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inknigella · 1 year ago

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Mr. Senator: 1st Sneak Peek

Dear reader, So, here's the AU I've been dreaming a lot—Mr. Senator Eren and his little betrothed, Mikasa. I'm really excited to finally bring this to life! By the way, I've been diving into Atonement, Lady Chatterly's Lover, and Rebecca lately, so my writing might have a bit of old-fashioned vibe. But let's get started, shall we?

In her father’s deserted living room, Mikasa placed the silver tray with cookies and flowers on the desk. It wouldn’t be long before both her father and the visitor arrived. This had been a routine she had been following for a couple of years, ever since Eren Jaeger rose as the representative of Shiganshina and began visiting her father on the second Friday of every month. She would make him cookies, even if he never knew it, and leave the tray there before retreating to the upstairs drawing room, pressing herself against the window’s glass. She would wait to watch him leave as evening fell over the Ackerman Manor while the children made the ruckus that preceded their evening bath.

That day, however, she didn’t want to follow that routine.

Driven by that same urgency that had propelled her to run through the sprawling grounds of the manor as a madwoman, she now yearned to intersect paths with him, to compel him to regard her with those disparaging green eyes, if only fleetingly. Mikasa wished for their collision, for in her mind she harboured a belief that such an encounter would necessitate his acknowledgment. He would be obliged to utter a word to her, if only out of courtesy.

So she lingered, caught in the interminable stretch of time. The seconds dripped by like honey, viscous and endless. Her steps echoed softly against the room’s polished floor as she wandered trough her father's office, a restless spirit gripped by anticipation.

The silver jugs, polished to a high sheen at her father’s request, cast distorted reflections of her figure and the delicate green of her dress. It wasn’t her prettiest dress, but its hue mirrored his eyes, and perhaps that would catch his attention. Her mother had always said that men, in their self-absorbed ways, found subtle mirroring alluring. Perhaps, just perhaps, this gown would stir a reaction in him, however slight.

But as seconds melded into minutes, neither her father nor Eren graced the room with their presence. The silence deepened, punctuated only by the tick of the grandfather clock in the corner, measuring out the passing moments with relentless precision. And when the distant hum of an engine drifted to her ears from the driveway, clarity struck her: they were not coming here.

Uncle Kenny is here too, she mused, abandoning thoughts of cookies, flowers, and her carefully chosen dress. Such occurrences were rare, for Uncle Kenny usually resided in the heart of town. Yet, if Eren hadn’t come merely to speak with her father and instead had her uncle involved too, then something was amiss, requiring, perhaps, reinforcements.

With deliberate steps, she moved towards the living room, melding with the walls of her own home. When Uncle Kenny visited, they would gather in the living room to discuss their political issues, and he despised any interruption from the children. So, she tread carefully, until she was there, just metres from the door that led to the living room, she caught the murmur of voices. Amidst them, unmistakably, was his voice.

“I ought to have known better,” Eren murmured, his voice velvety textured and with a faint rasp from the tobacco he consumed. Such a tessiture made Mikasa’s eyes shut for a moment. “The people may show their support for my senate candidacy, but they seem lukewarm toward the conservationist stance. If they find fault with me now, who’s to say they won’t turn against me later?”

“It’s just the first survey,” Mikasa’s father replied, his demeanour serene. “If you’re worried about your image, you can gather yourself for the upcoming poll with some charity demonstrations. However, remember that polls needn’t determine what unfolds at the ballot box. Or do you forget that you weren’t initially favoured as the representative of the state?”

“But those surveys reflect an important perception,” Eren replied, his tone edged with concern. “Conservationists cherish the image of the typical family man, and I don’t fit that mould. I might have persuaded them to accept my image as a bachelor who cut his hair to appear formal, but ascending to the Senate will be a different battle. Neither a haircut nor a pretty suit will sway them this time.”

“I see your point,” the Ackerman patriarch said. “They seek someone who embodies their traditional values. But does that mean you must alter who you are to satisfy their expectations?”

Eren let out a sound akin to a laugh, though tinged with a touch of despair.

Mikasa crept closer to the crack in the door, moving as quietly as a shadow. From her vantage point, she finally glimpsed the tense tableau unfolding in the living room. Her father and Eren Jaeger occupied the armchairs, while Uncle Kenny stood by the window, gazing out at the wisteria gardens as if detached from the conversation, yet undoubtedly pondering every word exchanged between the men.

Her gaze briefly wandered around before settling back on Eren. She found him with a furrowed brow, his rugged features etched with concern. She studied his mannerisms, the fluidity of his gestures as he sat there, and couldn’t help but feel a swell of admiration and fondness. Eren was strikingly handsome, almost too handsome for her tender heart’s foolish yearnings. His features, bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun, exuded a masculine allure that captivated her.

It was a mystery to her how someone could have such an astonishing beauty—a beauty so painfully, achingly sublime.

In her fifteenth year, during that phase when she voraciously consumed everything about ancient Greece, Mikasa had read how many peasant girls mistook handsome men for gods and demigods. The allure of these men and the naivety of the young women were so overwhelming that it was no wonder they believed they had encountered a divine being. Mikasa, of course, deemed herself wiser than those girls, and she found the notion amusing.

Yet, in the solitude of her musings and the intimacy of her girlish diaries, she had written more than once about the impression Eren made on her. She allowed herself to dream, describing him as a god disguised as a man, a presence in the mansion that seemed to defy reality. It was a private reverie, almost a confession, where rationality intertwined with the enchantment of youth, allowing her to see Eren as a figure that transcended the mundane and flirted with the divine. She had pondered, perhaps he was the God Apollo, for only Apollo could have such a sun-kissed skin as beautiful as his.

It was Eren’s sigh that snapped Mikasa back to the gravity of their conversation. “I want to be genuine, but I also want to win. If I can’t resonate with that electorate, my campaign could be at risk,” he said. “My bachelor image doesn’t seem to work in this context.”

“Look, Eren,” her father said.” “You must remember that politics hinges as much on perception as on action. While conservationists hold certain values dear, it doesn’t mean you should forsake your authenticity entirely. Perhaps you need to demonstrate that, while you may not fit the mould of a traditional family man, you uphold values they also hold in high regard.”

Eren nodded pensively, though worry etched his face deeply. “I’ve made efforts to connect with them, emphasising the importance of family unity and respect for traditions, but it seems insufficient. They crave something more tangible, something they can see.”

“Perhaps you need to increase your visibility in the community. Engage in family-oriented events, participate in projects that align with your values. It’s not just about words; actions speak louder.”

“I understand,” Eren replied earnestly, “but time is short and expectations are high. Every day without gaining their support is a setback for the campaign.” There was a pause, punctuated by the distant tick, tick, tick, of a clock. “Or perhaps I need to consider giving up on the Senate and focus on reclaiming the representative position back-to-back.”

Mikasa observed intently as Eren sighed heavily and squared his shoulders, a gesture that conveyed unmistakable defeat. It was a scene that seemed almost surreal to her, difficult to reconcile with the resilient spirit she knew him to possess.

In Shiganshina, everyone knew Eren’s journey to prominence had been anything but effortless. It wasn’t a path paved with gold, but rather one marked by relentless effort, hard work, and the opportunities he had earned, such as the scholarship generously bestowed by the Ackerman family in recognition of Nanny Carla’s son’s brilliance. Even his current role as the state representative of Shiganshina, sponsored by the Ackermans, had been hard-fought. In those earlier days, he had been viewed as young and inexperienced, yet he had fought tirelessly to secure the position he now held.

Witnessing him concede defeat prematurely was something Mikasa had never envisioned. It felt unsettling, out of character. Eren had always exhibited unwavering determination in the face of adversity, a quality she had admired deeply from the outset. The notion that he could falter in this manner, especially at such a pivotal juncture, stirred intense concern and curiosity within her.

And as if he had plucked her own thoughts from the air, Uncle Kenny finally spoke from his perch by the window.

“Why throw in the towel now? I’ve known you since you were a muddy kid sneaking smokes in the garden to dodge your mother.” Kenny Ackerman remained fixed on the wisteria, his behaviour and voice tinged with disdain. Mikasa immediately sensed Eren bristling at his words. “It’s not fitting to fold so easily. Are you going to let the Senate slip away for something like this?”

“I’m not giving up,” Eren retorted, his tone laced with frustration. “I’m being pragmatic about the situation.”

Mikasa held her breath, feeling the tension mount in the room. She wished she could offer Eren some comfort, take his hand in reassurance. But their bond didn’t stretch that far.

“I get that you want to be practical, but politics sometimes demands strategies beyond raw honesty,” Kenny continued, stepping away from the window to approach the men. “It’s not about changing who you are; it’s about how you're perceived. It’s about crafting the illusion of who you claim to be in people’s minds.”

The Ackerman patriarch nodded slowly, acknowledging Kenny’s seasoned perspective.

“You’re a man of firm principles, Jaeger,” Kenny continued, his voice firm and calculating. “But sometimes, achieving your goals means playing the game by its rules. Consider all your options before deciding.”

“I hear what you’re saying. But I won’t compromise my core beliefs just to win an election.”

Kenny fixed Eren with a penetrating gaze before responding. “It’s not about compromising your values, Jaeger. It’s about strategic adaptation to achieve your aims.”

Another pause followed, thick with unspoken tensions. Eren appeared conflicted, caught between the demands of principle and the realities of political strategy. From her vantage point, Mikasa sensed his inner struggle and the heavy atmosphere around him.

“And what do you propose, then?” He asked, exhaling sharply.

Even from her hidden position, Mikasa could see Uncle Kenny’s sinister smile—the kind that unsettled her deeply, foreboding trouble to come.

“Perhaps consider adjusting your public image,” he suggested, his tone a blend of cunning and persuasion. “Changes that align with your principles. After all, you’re a family man, aren’t you? Why else attend mass with your parents every Sunday and endure your mother parading those girls eager to marry you? You have hopes of a family of your blood, don’t you?”

Mikasa’s heart sank. Eren’s reaction mirrored her own discomfort; he frowned at the subtle yet cutting insinuation.

“You’re suggesting I get married,” the young man muttered.

Kenny nodded calmly, as if anticipating this response. “A stable family image could work in your favour during elections.”

“Marriage?” Eren repeated incredulously, hands resting on his knees. “Marriage…” The word lingered, reverberating through the room, as if it were taking root in his mind, weaving itself into the fabric of his thoughts. Mikasa didn’t like that, no. She did not. A cold unease settled in her chest, twisting with the ache of her unspoken longing.

“Kenny has a point, son. Politics is also about perception and image,” Mikasa’s father, more empathetic but still concerned, interjected. “A wife and child would not only secure your Senate seat for the six years but pave the way for re-election when needed.”

No. No…