Being aware of the age regulations in Wattpad that are applied to the maturity of my books and one-shots, I here by confirm that this particular one-shot is available for all ages. Due to the extreme length of this one-shot, it has been decided to divide it into two parts. Warning: Theme: Depression. |Published 18, June 2016|

THE ASTRAY
Levi x Daughter Reader
¤O.N.E S.H.O.T¤

DISAPPROVAL

Based on True Thoughts
-Part I

MY beautiful front porch filled with crimson roses, dandelions and remarkable hibiscus of purple and white, pacifies the anger from today's events; the single walnut tree cascading a shadow in our front yard. The shoulder strap rubs uncomfortably on my shoulder as I trudge up the few flight of stairs with the weight of my messenger backpack propelling me to the side a bit. If only my high school had the funds to buy more books to keep in the classrooms. I will not have to suffer the consequences from weight lifting. I should send a complaint to the principal of my high school or consider bodybuilding. I'm one-hundred percent certain I'm exceeding over twenty-five pounds. I'm a rather petite young teenager reaching towards her adulthood in a couple of months.

It took me few years to accustom to the tranquility of the residential community I currently live in. Chicago does not compare to that of the rowdy and hectic streets of New York City.

One tedious task I had to accustom with was reporting my existence. I had to stop and inform my arrival with the officer positioned outside the front gate of the private neighborhood, seating in utter boredom inside that ridicules security booth. I felt like a stranger for some reason. I understand it was for security issues but the moment a new officer replaced the old one, my temper was going to be tested.

He wouldn't allow me in because I was not on the system. How was that possible in the first place if I was in the system the day before the new officer took the job? By that time, my hands were mercilessly pulling on my hair so much I was practically asking for a wig. Adding to the displeasure, I forgot my key to the residence and entrance to the neighborhood that same day. How inept could I be, being irresponsible of my keys? However, my suffering may have seemed to sympathy the gods. Being the technology prevailed to any human being, result was no more police guards. Fantastic news.

Speaking in which, there's high possibility I will finish inside the engineering field after graduating high school in a couple of weeks. I furrow my eyebrows at the mere misfortune.

I hook the keys on the golden-hook-key attached onto a plain brown, wood gadget hack. I doubt my father has arrived. Probably I'm wrong. He can go unnoticed. I amble up the stairs after removing my white shoes and shoving them next to the door. My hands dust off the invisible dirt from my navy, blue skirt required in my high school.

The sound of falling papers catches my full attention. Cautiously, I glide down the silent hall, fingers sliding on the white walls. The noise of pages being lifted from the floorboard come from my father's bedroom. Is it father? I didn't see his black Chevy Bolt parked outside the garage. Nor the signs of him parking the car inside the garage. I didn't see his keys resting on the golden-hook-key like he always does. Fingers clenched around the sharped pencil ─ I rummaged from my pockets ─ above my chest, I step towards possible danger.

"Father?" I dare speak out. Opening the door, the view of my father kneeling on that wench laminate wood floor relieves me from any speculation. Last I desire is confronting a burglar in my home. I quickly crouch next to him and help him with the scattered papers.

"There you are Elsy."

"Hey. Father." With a genuine smile, I welcome him with a peck on his cheek. "How was your day?" I pick up the scattered papers.

"Erwin had the audacity to apprise me in the middle of a meeting regarding my firm persona. Apparently, I'm intimidating the new clients from the Blanc Flair Company who are interested with our new project we are currently developing." With a rubber band my father wraps the pack of papers he collected from the floor and hands me a rubber band to do the same.

"But you've convinced clients on the products the company had to offer in the past despite your personality. Why is your boss bugging you with that now after five years?"

"These clients are sensitive businesswomen. They're intelligent but that doesn't hide their lack originality. Our company creates original works for the public and for the government." He organizes the other scattered papers located near the foot of his queen size bed.

I hear my crystal notification sound ring once from my uniform pocket. I remiss at the notification. Probably it's Ceci wondering if I'm planning attending Senior Prom, an event I'm clearly trying to avoid at all means. Partying isn't an activity I most fantasy about. I prefer wasting my energy reading novels of all kind and getting some knowledge out of it.

With the tip of my index finger, I tap a page sticking out of the pack of papers. "Blanc Flair's name is really ironic." I chuckle in disbelief, "It defines originality when the company is false." My hands work on the papers. I wince at the sharp sting on my index finger. "Ow!" I jerk my hand away with a hiss. A thin blood-line oozes from my light skin.

"What happen?" My father says.

I smile sheepishly, "Paper cut."

"Careful there." He shakes his head in disbelief. My lips clean off the blood from my index finger. Then: "But really Dad. How ironic is their company's name, right?"

"Anything to earn millions of billions of dollars. That's what a business person does." My father places the stack of papers inside one of the drawers of his desk and grabs the ones I have picked up.

"Why is your company even working with a makeup and accessory company in the first place? You guys invent new technology. Not..." I make a motion with my hand, "...cosmetics."

Of what I have knowledge of, Blanc Flair is a famous brand company with an audience ages fourteen to mid-forties. I never realized their products were unoriginal. Not that it affects me. I have no interest on their cosmetics whatsoever. But my friend does. Ceci is going to be extremely disappointed when she discovers that forty dollar Blanc Flair Foundation is just a cheap copy of another twenty-dollar brand. "They have sufficient money to help us on the project we are currently trying to produce."

"I see." I scan his organized room to find it being concealed from any light from the outside. The only dim light helping me depict my surroundings and my father's appearance is the desk lamp. "Why are the lights turned off?" I stare up at my father who organizes the documents. He's always disliked dark places. But why now is he surrounded in darkness... alone?

"Father. Do you mind explaining me why the lights off?" I gesture to the bedroom.

He clears his throat before explain, "No reason." He avoids my gaze, "Let's go make dinner now."

"Alright. Let me just..." I gesture to my backpack but father is no longer in the room. "...set it on my bed." I murmur. I scan his desk filled with black and white folders, huge binders and planners. Levi Ackerman. My fingers hover over the name label engraved on the center of a golden bar on top of his suitcase. "I wonder if any of this interests you." I whisper to myself before setting my belongings in my bedroom.

______

I descend the stairs with a pair of black loose capris and a simple white loose t-shirt I bought from the men's section not long ago. My father once inquired my tendency to buy men's shirts and avoid any feminine clothing such like shorts. Not that he cared but found odd. Simple as it is, it's my taste of comfort remaining private to what I consider sacred.

I carry three flat plates to the dining room table next to the kitchen. I set down a plate on the head table where my father always seats at. I slide the second on the right side next to his. And lastly, I lay-down the white plate across from mine.

"Elsy."

I serve the spaghetti on both my father's and mines. Then I shift onto the last plate. I halt when father rests his palm on my shoulder. My light, blue eyes veer to his round ones. He says nothing. Remains silent as stone. Allowing me to progress what I was about to do.

'Elsy! Dinners ready!' Her beautiful voice rings my ears. 'Levi, have you thought of resigning from the military?' Her majestic voice sends an aching feeling to spread in my chest. I then realize what I was about to do. My hand draws back the spoon filled with juicy spaghetti.

"I... for a moment...I thought she was here." I gaze at the plate with downcast eyes.

"Hand me that." He grasps the wide pot from me before pecking me on the forehead. He whispers, "Don't worry about it. She's always here." He sets the pot on the stove and covers it with the glass top.

"Right." I mumble. I reluctantly remove my mother's plate from the table. I keeping forgetting there are now two plates to be served instead of three. I take a seat and quietly consume the delicious spaghetti both my father and I made. Surprisingly, there is no vegetables for dinner this afternoon.

"So, Father..." I stir the spaghetti with my fork for a brief second. "What is your product about this time?" I start off.

"It's not a device but a certain program." He wipes off the sauce from his thin lips with a spotless white handkerchief.

"Program? Is that for the public or for the government?" I abandon my fork, obviously wanting to hear from this invention.

He sighs, "Government." I veer my eyes away from his. I've never been fond of inventions meant purposely for the military. "I know what you might be thinking. That it's unnecessary to invent for simple destruction." He runs his fingers through his raven locks with several gray hairs accompanying them.

"You're right. I find it quite disturbing." I shove my plate aside.

"But it's not a weapon but a program that will help soldiers maneuver through buildings in a faster pace during operations without encountering enemies from close range." He rummages through his briefcase and reveals diagrams and information of the product.

"Who invented this? Who had the brilliant idea?"

"Karl Aaltonen." He says. "A young eighteen-year-old kid like yourself Elsy." He swiftly points a finger.

"Wow."

"His proven to be a master craft man and an intelligent employee."

"So, what does Blanc Flair Company feel intrigued by this new project?"

"We've been receiving recognition from other companies and from the public. Blanc Flair wants to invest their money on us but on one condition."

"Be part of the design?" I lean back on my chair." He nods at my response. "And the designs are like other famous brands, are they?" A smirk finds itself on my father's lips.

"You've always been quick-witted." He ruffles my short hair.

"You've taught me well." I watch my father's thin lips tense soon after, causing his jaw muscle to flex at the action. His eyelids hide his blue eyes that have always been filled with pride and wisdom. "You've taught me well, Father. I forgave you a long time ago. Remember?" I interlock my hands with his. He caresses my hand with his thumb.

"I will never forgive myself for what happen to your mother."

"Well you should. You hear?" I pat his shoulder, "It wasn't your fault." I send him a reassuring smile.

"You're right."

"Okay. There you go." I continue eating.

"Have you thought about your future?" Father inquires abruptly. I tense. The fork slides onto the spaghetti gradually.

"Well..." I bite my inner lip, "I have a high interest in literature."

"You're telling you want to be an English teacher?" He deadpans. I watch him draw back the spoon filled with spaghetti he was about to eat. My heart begins to race at his expectation. Will I disappoint him?

"Not a teacher, Father." I swallow my saliva before explaining. "I mean... I've always had an interest in books." I watch one eye of my father's shine by the ray of light coming from the white curtains of the dining room meanwhile the other is gloomy. It's like if I were staring at two different planes: acceptance and disapproval.

"So am I. Books are indeed marvelous and contains information and imagination but that's it."

"Well, I like writing stories." I brush a short strand of my hair behind my ear.

"..."

"I want to be a book author, father. A writer." I confess. I watch my father's spoon fall down the nearly empty plate emitting a clatter sound. I flinch faintly. "What?" He says.

"A book au-"

"I know what you said Elsy." He snaps. I suck in my lips. He rubs his eyelids to mollify the anger and disbelief. "I thought we've already discussed what careers are in high in demand in this moment. Are you aware of the salary of a book author?" He crosses his arms to his chest. He narrows his eyes on me. It seems his speech last time did not help me pick a suitable career.

"Yes."

"How much?"

"Depends of the sales."

"If you become a successful novelist that is."

"But I have potential." I defend.

"Elsy. You've got to earn a decent living." He explains briefly, "No one nowadays has the time or interest in reading a novel. You'll be competing with the social media and films in society. You've got to understand that."

"There are several people who read them." I rub my arm.

"Several doesn't sum up the majority. I'm being realistic with you. It's a fact you have to accept." Accept? Accept to be miserable forever? I clench my shirt.

"Then why do you suggest?" I retort back, surprisingly.

"Don't use that tone on me." He straightens himself on the chair.

"Then what do you believe is the most ideal career to take if so you say writing is useless?" My nails dig on my skin.

"The Engineering and Technology field is the highest payed." He responds.

"I have never been interested in such subjects." I protest.

"You can only be what will shelter you, serve you and comfort you."

"Writing can offer me those three things."

"It won't Elsy." He shakes his head in warning.

"But Father." I raise my voice in plea.

"Decide on another major. I will not be helping you pay a career that is not beneficial for you." He rises from his chair, the sound of scraping echoing the dining room.

"I don't need your money to help me achieve my goal." I rise as well, chin up.

"Don't you dare answer me back." He warns.

"Then what do you want me to do if you don't accept my dreams?" I beg him. My voice becomes thick with emotion.

"You're too young to understand, Elsy." He grabs his plate and carries it to the dish sink.

"Understand?" I retort. Why can't you understand me Father? I stride behind him. "I know the outcomes but it's my life and dreams. Why can't you let go of your contempt for dreams and simply allow me to follow my passion?"

"Because it does not matter in society!" My body flinches at the sound of breaking ceramic. Broken fragments make their way onto the floor. He twirls to me and yanks me to him. "Your passion for writing won't be acknowledged!" A shiver runs through my entire body. I have the urge to accept his words but I refuse to be brought down.

"I don't care if they aren't legendary and become historical." I yank my hand away from his grip. Tears season in my eyes. "Can't you see that writing has become my most trusted friend ever since my mother died because of your fault!" I yell. My body quivers in rage until recognition sets in. One by one tears form a waterfall down my cheeks in shame and regret. What have I done? I cover my mouth after accusing my father.

"My fault?" He responds in disbelief. I shake my head. The knock of the front door catches both our attention. My father sends me a glare before heading to the front door. I head towards the stairs for he would not want anyone if a visitor were to enter ─ which never happens ─ catch me in a crying mess. I scurry up the stairs but remember the broken pieces in the kitchen floor. I quickly snatch the broom from the storage closet near the kitchen and begin sweeping all the broken pieces on the floor. I don't bother with the broken fragments on the kitchen counter. My priority is the floor where anybody has a higher possibility of getting stabbed merciless. After carefully sweeping the sharp fragments, I discard the evidence of a quarrel between father and daughter in the trashcan before carrying the cleaning supplies back to their designated place. As I open the closet, I hear the front door open and the voice of a male and female greeting my father cheerfully.

"Levi!" A cheerful female voice calls father. Who is she?'

"Levi. It's been so long." I hear a male greet my father. I slip up the stairs until I'm no longer in sight. I didn't know father had any close friends. I sit down and lean on the stair railings in silence.

"What brings you guys here?" I hear my father ask in a surprisingly relaxed tone. Any anger father expressed a few seconds ago, is vanished from thin air. No trace of it.

"Well, it has been twenty years last time we saw each other so we both thought 'Hey, we must meet once again.' It has been a long time." I hear the male visitor respond. "I hope we're not disturbing."

"Not at all, Farlan." I peak my head out just enough to catch a glimpse of my father's friend downstairs. "Hey. Isabel!" I jerk my head back as I hear footsteps nearing the stairs.

"Wow. Is this your daughter?!" Isabel gasps in astonishment. I peak through the stair railings once again and notice a short woman with red-brown hair that's styled in two pigtails, study the portrait next to the stairs. Her green eyes gleam in amazement.

"Yes." My father replies nonchalantly.

"She is identical to her mother." Her fingers hover over the image of my father and I. I can't help my lips twitch. I remember that day very well like if it were yesterday. It was the day where we both went hiking up the mountains. During our journey, I ended up a little further than my father. No wonder he warned me to remain close. I encountered a vicious snake but father was there to save me in an instance. He succeeded holding the head and decided to take a picture with it. It was the first picture we took after mother's sudden demise.

"I know." I watch my father step next to Isabel with Farlan following behind him. I sense my father's nostalgia.

"How old is she?" Farlan asks.

"Eighteen."

Farlan scratches the stubble in his cheek. "Wow. She's heading off to college then?"

"In a couple of weeks in a matter of fact."

"What's her plan?" He stares at my father.

"A waste. A useless book author." Tears find their way down my cheeks once again. I shift my attention to my knees.

"A book author?" I hear that once cheerful voice lower in question.

"Who would have thought I will have a daughter who would waste her intelligence to a piece of garbage?" My fingers dig onto my skin. Am I really a shame to you, Father? "What a pathetic decision." Father adds. Tears of sorrow don't find an end to the desolation I'm currently feeling. I wish I were interested in medicine, civil rights, teeth. Anything of the most substantial and prestigious careers.

I silently tread to my room to begin the homework my teachers assigned me today. All the meanwhile, rejection washes my cheeks until no more fall down. Minutes pass until nothing is left. My eyelids become heavy. My heart aches from the disapproval of my father. I've always wished to become my father's pride. I have no strength to complete my assignments for tomorrow's class because of the physical exhaustion my tears took a toll on. My hands slide under the pillows, my cheek rests on the fresh, thin fabric. I catch a glimpse of the time situated on my desk. 9:34p.m. It wouldn't hurt to sleep right now or better yet...for eternity.

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Veradicity presented a Levi Ackerman fanfiction of an ErmozaWatt One-Shot "The Astray" Starring Levi Ackerman · Elsy Ackerman.

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To be Continue...

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