A/N: Thank you all for all of your review love! I am so excited that you guys are loving this fic so much! The brothers Erikson are swoon worthy, aren't they? Thanks to the ladies over at the best SVM All Human stories for adding me on to their community:)

I know it may have seemed like a long time coming...but I wanted to work out a few little things before finishing this next chapter, so I can you the next few chapters (hopefully) more quickly. Plus, I will admit, I have been quite distracted by new Halloween contest, Eric and his Great Pumpkin. Haloween is so much fun ;p

Thank you so, so much once again to VampLover1, who not only beta'd this chapter, but has also guest-authored the most yummylicious Fiends episode clip for your reading pleasure :)

If you haven't already done so, you must read her stuff ( http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/u/1827570/VampLover1), especially the amazing TB recap "'Twas the Week Before True Blood".

Thanks also to the amazing Meads who held my hand and helped keep my head straight:) I love you ladies!

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the Sookie Stackhouse Series or the HBO series True Blood

Light glorifies everything. It transforms and ennobles the most commonplace and ordinary subjects. The object is nothing, light is everything.

– Leonard Missone


epov

I agreed to help Pam, mostly because I knew that Pam would feel obliged to return the favor.

Somehow, someway, someday. I could call it in.

But I never expected that I would be the one asking -- no, scratch that-- begging, for the big favor.

Pamela Ravenscroft was the owner and director of The F/Stop, a downtown gallery specializing in contemporary photography. In a moment of sheer panic, she asked if I would help her pick through the entrants in the annual photo competition after she discovered the enormous number of entrants had far exceeded past years. So, I knew she would be very grateful for my help, and I was ready for a fun distraction after the crazy day I had on the set of my television series.

Besides, I must admit, I do enjoy art, especially photography. There's something about how light - such an unsubstantial element that you can't grab or run your fingers through - gives form to everything in a photo. There was something mysterious about the fact that it could not be defined, yet it defined everything. It was the photographic paintbrush, and in the hands of a true artist, it truly was magical.

So I wasn't totally displeased to help my friend, even though I also knew we would have to wade through piles of amateur drabble. No matter. The pros mostly outweighed the cons.

But then I saw that photograph. It was mesmerizing - reminding me of that feeling I had the first time I stood in front of a work of art and lost myself completely in the visual experience. It was a rare occurrence, but unmistakable when you encountered it.

I put the photo down reverently, pushing all the others that lay next to it off of the table, not really caring or paying attention to where they landed. Hell, it's not like the entrants were expecting them back - all of the rejects would end up in the trash, anyway. I fell into the photograph, forgetting myself for a few blissful moments.

"The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life," I whispered in awe, more to myself than to Pam, "by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life."

This was the beauty and the magic of a truly great work of art. It was so rare these days, though, that it put me into a reverent trance. I had certainly not expected to come across this caliber of work, especially from some amateur mail-in photo contest. Where had this photographer come from?

Pam reached out her hand, trying to grab the photo that inspired me to fucking quote Faulkner, but I caught her hand mid-air.

"What's this one's name?" I asked, not yet willing to lift my eyes from the photo, idiotically forgetting that the name of the artist would be listed on the back.

Pam looked at me silently, waiting for my brain to catch up to its own slowness.

"Seriously, Eric, how long does it take you these days to watch 60 Minutes?" she sneered, yanking her hand away. "Three hours?" she snickered, as she grabbed the photo and flipped it over.

"Seriously, Pam, I'm surprised," I mimicked. "You couldn't come up with a better line than that?"

I folded my arms, leaning back in the chair. Pam enjoyed this type of thing far more than was healthy. She's the only one I would tolerate this kind of behavior from.

"Well?" I asked impatiently.

"And the winner is..." she purred at me, pausing for extra drama, as pleased as a cat who had just caught a delicious little mouse. "Sookie. Sookie Stackhouse."

spov

The coffee mug shattered on the ground, sending shards of porcelain flying as the hot liquid pooled near my feet. I stopped, frozen in my tracks, as I finished reading the letter:

Miss Sookie Stackhouse,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been chosen as the winner of our annual Young Photographer contest.

Please contact Pamela Ravenscroft to accept this honor.

I blinked rapidly, in rhythm to my hyperventilating breath, as my mind raced, trying to understand how this was possible.

"What's wrong, dear?" my Gran asked with concern, her figure framed by the door.

My mouth opened and closed shut several times, utterly failing to find the words to explain my current state of shock. I finally walked towards the house and handed the letter to her.

Gran's eyes quickly scanned the letter, her lips mouthing the words silently until they curved into a smile.

"You won!" she exclaimed with glee.

"I've won what?" I questioned suspiciously, watching my Gran closely.

Her hand tightened around the letter while her gaze darted off to the left.

"Did you know about this?" I asked, advancing on her, unable to hide the surprise and anger in my voice.

Gran wrapped her arm around my waist and led me into the living room.

"Well, dear, I saw this great photo contest for undiscovered artists, sponsored by a gallery in Los Angeles that specializes in photography, and it seemed like a great opportunity," she explained as she steered us both towards the couch. "I hate to see you squander your talents."

All I could do was stare and blink stupidly, so she continued telling me about the competition. "The prize is your very own show at the gallery!"

My eyes practically popped out of my head. Exhibition? I assumed the prize was a few hundred dollars, so I was in absolute shock to find out that the grand prize was a solo exhibition at a posh L.A. gallery.

I rolled my eyes. Well at least it wasn't New York.

Now, hold on. Before you think I'm some angsty artiste with distaste for the establishment -- I'm not. I'm the farthest thing from that cliche and proud of it.

I fell in love with art the first time my Gran took me to the museum in town. I loved spending the entire day there, drowning myself in the worlds that hung on the walls.

Ironically, I started developing my distaste for the art world when I studied art history in school. My internship at the local gallery clinched the deal. The art elites all wore black on black, and even tried to wear the quintessential turtleneck, as much as the warm Louisiana weather would allow. I was always easy to spot, because I was pretty much the only person who ever wore color. You see, I worked very hard on my perfect tan, and I usually didn't like wasting it on boring black.

They always tried to talk with the fanciest and longest words they knew. It was practically like a damn measuring contest. It was like they constantly needed to prove how chic and smart they were.

Oh, and if you were an artist, they would trip over themselves to convince you that they 'got' you -- all you had to do was throw a damn bucket of paint on a canvas and huff your chest out about the music of existence -- and they would kiss your feet in frenzied ecstasy, proclaiming your genius.

Ha, what a load of bull.

So, anyways, I love art, but I can't stand the haughty snobbiness of the world that tries to guard it.

I shook my head, trying to physically snap myself out of the mental rant I'd allowed myself to get into. Geesh. I hadn't thought about that world in a while. I was more than happy living here with Gran and working at the local bar. Gran had even put in a darkroom in our house, so I could still enjoy photography. It was a simple life, but it was a good one.

I glanced down at the card, reading the address. 100 W. 5th Avenue, Los Angeles, California. Well, La di da. I didn't know Los Angeles that well, but that sounded like pretty good real estate in downtown.

I glanced at the card that had been included in the envelope, absentmindedly admiring the elegant magenta letters set off against the dark charcoal background.

Pamela Ravenscroft. Director. The F/Stop. Digital Arts Gallery.

Heh, clever name for a photo gallery. The F Stop is how a photographer controls the amount of light in a shot. Well, more specifically, it is how the photographer controls how wide to open the shutter, which consequently determines how much light the film is exposed to while the shutter is open. If a photograph is a window into the mind and soul of the artist-- that is, a glimpse of the world as it exists to the artist-- then the F Stop is a measure of how wide an artist is willing to open that window.

I shook my head again. I really had to snap myself out of this. I should be ecstatic about this honor. I told myself that the conversation with this Pam couldn't be all that bad -- after all, it's just a phone call, right?

My dread at making the call reminded me of a scene from one of my all-time favorite episodes of Fiends. It was during the very first show, when viewers are first introduced to the delicious Erikson brothers. Poor Bjorn has to make that dreadful call to his girlfriend to tell her he is now a vampire. Up until then, he had been avoiding her like the plague (or 'like a stake' might be a better phrase). So, his womanizing human brother Leif 'encourages' Bjorn to phone the girl, rather than deal with her face-to-face.

I scrambled to find my special collector's edition DVD boxed-set from Season 1, the one with that sexy cover picture of Eric Northman in his dual-roles. That now-classic picture was the same one used for most of HBO's publicity shots and was taken from the scene I was about to watch, in fact. I quickly found the large box and stopped for a moment to simply stare and sigh at the cover. How many other women (and maybe even men) had done the same thing as me? Countless many, I was sure.

Besides the cover shot, I loved all of the extras included in the set, too. I especially enjoyed the fascinating behind-the-scenes look at how both characters can appear on the screen at the same time. It must be challenging for an actor to film each scene twice and say dialogue to someone not really there. There was also a cool special-effects extra about how they make it seem that one twin has a long beautiful mane while the other has close-cropped hair. I had been quite relieved to learn that the real EN had the longer version; in fact, the actor was supposedly a real 'diva' when it came to his hair.

I inserted disc one into my DVD player and used my remote to select the scene with the phone conversation. It was close to the end of the episode; I should know because I had watched this particular one a countless number of times. After all, it's the episode that first made America's panties get wet (and ensured EN a nice long contract with HBO).

Scene: The twins' apartment on a Saturday evening. The brothers are sitting on the living room couch, a bottle of beer and a bottle of synthetic blood sit on the table before them. Leif is dressed in a tight black tank-top and jeans; his brother Bjorn is in a blood-red designer polo-shirt and khakis.

BJORN: "But Marnie is going to dump me when she finds out!" (he nervously adjusts his glasses)

LEIF: "So what if she does, bro? There are lots of girls out there just dying to get to know us! And you never know -- she just might like the idea of fucking a vampire."

BJORN: "That's easy for you to say, Leif -- you have girls hanging on you twenty-four hours a day! But I only have twelve hours a day to work with and most available women are sleeping then! I'll never find another girlfriend if Marnie lets me go!" (he holds his head in his hands as his long, blond hair falls forward in a beautiful mess)

LEIF: (shaking head in disgust at his brother's lame whining) "Man up! Call her and tell her how it is, Bjorn. She either accepts you as you are, or you cut her loose." (picks up phone and hands it to Bjorn, but not before playfully punching his brother in the shoulder)

BJORN: (stares at phone, trying to make the call. He finally dials the number and stares straight at the camera with those beautifully bespectacled blue eyes) "Hi, lover, it's me." ***** "Yes, I know, I'm sorry I haven't been able to call you sooner." ***** "Well, I have something I need to tell you…ummm…" (he looks to his brother for guidance)

LEIF: (mouths silently) "Marnie, I'm now a vampire." (smiles in encouragement)

BJORN: "Marnie... I'm now a vampire!" (he says with conviction, smiling a little at his own confidence, but then his eyes widen in shock and disappointment as he listens to her somewhat lengthy response) "What?? Why, you little witch!" (his fangs extend) "I hope I never have to remember another moment of our cursed time together, Marnie Stonebrook!" (slams phone down on table after hanging up on her)

LEIF: "Well, what did she say?"(he looks worried about his brother)

BJORN: "She thought she could do much better than me, anyway, and then she asked if you were available to come over to her house tonight!" (he sighs in resignation)

LEIF: "Well, Bjorn, I think that you're better off without her. The whole time you two dated, it was like you were under her spell, anyway. Time to move on, bro!" (reaches for the two bottles and hands his brother a blood) "Let's make a toast!"

BJORN: "A toast? But what for?" (he looks surprised)

LEIF: "To new beginnings… To brotherhood." (they clink bottles together in toast) "Remember... I'll be there for you." (reaches around to hug his brother in very masculine manner as the two towering heartthrobs, one of them fanged, grin and look directly at the camera in a picture-worthy pose)

Theme music begins:

I'll be there for you
(When your fangs start to show)
I'll be there for you
(Since we're brothers, you know)

The credits start to roll as the theme music continues.

Afraid I wouldn't be able to get that damn song out of my head, I quickly stopped the disc and retrieved it from the player.

I sighed, thinking about how that scene always got to me. Handsome Leif seems so self-assured, but beneath that cocky exterior, he's really sensitive and supportive of his brother. And Bjorn, with his beautiful flowing hair, is simply so sweet and adorkable— that scene makes me just want to kiss and comfort him; gawd, it even makes me want to rub myself all over him, I'm not ashamed to admit! That's why I know I will always be Team Vamp. And I could definitely understand why the writers would want Marnie out of the picture so early on. It left both brothers available to all kinds of plot possibilities with no 'girlfriend' strings attached; it also left viewers to swoon over the gorgeous and amazing actor playing the twins, as if any average woman watching the show even had a remote chance with someone like EN.

Now that my little delay tactic from the task at-hand was over, I realized I needed to finally 'man up' and make the call to that Pam Ravenscroft, gallery director. And who knew what might happen? Maybe this would lead to new beginnings for me as well, I thought, as I reached for the phone.

*****