A/N: First, a quick pimp for the contest I'm co-hosting with nycsnowbird.

Check out the new SVM/TB contest, the DEAD PAN CONTEST which is going on right now. It features parodies of our favorite Viking & barmaid, culled from books, TV, films, cartoons or even fairytales. If you've never written before, this is a great (and fun!) way to get your feet wet.

Details here: http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/~deadpancontest

The current entries need your review love! If you're looking for something good to read, please head over there now!!!

A/N: Also, A-Redhead-Thing made an fantabulous playlist for FStop—check it out:

http://www(dot)playlist(dot)com/playlist/19626842635

Okay, read,enjoy… meetcha at the bottom:-)

CHAPTER 13: MAKIN' COOL WHIPPIE

I've been looking so long at these pictures of
you that I almost believe that they're real

~The Cure

Eric had just excused himself to take a shower when my phone buzzed again.

I didn't even have to read the message on the screen to know I had a new text from Amelia. I had sent over the name of my Twitter account about 20 minutes earlier and was actually pretty surprised it had taken her this long to check up on me again.

Dooood. Check your follow requests.

My reply was quick and to the point.

???

My phone buzzed again a few seconds later.

Check your email. I'm EricsAssStalker. *waggles brows*

I rolled my eyes as I opened up my email. Lordy, I could practically hear her cackles through that eyebrow waggle. My mouth gaped as I saw the entire screen filled with new messages, all from Twitter.

Holy crap Ames! There's like 50 requests in here! Who the heck are all those people?

Her reply came back at vampire speed.

Fangirls, Duh! Niice!

WTF Ames? How did they hear about it?

Gurrrl, I'm just being a responsible fangirl 'sall. I put out the word.

I shook my head and decided to ignore that last statement, opting instead to go approve some of those requests. As soon as I was done, I browsed over to my page and noticed that Amelia had already sent me a tweet. Of course; why wasn't I surprised?

Waitin' on mah gurrrrrl Sookster EyeSpyEric to tell me what her and the hotness, EN, are up to today!!

I pondered for a moment before typing in my reply.

EricsAssStalker EN is currently soaping up; I'm waiting for our plans. And no, Ames—I will not get a shower spy pic!

After that, I was a total goner.

This was worse than the forums. I entertained myself with approving new followers and responding to tweets, entirely losing track of time and my surroundings. And, of course, giggling hysterically at the replies these girls came up with—some of them really should consider going on the stand up circuit. They were just too hilarious.

Eric's voice came out of nowhere from behind me. "So … you think you'll be able to tear yourself away from that?"

I jumped in my chair, gasping, before twisting around to glare at him. The effect must have looked truly mental because I could feel my eyes bug out at the site of him—freshly showered and oh-so-yummy; dressed in denim from head to toe. After I'd successfully commanded my mouth not to drool, I stuck the phone in my purse and shrugged as nonchalantly as I could fake it. "Oh, yeah. Sure."

He sat down next to me and slid his feet into a pair of flip flops that he had set down on the ground."So, any new followers yet?"

I raised an eyebrow and giggled. He really did know entirely too much about the inner workings of Twitter. "Oh, a few."

"Excellent." He had a kid-in-the-candy-store grin on his face. "Shall we go to our first official stop then?"

He put his out hand for me and I just nodded and put my hand in his.

We had accelerated to a comfortable speed before I spoke (well, I was only resting my hand on the passenger door handle, as opposed to death-gripping it). "So, what should I tell the inquiring masses?"

He looked over at me with a raised brow and chuckled. Resting one hand on the wheel, he stroked his chin with the other. "Hmm ... let's see." His lips curled into a devious smirk. "You can tell them … GTL, baby."

I snorted. Gym, tan and laundry? Dear god, was he seriously quoting Jersey Shore to me?

I dutifully typed in the update.

EN says we're going to "GTL, baby" *snickersnort* What a dork...

I smirked right back at him after hitting the send button. "Wow. I'm impressed." He turned to me, his own smile transforming into an all out ear-to-ear grin. "Really Eric, I didn't think you did your own laundry. Don't you have, like, people for that sort of thing?"

He laughed and then raked his eyes up and down my body. "Oh, as much as I'd love to do …" here he waggled his brows for even more sexual emphasis, "laundry with you, I'm afraid that's not in the cards for today. But we will be purchasing some clothing."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. "I assume you have that company card that Pam gave you?"

"Wait a sec—how do you know about that?"

"You are an employee of the gallery now, technically."

"Oh, yeah. I guess so."

He shot me a sideways glance. "I'm sure you didn't expect to paint the town red when you packed for this trip. We will only pick up the bare essentials."

I rolled my eyes as I reached for my phone. I was pretty sure that our definitions of "bare essentials" tipped the opposite sides of the scale. "So, we're basically getting ready to go out somewhere fancy schmancy tonight?"

"Oh, no, not tonight. But one of my favorite groups is playing at a club in town tomorrow night. We will be going to that."

"Oh, cool. Who's playing?"

"Oh, you'll see," he evaded the answer and my eyes.

Well, I could see why he might not want me telling all of Twitter where he planned to be tomorrow night. I almost shuddered at the thought of the cougar pussy wagons circling the location. The horrifying image was thankfully knocked right out of my mind as he swerved onto the exit and my body flattened against the door.

"Please just tell me it's not Lady Gaga." I gave him a mock-glare before bursting into laughter.

"No," his mouth twitched with amusement, "and hopefully there won't be any appearance of the paparazzi, either. Not the musical or the flesh variety."

I choked back another giggle as I typed the tweet.

We're going to some sorta concert tomorrow. EN won't say who, but swears it's not Lady Gaga. Should we believe him?

I barely had time to send the tweet before the car lurched forward as EN floored it. I clutched at the door as I watched the blur of the city street fly by us entirely too fast—for my heart and my stomach.

"You might have a death wish Eric, but I sure don't!"

He just chuckled—quite maniacally if I might add—and focused his attention on weaving through traffic. This was like Mario golf cart on government-grade crack.

"Seriously, Eric," I said through clenched teeth. "What's the big rush?"

He shrugged. "I just… hate being late."

I finally let out my breath when we screeched to a halt, somehow executing a pretty darn impressive parking job, to boot.

I don't know how he ignored my furious glare but he just rushed out of the car, not even waiting to see if I was going to follow. I actually had to scramble to catch up to him. Yet somehow, he was well aware of exactly when I closed the door, turning on the alarm with a chipper beep that made me seethe all the more violently. I had just reached his side when I was able to make out the sign on the store front.

I hurried inside after him, almost running into the wall of his back when he stopped abrubtly just short of the reception area. He turned to me and placed his hand at the small of my back, guiding me forward. "Ready?"

I stared up at him, eyes widening with the horror. "Oh, god, were your really serious about the fake tan?"

He chuckled and dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "Oh, no, no. I figured you for a natural girl in that department."

I resisted the urge to tell him that I was a natural girl in all departments, instead opting to stick to the original question which he had yet to answer. "So ready for what, then?"

"Color and cut, girlfriend."

I giggled. "You mean you're not a natural blond, Eric?"

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with enhancing what nature gave you," he replied with a toothy grin, but then he got all shifty-eyed and added, "You know, for the show. My hair has to be blond for the show, stylist orders and all."

At this point, we were greeted by a typically-chipper-yet-snooty hairstylist with her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail so tight it made her cheekbones appear as if they would pop right out of her skin. She ushered us toward the back and I was thankful for her timing; I had been this close to losing it. I mean EN, the hulking Viking hunk, in foils? Unbe-freaking-livable. Well, I guess if I'd seen a Chihuahua dressed in a tux, this wasn't as far fetched as all that, but still.

After we were seated in adjacent swivel chairs, he turned to me. "So, are you going to go for matching highlights?" I finished up my latest tweet before what he asked clicked in my brain.

:Aussie Accent: Watching the fierce cheetah in it's natural habitat... the salon. *giggles*

I shook my head and snickered. "Wait, are you really being serious?" Oh, dear god, he was really serious, as was clear by his affirmative nod. "Oh, gosh. Well actually, I have always wanted to try highlights, but I was a little afraid my hair might turn green or fall off or something."

Crap. Did I just say that out loud? As if my I heart L.A. t-shirt wasn't a dead giveaway that I wasn't from around these parts, that last admission surely sounded like a line right out of Beverly Hillbillies. I took a big gulp of air and shrugged before meeting his eyes again. "Okay, what the hell?"

I moaned into my lemonade as I put it to my lips to take another sip, resisting the urge to rub my eyes or pinch myself. Instead, I repeated the mantra in my head:

This is not a dream. This is not a dream. You will not wake up and discover you were once again frolicking in EN-lala-land. Rinse and repeat.

And how had I ended up here? Here being the deck of EN's beach house, that is? Oh, yeah, that's right. After sitting in the salon with a head full of foil for the better part of the afternoon, EN had taken us to some frou-frou department store, where he made some very pointed suggestions for my wardrobe—in fact, I'd say they were bordering on demands. Of course, that was after I was treated to a front row seat at a (semi)private EN fashion show, so my will and knees were sufficiently weakened to prevent much of struggle from me. My tweets from the comfy couch outside the dressing room consisted pretty much of "Gahhh!" and "UNNNNFFFFF!!!" (which Amelia had explained to me,) and also "Damn, does anything look bad on this man?!". I cannot even tell you how many nasty replies I got from the twit-fans when I refused to capture a spy pic of him sans pants.

And then? Well, then it was back to his place for the gym part of the GTL routine. So after showing me around the kitchen and giving me free reign to help myself to 'whatever, whenever' as he phrased it, he excused himself to change into his workout gear. And now I found myself gazing—well to be fair, it was more of an ogle/stare—at the Viking god as he jogged back up the beach toward me.

I had, of course, quite enjoyed the sight when he was headed the other way; an unfettered view of his broad back and world-class booty as it got smaller and smaller—going, going, and ... I had probably let out the world's loudest, saddest sigh. Gone.

But now the scene in front of me seriously made me wonder if I had stepped into some old Hollywood movie. The muscles of his chest—now bare, he must have taken his shirt off at some point and stuck it into the waist of his workout pants where it dangled from—rippled and flexed as he trotted along the beach. The oranges, reds and purples of the setting sun backlighting that gorgeous head of golden locks bouncing around his shoulders with every stride.

Wow. The live show was so much better than the pre-recorded one. Not even today's 3D technology could come close to this; although I sure did wish I could reach out and touch some of the sexy scene before me. I settled back to enjoy it, praying that I wouldn't hear some grumpy, strung-out director yell out the word 'cut' off to stage right. At least not anytime soon.

After a full week of tailing Eric, I had to admit - I'd had a swoontastic-good time. Yet I still hadn't really gotten to know him all that well. Not more than knee-deep anyways.

Not that I was complaining.

After that first day, I told myself that I could at least give him a few days, see what happens. I mean, I was being paid to do my first photography job and spend some one on one up close and personal time with Eric Northman to boot! I'd have to hand in my fangirl badge if I didn't at least give it the old college try.

The days flew by, and before I knew it a whole week had come and gone. We went to see that show the following night—it was a Swedish band that sounded kind of like punk, from what I could tell, at least. They were pretty cool, even though I couldn't understand a word.

We also hung out with Pam one night, which was a real trip because we ended up going to this hole-in-the-wall bar, where we watched some soccer game that both Eric and Pam were way too excited about. This was most definitely not a place that had Pam written all over it, but she seemed into it. I was sandwiched between them and jostled around most of the night as they alternated between screaming, jumping and chanting in their native language.

Swedish Football. Go Hammarby!!! EN Says Mål mål mål!

At least I got to learn how those two knew each other—I guess they'd grown up in the same town, even went to the same high school. They had hated each other back then—Eric being in the jock type, while Pam was in the artsy crowd. But when they ran into each other stateside years later, they practically became besties. I guess it was the only Swedish club in town.

OMG Ya'all!! I found someone who actually HATED EN once!! INCONCEIVABLE! :-P

Eric kept our schedule pretty full during the day, too. Aside from the beachside jogs, we also went rollerblading, checked out the latest show at the Malibu Ghetty villa, and even went to the zoo one day. Eric had this bizarre yet highly entertaining fascination with the monkeys there. I even caught him almost mirroring their expressions as he stared at them, mesmerized—I don't even think he was really aware he that he was doing it. But come to think of it, all of his eyebrow waggles and arches did have a certain similarity… Just my luck, as I pulled out my phone to snap a pic, he walked us to the next exhibit. My followers sighed.

But the highlight of the week, by far, was karaoke night with the Recon cast.

RECON reunion night! Karaoke + EN + RECON cast should = Epic awesome. :D

We showed up at the bar and Eric introduced me to all the guys. They were all nice but one really stuck out - Ray Ray. Part of it was his whole getup—from the pimptastic gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses, to the pink and white striped Izod shirt with the collar popped, of course. But more than anything else it was his over the top personality that was even louder than his clothes. It seemed like whenever he sensed the group's attention stray from him—even a tiny little bit—he would come up with another crazy antic to keep the focus on himself. It was entertaining, if nothing else. That, and he wasn't too hard on the eyes either.

After a few rounds and some gut-splitting renditions of "Sweet Child O'Mine" and "Cat Scratch Fever", I was getting a drink at the bar when Ray sidled up next to me. He practically laid his head on my shoulder as he mock-gasped, "I spy Eric's spy!!!"

My jumping and gasping routine was, I guess, exactly what he was going for. He burst into laughter, but was able to catch my falling phone with impressive ease.

"Sorry Sister, you gotta watch your six around ol' Ray Ray." He said as he set the phone down on the bar.

"I'll have to try and remember that, I guess." I reached for my phone and slid it closer to me, noticing that the Twitter screen was still up. "Hey, wait a sec ... how do you know about EyeSpyEric?"

He flashed me an adorably goofy grin. "Oh, I follow your little Twit-scapades. Gotta keep tabs on my boy!"

"Yeah, but … how did you even find out about the twitter thing?"

"Oh, Ol' Ray Ray knows many things, my dear Cool Whip. But in this particular arena ... well," he fixed me with a toothy grin. "Good ol' Iceman told me about it. He was all kinds of giddy about some smooth blonde doing a piece for him. He was bragging. Fucking bragging!!! Dick supreme."

I did my best to hide my face—and the sheepish grin that was plastered all over it—in my drink, as Ray Ray went on. "And then I meet you and well, yeah. I'd fucking brag if I were him too. Look at you! Cool. WHIP. Coolwhip! Fucking creamy and smooth."

I had to concentrate real hard on swallowing so I wouldn't choke on my drink. He leaned back, resting his arm on the bar behind him, looking like he was very appreciative, as well as highly amused, by the view.

"So, what, do you guys like gossip on the phone every night?"

"Yeah, and when you're not around we paint each other's toes and wax each other's chests ... scratch that. Only Fruity Rudy waxes." He caught Rudy's attention and blew a kiss at him, which Rudy caught and held to his heart before blowing back a kiss of his own.

Oh, lordy. I flagged the bartender down and motioned for a refill before turning back to Ray Ray. "Oh, so did you get all jealous that we got our hair done together?"

When he hesitated, I almost lost it. "Ohhh. Did he leave out that little tidbit?"

"Sonofa!" He leaned in, picking up a lock of my hair and inspecting it closely. "I knew those highlights looked familiar!" He spun around, scanning the room. "Sugar bottom! You cheating bastard!! You told me I was the love of your life!" He mock-sobbed, complete with chest-clutching and a wobbly lower lip.

"Awww, poor baby. I'm sure it didn't mean anything. Besides, it was all in the line of duty."

"Hey, what exactly is your job? It's the one thing Big Boy wasn't real clear on when he told me about his sexy shadow."

"Oh really? Well, he hired me to photograph him."

He slammed down the shot of jack he'd just pounded back and waggled his brows.

"I'm sure you've heard how unhappy he was with those shots for the Fiends calendar."

"Oh Gawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwd! Not more of that ... he's such a fucking baby about that shoot!" He let out an exaggerated sigh and took a swig of his fresh Pabst Blue Ribbon.

"I know, right?" I giggled. "I remember hearing him complain about it after they came out, but it was hard to keep a straight face when he told me he was actually looking to hire someone for a re-do."

"You know, all those months in the desert and he never complained … he gets back here, does one bad photo shoot and now he's whining like bitch!"

"Oh? So he didn't do the diva bitchiness routine in Africa? This is a new attribute?" I said with my best Southern-belle sweet-as-molasses smile.

He sucked in his breath and replied in a hushed tone dripping with mock-shock. "You dare call the master 'bitchy'?! HAAAAAAA!!!! I like you, CoolWhip." His eyes drifted around the room, coming to a stop when he spotted EN, I assumed. "Nah, Eric's as down to Earth as someone in his position can be, maybe more so ... beneath those rock hard abs and fabulous pecks lies a heart of gold."

Was he … getting all misty-eyed? I hid behind my Gin & Tonic, studying him.

"See, Eric puts up the Hollywood front because that's what is expected of him. His agents told him years ago to play the sex symbol card, be seen with starlets, hit all the parties. You know—act like an A-lister and you'll become one. But that isn't really him. He's actually a really great guy. Sickeningly so. Did you know he saved a puppy while we were filming in Africa? Yeah. But is he as hot as me? No, I think not. And who gets all the mag covers? His 6'4'' Swedish ass. Whiskey Tango fucker!"

I laughed so hard my vision got all blurry. "Well, I guess he's a really good actor then," after a short pause, I continued, treading as carefully as possible, "But … how do you know which Eric is the act?"

"It's not really rocket science. I mean seriously, would a douchebag save a puppy?"

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "Are you sure there weren't cameras rolling?"

"Whippie, if cameras had been rolling, wouldn't you have seen that shit on ET already? Come on. EN plus puppies equals squeeing fangirls out the ass. Plus, there's a million more examples where that came from. You shoulda seen him help fruity Rudy to evenly apply sunblock to his back!"

I doubled over with laughter. "Are you kidding me?"

"Fuck no I'm not kidding!" He cupped his mouth and hollered across the bar, "HEY RUDY! You were grateful when Ice Man spread that cool creamy shit all over your tawny ass, right?"

Rudy shot us a blinding smile and bowed with a flutter of his hand.

"Okay, okay! I believe you." I said, putting up my hands in surrender. "But … I hope he lets me see that side of him. Soon."

"Oh Sweet Sookie, I think it'll be sooner than you think ... like … perhaps ... now."

He grabbed my shoulders, ignoring my questioning look, and spun me around.

"Shit girl, if I ever had a chance, I just fucking lost it to the MAN ... Watch and be amazed."

When my eyes and ears finally made sense of the scene before me, I had to pick my mouth off the floor. Eric was on stage and looking straight at me, as his body slowly swayed to the beginning of … holy crap! Was that … Bad Company? As the words drifted over to me, I froze into some sort of strange trance.

Ooh, I want you to stay
Ooh, I want you today
I'm ready for love
Oh baby, I'm ready for love

He started out by crooning the melody in perfect harmony to the whiny guitar, stretching out the words leisurely. But then something shifted—he shut his eyes and his face got all strained as he really, really got into it—and began to belt it out. His voice became all hard-edged and gravelly, and it was hotter than hell.

Now I'm on my feet again
Better things are bound to happen
All my dues, surely must be paid
Many miles and many tears
Times were hard but now they're changing
You should know that I'm not afraid

Ooh, I want you to stay
Ooh, I want you today
I'm ready for love
Oh baby, I'm ready for love

As the music faded, I gradually became aware, once again, that there were other people in the room. Er, world. When I heard Ray Ray hamming it up behind me and saying "Baby, I'd butter yo' bread!!", I turned to look at who he had found to harass now, only to see that he was on the phone. My phone.

"Oh, shit. Abort mission! Tweet you later girl!!!"

I snatched the phone from him, only to gasp at what I heard on the other end—Amelia's squeals and "you better!". I'd recognize those squeals anywhere.

"Ames?"

"Oh, hey Sooks. Not having too much fun without—"

"Uh … why were you talking to Ray Ray?"

"'Cause he's adorable as fuck!" I snorted. Nobody could get me to snorting like good ol' Ames. "Plus, he answered the phone when I called you after that crazy ass last tweet of yours!"

"My wha—"

I hung up the phone without even bothering with an excuse or a see-ya, and brought up the Twitter screen as fast as my fingers could make it happen. My eyes all but popped right out of my head at the tweet, and the accompanying picture.

RAY RAY HERE. COMANDEERED S's PHONE. CHECK PIC OF E ON STAGE, KILLING CAT CROONING AT S!

Well, I guess all things considered, though, it could have been way worse; Ray could have snapped a pic of me watching Eric like a groupie for GnR.

I had received over 200 new follower requests after the karaoke picture of Eric was posted. I also sifted through my followers, looking for Ray Ray but wasn't able to find anyone I could say with one hundred percent certainty was him, and Amelia wasn't telling even though she eluded to the fact that they were in contact. Fairweather friend!

Eric had given me the heads up at the beginning of the week that we would be going to the annual Fangasm party together, and by the big day I had worked myself up to quite the fangirling tizzy over the big shindig. Aside from being in a room filled with today's hottest vamp stars—well technically, the hotties who played them on the screen—this was going to be the first official Hollywood event during our time together.

True, we had run across a gaggle of paparazzi here and there, but altogether we had managed to stay pretty much off of their radar. But, with the annual Fangasm party being such a highly publicized event, it was sure to be an absolute zoo.

EN had tried to prepare me throughout the week, warning me that the paparazzi was pretty much always camped out at in front of Chateau Marmont, and that they were sure to be there tonight in particular because pretty much anyone who wasn't living under a rock knew the Fangasm party was going on tonight. Even though it was a charity event, HBO and his show's producers viewed it as a promotion opportunity, and would be expected to play nice with the photogs. I smacked myself internally now for actually agreeing to his request that I pose with him on the red carpet. At the time, I had tried to nod all nonchalant-like, as if I was a worldly Hollywood insider and understood that it was just an expectation—enthralling the vermin, as Pam would have put it.

But now, all that confidence and courage I'd thought I had went right through the window—the tightly shut and darkly tinted window, that is, through which I could still hear and see the flashes of the cameras entirely too well. I sat all but paralyzed in my seat, just staring at the pane of glass.

"Ready?"

EN's breath was close and hot against my neck. But not even he could snap me out of my impending freak-out—already well in progress.

I had pretty much kept it together most of the ride over. Granted, I had been more than distracted on the way over, trying to figure out if he had opened that box he'd found in my bed before moving it to my bureau. He didn't all out admit to anything, but he seemed to be a lot more intrigued by my jewelry than any other man I'd ever known.

During our drive, he'd caught me staring at him more times than I'd like to admit. But he would just smirk and wink before returning his eyes to the road. He was obviously in full Leif-the-panty-thief mode tonight.

When we took the exit though, he turned off the radio and gave me another warning of what I was in store for. Not that there was really much I could do about it at that point. Like my Gran always said, in for a penny in for a pound. At least I would have all the swoonalicious eye-candy to console myself with once we got inside.

But still, none of his warnings could have truly prepared me for the mob scene that was obviously just outside the safety of the Corvette doors. Now that I was (almost) face to face with the imminent reality of it, I felt every muscle in me tense up. My pulse raced, almost to the point of matching the speed of the camera shutters going off outside.

"Sookie," his voice was low and husky and strong. Sex and comfort all at the same time. "Look at me."

I heard the words, but there were too many synapses going off in my brain to be able to actually command any cooperation from my body. Cupping my chin, he turned my face towards his. "Do you trust me?"

We were so close that his breath tickled my lips. And as I looked up into his eyes, everything was somehow okay. Damn, that Viking mojo was freaking powerful! For once, I was grateful for it.

After a moment I snapped out of it, thank god, and was able to steady my breath and once again find my voice. "Yeah. Of course, Eric."

"That's my girl." I tried for a grin but had to settle for a tight smile. "Just stick by me, and I'll fend the vultures away."

I gave him a small nod and he rewarded me with a grin before he opened the door and got out. I grabbed my purse and took one last deep breath before following, but nearly jumped when the car door unexpectedly opened without my help, and a large, familiar hand was extended towards me. I took it gratefully, swinging my legs out of the car and surveying the mass of flashing lights straight ahead as I righted myself. When I felt Eric's arm wrap around me, his hand coming to rest at the curve of my hip, I couldn't help but lean into him as he led us forward.

A/N: So what'd ya think? Oh, and btw, there is an outtake that I wrote for the Support Stacie Auction, The Toy Is Out of the Box, that kinda goes in between here. The whole Fangasm party thing might make more sense if you read it. Link is in my profile.

A/N A GINORMOUS thanks to my amazing beta AND collaborator youbettago. Didn't she do a ninja job with Ray Ray? Gurrrl, you can be my Ray Ray anytime ;D

Any mistakes remaining are purely my own.

Disclaimer: As always, I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood. However, the original content and ideas are mine all mine.