#probably shouldnt read if you hate progressive/liberal/dem viewpoints lol

[softeddiek]

Political Campaign au

after debating whether or not to finish it all and post it as a oneshot, or post it as four separate chapters, i finally decided to just put the first chapter up, lol

fic to go with this gendrya photoset

read on ao3

August

It’s nearing 3pm, the sun is beating down on her neck, and Arya is ready to finish for the day and head home.

When she had agreed to help out with Margaery’s campaign (or rather, when Sansa had hounded her into helping) she had hoped she wouldn’t have to spend every weekend canvassing, maybe spend some time hitting the phones instead. At least then when people were yelling obscenities at you and questioning how you got their phone number (public record people) it was done in the cool, albeit a bit stale, air conditioning of the office Margaery was renting out. She would admit though, the app that Margaery and her campaign team insisted on them using to keep track of houses they’d stopped at was a lot more efficient than the paper and clipboards they had used for Robb’s last campaign.

Normally she wouldn’t mind canvassing too much. Sure, people could be rude and, sometimes, downright hostile. But, despite all of her grumbling, Arya really believed in Margaery as a candidate and was always pleased to be met with a constituent eager to learn more about her and her platform. Still, Arya had had a long week at work and the last thing she wanted to do today was get up at 8am, drive over to the already hectic office, and be sent out to some neighborhood she wasn’t familiar with in order to convince people that they really ought to be thinking about the midterm election three months from now. Not when she could be home relaxing and catching up on chores around the house.

So, when she looks at her phone and sees she only has one house left on the map to hit before she can head back to where she parked her car, she sends a silent prayer of thanks to the Old Gods. Hoping it’ll be an easy one—older, same party affiliation as Margaery, frequent voter—she clicks on the voter profile.

Gendry Waters (I)

Male, 33 y/o

1712 NW Fleabottom Rd.

No voter history available

She finds herself letting out a sigh at the Independent mark by his name, and yet another one at seeing the man has never voted before.

Margaery’s primary had been a closed one, so only registered members of their party could vote in it. She had easily beaten Albar Royce and her team had immediately gone into overdrive so as to win the general election against that shithead, Joffrey Lannister. She now needed to shift some of her focus to constituents who were registered with the main opposing party, fringe parties, and Independents. Arya had nothing against Independents, per say, she just hated trying to convince them to vote for someone running under a major party. They were just as likely to swing to the other party as they were hers and, with no voter history to look at, this guy could easily be supporting Lannister already. It was never any fun trying to talk to someone, only to realize they were a Lannister supporter, none-to-eager to have you on their doorstep.

Seeing Mr. Waters’ house is only one house over from the one she had just stopped at and gotten no answer from (though she was positive she heard the sound of the tv coming from the inside of the house), she wipes the sweat off her brow, plasters on a smile, and makes her way toward it.

The house is buttery yellow in color, the shutters a sun-bleached red, and the grass is what her mom would describe as ‘a few days past in need of a mowing.’ It’s a cute house really, if looking a little bit like the owner doesn’t have time for the upkeep. Arya isn’t really one to talk though; her job at the local state park keeps her busy and she often finds herself putting off household chores. There’s an old Chevy parked in the driveway so it’s safe to say the owner is home. Whether he’ll actually open the door to her or not is a whole other story. She doesn’t see any Lannister signs in the yard, so at least he doesn’t seem to be a fervent supporter of the opposition.

She’s got the thought of sitting in her car with the AC on high on her mind as she reaches forward and raps twice on the door, taking one step back so as not to crowd the guy. She’s counting the seconds in her head, debating on whether talking to him is worth another knock (Margaery has three months before the election, someone is bound to have to visit this house again if she marks it as a ‘Not Home’) when she hears a muffled voice call out.

“Hang on a second.”

Holding in her groan, she begins rehearsing the script in her head and rifling through the pamphlets she has left to hand out. She’s propping the stack up on one knee, trying to root out the one with Margaery’s amendment recommendations on it, when the door jerks open and startles her, causing her to nearly send the stack to the ground.

Standing in the doorway is a man who very well could be Gendry Waters. He’s tall and broad, with thick black hair and piercing blue eyes. The stubble on his jaw and slight wrinkles around those blue eyes certainly make him look like he could be in his 30s. Arya tends to be too engrossed in her spiel on Margaery to truly take in what the people she’s talking to look like but, frankly, this guy is hot.

And also frowning down at her.

She clears her throat, already worried from the look on his face that this is going to go badly. “Good afternoon sir! My name is Arya and I’m a volunteer for—”

“Look, whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.” He’s moving to shut the door in her face when her sneaker-clad foot darts out, wedging itself between the door and its frame. She cringes internally, knowing her mother would be having a conniption about how unsafe that move just was if she could see her.

Engaging a constituent like this is not a good idea, but she can’t help herself from blurting out, louder than necessary, “I’m not selling anything. Look, are you Gendry Waters or what?”

He eyes her warily. “Who’s asking?”

“If you’d have let me finish,” she grumbles out. His eyebrow raises, an unimpressed look adorning his face. “I’m a volunteer for the Margaery Tyrell campaign. Are you Gendry Waters?”

He looks reluctant to answer. “Yeah. And before you start asking for donations or something, you should know I don’t—”

“Vote. Yeah, I know.”

His forehead scrunches up in confusion. Knowing he’s about to ask how she knows that (they always do) she decides to speak before he can.

Rattling off parts of the script she’s been using the past few weeks, she says, “Margaery Tyrell is running for State Senate this election against Republican incumbent Joffrey Lannister. A former social worker, Margaery feels strongly about the housing crisis plaguing our district. Should she be elected, she looks forward to being sent to our state’s capital to immediately begin working with fellow legislators on ways to provide affordable housing to lower income families in our district and around the state. Margaery is also a staunch advocate for the environment, and supports recently introduced S.B. 4120, the Kingswood Wildlife Preservation Act. Do these seem like qualities in a candidate that interest you?”

The man—Gendry Waters’ forehead is still furrowed, only now there’s a scowl around his mouth. “Tyrell? As in the family that owns that big agricultural company out in the Reach?”

She hesitates. He’s that type of independent then. Arya herself was never too keen on the Tyrell family business, but in all her years as Sansa’s friend, Margaery had proven herself to be down-to-earth and, recently, willing to take on the big corporations by closing legal loopholes that allow them to wreak havoc on the environment. “Margaery’s father and grandmother own shares in Tyrell Farm Corp., yes.” Seeing he’s about to retort back she adds on, “Margaery has, however, asked that her family have little involvement in her campaign, and only make personal donations totaling no more than $100.”

He scoffs. “Right, I’m sure she has.”

If Arya couldn’t feel sweat pooling on the back of her neck and the rumble of hunger that came from only eating an apple on the drive to the office this morning, she might have stayed. She might have set the record straight about Margaery and the donations she was accepting for her campaign. She might have done all in her power to sway this man into voting for Margaery. But honestly, after the attitude he was giving her and all of these other factors, she couldn’t be assed to try. Besides, if he has a problem with Margaery’s background, at least she now knows he won’t be voting for Joffrey. The Lannister family is a terror.

“Okay, I can see I’m not going to be getting anywhere here. Can I just leave some pamphlets with you?”

“Yeah, fine,” he grumbles out. She hands some of the glossy fliers to him, ready for the inevitable slamming of the door.

He’s staring at her pointedly, clearing his throat when all she does is stare at him confused. “Your foot…”

Embarrassed, she pulls her foot back from the doorway it was still sticking out in, turning around to walk the few blocks back to her car. “Have a good day sir,” she calls out behind her sarcastically. She rolls her eyes at the sound of the door slamming.

It takes a lot of restraint to not add “a bit of an asshole” to the notes on his voter profile.

--

Arya’s just washing up the last of the dishes she’d let pile up over the week in her sink when her drier buzzes, signaling the load she’d put in was done. Putting the last plate in the drying rack, she wipes her hands off on a dish towel and heads toward her laundry room.

As soon as she’d gotten home from canvassing, she’d taken a shower, thrown on some comfortable clothes, and started making headway in her list of chores. She’s hoping to get through the last few things by tomorrow morning, so she might have time to get some gardening done. Jon always makes fun of her choosing to spend her Sundays gardening, especially when she spends all of her week outdoors at work, but she’s pretty sure he’s just upset that he can’t keep a plant alive for shit.

She’s just finished putting her clothes away when she enters the living room to see her phone light up with a text. Checking it, she sees it’s from her friend Shireen.

Queen Shireen: Drinks tonight? On me.

Arya: You had me at free drinks, lmao

Queen Shireen: Haha, I thought I would. The Crossroads?

Arya: Ew, no, that gross bartender might be working

Queen Shireen: Tru, tru.

Arya: How about Hot Pie’s place

Queen Shireen: Is he working tonight?

Arya: Idk, maybe

Arya: If he is, we can probably get some free fries from him

Queen Shireen: I’m down.

Arya: 9:30?

Queen Shireen: Lmao bitch, you thought.

Queen Shireen: I have to be up early tomorrow to catch the ferry to Dragonstone. I’m going to visit my father and stepmom.

Arya: Ooh, the wicked witch of Dragonstone herself

Queen Shireen: She wishes.

Queen Shireen: …literally. She wishes she were a witch.

Arya: Don’t we all

Queen Shireen: Lol.

Queen Shireen: 7:30?

Arya: Sounds good! I’ll see you there

--

The bar Hot Pie works at had been an inn before it had been a bar. He’d been the cook there and when it had been bought out by some congressman named Dondarrion from the Marches, they’d kept Hot Pie on. At his insistence, they’d kept much of the inn’s menu when it became the bar, though most people settled for ordering fries and nachos, much to Hot Pie’s chagrin. The outside was just as dingy as it had been when it was an inn—apparently the new owner couldn’t be fucked to clean it up a bit—and the sign on the front was in such disrepair, that nobody knew the actual name of the place. She’d heard some of the bartenders refer to themselves as a brotherhood, but she figured that was just some weird southern thing.

When Arya arrives, she has to muscle her way past a few people before reaching the corner booth Shireen has managed to snag, her purse, coat, and drink spread across the seat and table, an intimidating look on her face. Well, intimidating for Shireen.

“Hey, sorry I’m late, just lost track of time a bit.” She slides some of Shireen’s stuff over and plops down on the sticky vinyl seat.

Shireen rolls her eyes. “’s fine, I got started without ya.”

She sends her friend a grin. “I can tell. So, what’s wrong then, why are you already tipsy at…,” she checks her phone, “8:04?”

Shireen lets out a prolonged sigh, propping her right arm onto the table and resting her face against her hand. “Just not lookin’ forward to going home tomorrow.”

Arya shrugs. “So don’t.”

“That’s the thing. Think I really need to.” She begins twirling around her empty glass, the ice clinking softly. “My dad’s been really moody since he lost his reelection.”

She lets out a scoff. “Stannis hates Dragonstone and the people that live there. He lost that election two years ago. We both know how this works Shireen, he could’ve up and relocated and ran somewhere more conservative. Or, he could’ve run for something at the local level.”

“As if the mighty Stannis Baratheon would deign to go from Senator to…to…to mayor or something. And the way that Red Witch is in his ear all of the time, tellin’ him how he oughta run for President, how he could be more successful than his brother…Yeah, I definitely need to go home for a bit. Just don’t really wanna.” She takes another pull of her drink, frowning when she gets nothing but melted ice. Arya sends a soft look her friend’s way, concerned.

“Okay, so here’s what’s going to happen. I am going to go get one drink for me and a water for you, close out the tab, then we’ll head to your place and watch some trashy tv. You’ll go to sleep, I’ll crash on your couch, and I’ll drive you to catch the ferry tomorrow if, and only if, you still feel up to going, okay?”

“Fine, fine. But you should know, Hot Pie isn’t working tonight so we can’t get free fries,” she pouts.

She chuckles at her friend’s disgruntled expression. “Don’t worry, I’ll buy us some fries.”

After a few minutes she’s managed to flag down a bartender. She’s leaning against the bar, hoping whoever is in the back tonight makes them as crispy as Hot Pie does, when she sees a familiar face under a mop of black hair a few stools down, nursing a beer. It’s the guy from earlier, Gendry. He’s in conversation with someone, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. If he looked good before, frowning at her, he looks even better now; friendlier, more open. Too bad his personality didn’t seem to match. When his eyes drift past the guy he’s talking to, meeting her own, she quickly glances back to behind the bar.

Once she gets her drinks and fries, she maneuvers her way through the thickening crowd back to Shireen, steadfastly ignoring Gendry Waters. She places the fries down in front of Shireen, trying to drag her attention away from the bar.

“What are you looking at?”

Shireen’s forehead is scrunched up in thought. “Why were you glaring at my Uncle Renly?”

“Who?”

“The guy with the black hair and the beer. That’s my uncle.” Maybe Shireen had had more to drink than she originally thought.

“No,” she drags out, “that’s some guy I met canvassing today. His name’s Gendry.”

“Weird. He looks just like my uncle.” She picks up a handful of fries, shoving them in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “Hot Pie’s fries are crispier.”

--

It’s around 9 am when she gets home from taking Shireen to catch the ferry. She hadn’t slept very well on Shireen’s couch, so she’s ready to lay down in her own soft bed to catch a few more hours of sleep, maybe make some pancakes after, then head outside to tend to her garden. She’s just finished changing from her grimy bar clothes into some pajamas when her phone lights up from her nightstand.

Sansa: Emergency

Sansa: We’re phonebanking from 12-4 today and two volunteers said they can’t come in

Sansa: Marge and I really need the extra help and you’re great with the phones

Sansa: Please

Arya: Ok

Arya: You owe me pancakes next weekend

Sansa: Deal! Thanks so much, see you soon

She lets out a sigh, setting an alarm for 11 before settling into bed.