly; perhaps this will become a tradition. It only took another day for you to throw another tantrum, O Lord. To be honest I haven’t had the time to gather everything I must say, so do forgive the poor structure of my sentences and paragraphs.

You are indeed an entertaining specimen. To go so fast from joyful and polite to callous and cruel, it honestly makes me think you’re constantly so bitter beneath the surface; as though what is beneath your skin isn’t flesh of a human but the hardened bile and poison of a bitter witch. It’s something that is foul in sight and odour, and must seep through every now and again. Quite frankly, most humans are like this, but never have I met one so foul. You keep your skin immaculate, lest one should discover even a hint of that grimy, disgusting sap you emit with every breath.

You sicken me to my stomach on a daily basis with your hyperbolic lies and joyful demeanour. You   feign interest in others habitually to maintain your ‘stature’ in life. You believe that the respect and love from someone comes with lavish objects, implying your own empty and disjointed existence. Are you empty? A rhetorical question, of course, but it’s there to ensure you understand my meaning. You have no value of a deep, connected relationship, forged from respect, attention, and unyielding, unconditional love.

Do you know how I know that? Because yesterday, after I finished writing my letter, you asked me to do you a favour, which I said yes to because I am a good person and I know deep down I can never refuse to help a person even if they don’t deserve it. It was only after you asked that favour did you apologise for your actions that morning, of course not knowing what truly had me on edge were your actions the night before; you asked a favour and offer apology after I agreed to that favour. You are no saint and you have no concept of the word unconditional. You apologised because I did something for you. How cruel and heartless you must be; how empty and self-centred you are to maintain your attitude of do-for-me-and-I-will-do-for-you.

Somehow, in my eighteen years, I understand more of human interaction, common understanding, negotiation, honestly, and commitment than you at such an old age. You live in a bubble only consisting of yourself and if no one else is on board with your mindset they may as well be nothing to you. You keep trying with me. You keep trying to get me to see your mindset, to understand your selfishness, and I don’t think you realise it backfires constantly. I’m old enough to know right from wrong; I’m not a naïve child, despite your ardent desire for such a thing to become true. Perhaps one day I will elaborate why I understand so much, why I am beyond my years in many aspects, but I doubt there’d be any care from you, as most of it has to do with my mother’s experiences.

Speaking of her, you have harmed her, which in turn has made me quite livid, something which is the catalyst of this letter. You treat her horrifically, as though nothing more than your sorely hated flies that you spray with poison so casually. You spray her with the poison that drips from your mouth; every word you utter is a knife that runs through her core. You treat her as nothing more than a slave; a person there to care for your husband and provide food in your household so that you may lavishly spend your money on needless items that cannot come close to filling up the emptiness within. Material items mean nothing unless sentiment is attached, and I don’t think you know this because all you do is waste your money, forcing my mother to dive into her already small pocket to keep everything afloat.

I barely recall the contents of the last letter I did not send to you; however I do recall the anger behind it. I do recall feelings of insignificance and hatred, and perhaps a small amount of pleasure in the fantasies of your suffering.

I will congratulate you. Only a handful of people have ever managed to succeed in making me utterly despise them, and so you have joined that list. Over six long, agonising months and I have reached my limit. I have been patient, polite; the model of perfection that I seem to be expected to be, and each day you nibble through my skin, crawling there as I let the wounds fester. I bite my tongue out of respect; I smile out of habit; I bestow favours that get taken for granted if ever there is the smallest of mistakes or you are enraged for whatever reason.

I’m not blood of yours, but only a pebble in your shoe; the daughter of the woman whom you declare the bane of your existence; the young woman who can so easily put your own daughter to shame without even trying. Because of this, you have tried to mould me, turn me into your daughter, against my mother so that you may feel better about yourself and all your shortcomings. You have overstepped the lines that are placed there by pretty much all of society and have acted as though you are my mother. You have nit-picked at everything; you’ve chiselled your way down to a core you may wish you never saw.

I hold no care for you; no respect will fall to you from me even if you grovel at my feet in your darkest hour. Because of you, I’ve grown tired of being a submissive person, saying yes to anything and everything, trying to make everyone else happy. I have created that rod for myself, I do understand that, however that rod can easily be broke if ever the need arise. I’m tired of submission, of timidness; tired of biting my tongue to keep an image of peace.

Everyone else may revere you as a god, I however, will not. You are nothing but an inconvenient gust of wind. Sooner or later you will pass and my life can proceed unhindered by you. I require nothing of you, not your advice, nor the gifts you will no doubt try to give me in attempts to ‘win back my love’. Such a notion, in fact, would sicken me more that you already do. I will ensure to be out of your life as fast as my situation allows; contemplation for a bag to remained packed has be brought to fruition so throw me out for all I care; I have places to go, friends I can rely on if ever there is a need.

There is nothing you can say or do which will sway my mind; I hate you, pure and simple, and I live for the day I get to witness your suffering.  

    Tell me something please…     Tell me about your day again? Perhaps, this time when I haven’t asked, would allow me to better understand how your life is so hard.     Tell me about these horrible people in your life whose baggage you hold onto for dear life. Pray, tell me why you do it? Or even how you’ve told me not to, despite you doing it?     Tell me why you cannot practice what you preach. Tell me how you live with your own hypocrisy.     Are you blind to it? Are your glasses not strong enough for you to see the truth before your eyes; the emptiness that is obviously the life you’ve chosen? Do you regret it all?     I hope so…

    Let me tell you something now. In my eighteen years of life, I have been through a lot, and I know some who have had worse than me. I know pain, felt and seen clear as day, and I know how to release issues that do not concern me. I’ve learned a lot in my short life. I know how to laugh and love, empathise and give everything I have to those who have earned it. In my short life I have come to the conclusion that I was put on this earth to save it, or at least as many as I possibly can, because I know pain is a horrible friend to have, but still so many befriend it.     You sit there, in your chair, with your shrill voice echoing your issues in my mind. Always so screechy, as you constantly speak of nothing but the ‘pain’ in your life. Tell me more about your sore feet, and about why you had to do your job for your money’s worth, and then again about how stressed you are despite that stress clearly being self-inflicted. Ignore me as I try to scream my agony, my worry, the pain you throw my mother into with your poor communication and hypocrisy. Ignore all logic when someone dishes you exactly what you have given to the world.

    Ignore thy flaws for thou art perfect! Ignore the world for thou art its centre! Forgive us all for not kneeling to thy every whim, O ‘benevolent’ Lord.     Does God see the tears staining the faces of its children? Does the Lord bat an eyelash for those of us suffering in its wake?

    You are no lord to me. I consider those that abandoned me more a family than you could ever be. I take pleasure alone in imagining your death, even more so when it is dealt by my hand. I can never begin to fathom what was so bad in your life that made you so careless, bitter and cold, because I have walked in hell, and only just now am emerging, and here I stand, wanting to cleanse this world of all issues. Here I stand begging for a peaceful utopia whereupon there is no pain or senseless hurt. You are no god, but only a devil intent on spreading its poisoned seed to the world because you couldn’t have your paradise.