Fangreaders Awards Promo Fic, “Pam Makes a Call” by @MissRissa81

The 2nd Annual Fangreaders Awards are open for voting

All are welcome to vote

for the best fanfics

in the SVM/ True Blood Fandom.

The Fangreaders Awards will announce the winners the 4th of May at 9pm GMT on the Fangreaders Hall of Fame Site.  Let’s go sneak a peek and see how the preparations for the ceremony are going….

Pam Makes a Call

By MissRissa81

It was a Saturday night as Pam left the floor of Fangtasia with the perfect excuse to avoid the vermin, in case Eric asked. She sat alone at her desk looking at her list for probably the twentieth time, quite sure she hadn't forgotten anything. This list was very important to Pam as it ensured that, no matter what, she would remain in control.

This year's event will not be a repeat of last year she said to herself. First of all, no matter what Eric might have thought of Charlie Sheen, he was most definitely not to be invited, or to be involved in this year’s proceedings. He had almost ruined the entire night last year.

She was about to try and make contact with this year’s host, if all went according to plan. As she picked up the phone she repeated the mantra that had become her lifeline when dealing with unworthy breathers regarding her event. “I am Pamela Ravenscroft, progeny of Eric Northman. I am in control. This will go my way.” She tried to hold in her frustration as the phone rang. On the fifth ring she heard an unusually excited voice answering on the other end.

“Hello?” the voice said. Already Pam knew this was going to be a trying conversation; she just hoped that she wouldn't upset Eric by draining one of the many fangbangers after she was done.

“Hello, this is Pamela Ravenscroft and I am trying to reach, um, the doctor?” She responded with some question in her tone; all she had been told was that he was a doctor, and Fairy had assured her that he would be a perfect host for this year’s awards.

“This is the Doctor,”

“Doctor who?” She really hoped to get a name so that this phone call would be slightly simpler.

“Exactly,” the voice returned.

“I don't understand,” Pam replied, pinching the bridge of her nose, truly glad that neither Eric or Sookie was around to see her confused by this doctor.

“I am the Doctor, simply the Doctor. What can I do for you this evening Miss Ravenscroft?”

Pam mumbled to herself that she would drain Fairy if this was all an elaborate joke to humiliate her.

Hearing Fairy's name the Doctor started reminiscing. “Ah, dear Fairy ... I remember the first time we met. Sassy thing that she is, she took my sonic screwdriver then locked me out of My TARDIS. She wouldn't let me in until I promised to come anytime she called me.”

Getting annoyed with this train of thought Pam interrupted him in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “How very nice for you. I'm not sure what a TARDIS is, but, I need a host for an awards show that I am putting together. I have it on relatively good authority that you may be just what I am looking for.”

“Oh I love awards, what kind of awards are they?”

“The Second Annual Fangreaders Awards; they are to honor the wonderful group of breathers who write fanfiction based on myself and others like me.”

“I see. And what exactly are you, Miss Ravenscroft? If you don't mind me asking.”

“I am a vampire and …”

“Ohh I love vampires!” He quickly interrupted. “I met a few in Venice not too long ago; lovely girls. They may have tried to kill my friends and me, but still, lovely misunderstood girls.”

“Yes, well, if this is something that you are interested in, I have a few stipulations and things that I need to discuss with you.”

“Yes,” the Doctor replied. “I am not a big fan of rules, but I am definitely in.”

Pam rolled her eyes at his excitement; he hadn't even heard what all was expected and he was already agreeing. “Alright, the ceremony will be held on May 4th, 2013 at 9pm (GMT) at the King Felipe de Castro Theatre. It will be black tie, and you will be surrounded by Vampires obviously, Weres of all kinds, probably a few witches and wizards, and maybe even a few elves.”

“Brilliant, can I wear a fez?”

“No.”

“How about a Stetson?”

“No!”

“Fine, I'll just wear my bow tie, ‘cause bow ties are cool.”

Pam wondered if this doctor was insane. If there was one thing that she knew, it was fashion, and bow ties most certainly were not cool.

“Alright I guess it can be a black one, I could get away with a black one. You did say black tie?”

“Fine, whatever. Moving on.” Slightly irritated by now, Pam asked, "so Doctor," (she rolled her eyes at the fact that he wouldn’t give her his name), "will you be needing transportation to our event?"

She waited impatiently as he took his time responding. "No thanks, that won't be necessary, I have my own transportation, it's kinda my thing. Plus I have to pick up a few special guests for the night.”

“You have just been asked to host, who could you possibly be bringing with you?” Pam's frustration was now bubbling to the surface at this new information.

“Well if you were listening earlier I did say that I would always come when Fairy called. She and a lovely lady by the name of Jeca will be my special guests for the evening.”

“Fine. So you are to show up on time, sober and ready to go,” Pam stated quite definitively.

“What exactly makes you think that I would be anything but professional and prepared?”

“You'd be surprised what some people pass off as professional. Last year's host was none of those things, and I am covering every possible scenario. You will be need to be here at 8pm for any last-minute preparations and alterations.”

She shuddered as she remembered last year for the hundredth time. Charlie Fucking Sheen; should have just drained him when I had the chance ... but no, Eric liked him, thought he was entertaining. Thank all the gods that he lost interest and didn't end up turning him, can you imagine an eternity with him as my brother? Pam brought herself out of her musings and back to the present. “So, Doctor, do you have any dietary preferences for the event?”

“I would very much enjoy some fish fingers and custard.”

“Eww, why? That sounds disgusting.” She didn’t even trying to hide her disdain at this point. No human food appealed to her, but that sounded vile.

“Says the woman who drinks human blood. Change of topic, are you aware that we have in fact met before?”

“Impossible! I have perfect recollection of every moment from the time I was turned, and we have never met, I can assure you. I call it my vault.”

“Oh, but Miss Ravenscroft, we have. It was November 12, 1872, you know? In Whitechapel. You were out, I believe the term is hunting, and you ... er ... mistook me for someone else. In fact TWO someone elses.”

At hearing those few words her face fell. She found herself remembering a night that she had purposely blocked out.

OoOoO

November 12, 1872

Pam's POV

I was finally deemed ready for my first solo hunt. Eric had spent months training me to hunt, and feed without accidentally draining the human in the process. I was confident, I was ready, I was Vampire.  I started wandering the streets blending into my surroundings. As I stood there, watching the humans walk past, I hoped that at least one would appeal to me. Everything I could see and smell reminded me of what I had left behind; it left a bitter taste in my mouth and frustrated me no end. I spent hours looking and had found nothing worth my time and energy and I was close to giving up when I heard it. Two hearts beating almost as one. TWINS!!

I became excited for the first time that night at just the thought of twins, as they were practically a bargain - two for the price of one. I began following the lovely sound, allowing my imagination to run wild. They would be young and beautiful. They would be lithe and very feminine. They would allow me to feed from them, and release my growing tension. I became so focused on the sound of their hearts that I hadn't realized I was now moving at an inhuman speed, nor did I care. I was hungry and now quite aroused at what lay ahead of me.

I was, in fact, so focused on that delicious sound that I had stopped paying attention to my other superior senses. I stopped suddenly when the heartbeats were close enough to touch. Looking around, however, I found myself very much alone in an alley. I closed my eyes briefly to try and catch any scents in the air that my prey might have left behind, when something hard hit me in the head. I was caught off guard and off-balance and ended up sitting on the ground. Whatever it was, it had knocked me on my ass. Righting myself and trying to see who had attacked me, I heard a strange sound; it sounded like a door opening - a door I couldn't see.

I was about to turn and run back to Eric, in defeat and possibly a little fear, when a head appeared out of thin air. It was the head of a scrawny man with dark unkempt hair. I prepared to run away from this witchcraft, as I had been told to avoid witches at all costs, when the head began speaking in some foreign language. “Sannu. Ina kwana? Ina gajiya? Ya ya aiki? Yauwa! Sannu kadai!

Before I could respond to this gibberish an entire body appeared, attached to the talking head. “Oh, hello what can I do for you? Sorry about the Hausa - I thought I’d landed in West Africa but I must be a bit off course. I was about to leave when I noticed you out here,” he said. None of this was making any sense to me; he knocked me down, appeared out of nowhere talking nonsense, and was leaving again. Leaving in what?

I thought quickly. “Um, I'm Pamela Ravenscroft, and I’m, um,looking for my friends, twins; they were here a moment ago. I was hit in the head and appear to have lost them.” Just then I stopped and once again sampled the air, not believing my ears. The heartbeats that I had been following, my twins, seemed to both be coming from this scrawny British bloke in the stupid bow tie. The disappointment must have been written on my face as he looked at me and responded, “well, I am sorry that I have not seen your friends, and that I hit you with my door, but I really must be going. Good evening Miss Ravenscroft.”

I was so confused; an emotion I had disliked greatly when I was human, and now despised as a vampire. I left that alley quickly to go in search of my maker. The entire way back, I swore that I would rather go without for tonight then tell Eric what had happened. He would never let me live it down that my first time on my own I passed on countless humans only to be lured by “twins” which in reality were a crazy bloke with two separate heartbeats. The more I thought about it, the less I believed it. Eric could never find out. So I had returned, hungry and horny, to my maker.

OoOoO

Pam was drawn out of her musings by the voice on the phone asking if she was still there. “Oh my God!! That was you? I was convinced that it never actually happened.”

“Yes, that was me, and I can assure you that it did indeed happen. You see, I too have perfect recollection, and I have been around a lot longer than you.”

Pam wanted desperately to end this call; she had had all she could take of this Doctor for one night. “Alright, so as long as you are agreeable to my requirements and demands I would like to officially offer you the position of host for the ceremony.”

“I agree to everything, is there anything else?”

“Just one more thing Doctor. If necessary I will supply you with a bucket-load of custard, stuffed full of fish fingers, fingernails and all, but my maker NEVER finds out how we first met. If he finds out, I will cram that stupid bow tie so far down your throat that you'll have to shove that fucking screwdriver up your ass to get it out. Understand?”

“Understood. Oh, and Miss Ravenscroft, just thought you might like to know that this appears to be a fixed point in time. I was always supposed to be there. Had it on my calender for ages actually, just waiting for you to call me to set it up. I sincerely hope that you enjoy the rest of your evening. Good night, Miss Ravenscroft.”

With that he hung up and Pam just sat there a little stunned by the entire conversation. Still not entirely sure what to make of this Doctor, she chuckled to herself ... Eric was going to hate him. Ha! This could be fun, as long as the little runt kept his mouth shut. Smiling, she returned to the main floor of Fangtasia in search of that evening’s entertainment and dinner.

---

Thank you to MissRissa81 for this wonderful promo fic which gets us all excited for the Fangreaders Awards. Please be sure to give her some review love~

The Fangies are Here and the Ballot is now Open for the Whole Fandom to Vote for the Best Fanfics

The 2nd Annual Fangreaders Awards are now open for voting

All are welcome to vote

for the best fanfics

in the SVM/ True Blood Fandom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the fandom clamours to see the nominated fanfics, we go to Shreveport to see Eric Northman's progeny and maker. . . 

“Godric discovers The Fangies”

by Meridian

Godric entered his child's bar, Fangtasia, and released a long-suffering sigh. He was proud of his progeny, Eric, for he had done extremely well for himself, but seriously, a fangbanger bar? He shook his head in mild bemusement, although he wasn't exactly surprised. Of course his tall, blond Viking of a child would attract fangbangers. At least it provided meals on heels...assuming one could get past the odor of all the chemicals these particular humans were prone to stuffing into their writhing bodies.

He'd been in the area for less than a week, choosing to spend his unwanted vacation (that his second, Isabel, had all-but bullied him into taking) with his son and Eric's own child, Pamela.

Godric smirked as he slid into the booth hidden in the darkest corner of the establishment. It was the seating most preferred by both his child and his child's child . Pam, as she preferred to be called, was a riot. Eric could not have chosen a better female child to accompany him on his voyage through eternity. She was snippy, bitchy, manipulative, greedy, sarcastic, devious, and loyal to a fault. Easily subject to abject boredom, she always had her lovely, cold, well-manicured hand in some sort of project.

One of the look-alike waitresses approached his booth, and placed a warmed bottle of Royalty Blended in front of him, and left. It hadn't taken the human waitresses long to realize that Godric wanted nothing to do with them beyond their serving abilities. He had no time for the games that humans played, although they could be quite humorous when observed from the sidelines.

This booth, in particular the location of said booth, was one of the few things he actually appreciated in this bar pulsing with desperation and desire. From his position, he could easily survey the "vermin", as Pam so aptly described the repeat patrons of the club. Their antics were often hilarious, as were their attempts to attract a vampire, any vampire, onto their smelly bodies for the night.

Although he wasn't as disdainful of these humans as his grandchild was, still, it was hard not to view them all with wry contempt. He knew well the trials and hardships that vampires had to endure before the Great Reveal, and thought these humans even more pathetic for throwing themselves en masse at creatures well-suited to ensuring their painful demise.

He shook his head at the utter absurdity of the situation, and settled himself into the comfortable leather booth. A piece of paper peeping out from behind the cushion caught his attention. Bored, he pulled the paper out, and discovered that it was an old program for some sort of Award ceremony.

He smirked - vampires did love their pomp and circumstance, and Pam was no different. He vaguely recognized the name, "The Fangies", and remembered Pam being in a biting tizzy about something along those lines last year. He also remembered being rather relieved that Eric was the one having to deal with her. If his remarkable memory served, some strange, drunk and drug-addled human had disrupted the whole thing somehow.

He wearily thumbed through the program between sips of his Blended. Soon it dawned on him that the whole thing made no sense. While he was vaguely familiar with the works of a writer named Charlaine Harris and some tool named Allan Ball who was known for introducing the most impressive, fantastic, well-beloved character in the universe and subsequently killing him off for no good reason whatsoever, he himself had little time for such forms of entertainment.

It seemed he might should investigate this "fanfic" thing much more closely in the future, however. Could this genre of writing cause a security risk? Are these "fic writers" trustworthy? What was their agenda? What did they want? Were they glorified fangbangers who just happened to have a bit more self-respect than the loathsome creatures writhing on the dance floor not twenty feet away? Or were they part-time geniuses hell bent on bettering their small worlds in any way they could? Were they artists, or deviants?

And what was with these odd Award categories? "The Baby Jessica Award ~ Best Fanfic for a New Author" He knew of a young, recently turned vampire named Jessica...perhaps that was the connection? Humm...he pondered. Well, if a writer were a novice at the art, she or he could be considered a "baby", so...yes, he could somewhat understand that Award name.

"The Longshadow Award ~ Best One-Shot Fic"? Godric hissed quietly. Why in the world would anyone want to immortalize that thieving bastard!? At least he hadn't been around long, and had met his end accordingly. And...what in the world is a "one-shot"? It had, in fact, only taken one shot (via a stake) to kill that useless miscreant, but what did that have to do with a writer of this "fanfic"?

Godric sensed a mystery afoot. He read on.

"The Newlin Award ~ Best All Human Fic"!? NEWLIN? What the hell? Every vampire worth rising knew of that evil little blood-bag bitch boy. Oh. Ok, that almost made sense...he was, indeed, all human even if he had no humanity left.

Huh...he sincerely respected Mr. Cataliades, so it was appropriate that the "Mr Cataliades Award ~ For Best Series" would be named in his honor, although he did question the sanity in allowing a fairy, of all species, to present it. Each to their own, he though magnanimously.

The Ancient Pythoness Award... He wondered if the Ancient One knew of this Award given in her honor, then scoffed. Of course she did, she saw everything. And it would make sense to gift an Award for an older work that stood the test of time.

Who was Lafayette Reynolds and what had he done to merit an Award given in his honor? And...what is an "alternate universe"? "The Lafayette Reynolds Award ~ Best Alternate Universe Fic" would definitely qualify as a mystery.

Godric sighed. He hated a mystery - they always drove him insane until he solved them. He read on.

"The Jason Stackhouse Award" for a comedy fic was well designated, he thought with a grimace. That boy, from what he had been told by Eric, was a chaotic tornado just waiting to touch down into a soon-to-be unfortunate situation. No one could quite believe Sookie, dear, sweet, bright, witty, intelligent Sookie, could be in any way related to that brother of hers. Pam swore Jason was switched at birth by goblins.

"The Bill Compton Award ~ Best Dark/Angst Fic"...self-explanatory. Bill fucking Compton. If Godric never head that name again, it would be too soon. Naturally a dark, angst fic Award category should be named for him, although Godric did wonder why in the world people writing fiction would freely choose to write of dark, depression subject matter. It's fiction, he thought. People had the freedom to create happiness, yet chose to create dark drama instead?

He shook his head. The choices humans made truly made no sense to him sometimes.

Ah! There was an Award in his own progeny's name! "The Eric Northman Award ~ Best Epic Fic" How appropriate! Yes, his Eric was epic indeed! These fics, he wanted to imagine, would be filled with great deeds and impressive battles and intriguing journeys.

"The Sookie Stackhouse Award ~ Best Romance" How very befitting of his child's beloved fairy. Although he himself had neither time nor inclination for romance, he could well imagine his child's mate would adore having such a thing named for her.

He laughed, thinking how proud Eric must surely be with having Awards named for both himself and his beloved. Despite his amazing intelligence and pragmatic outlook, Eric could be such a vain peacock sometimes.

"The Adele Stackhouse Award for Reader's Choice"...readers were allowed to nominate their own choice? Well, that was incredibly democratic, he thought.

Ah, naturally Pam would have an Award named for herself. He snickered. He could well imagine her cold, hard hands involved in choosing the winners of that Award.

A while later, just as Godric was thinking of leaving, Pam decided to join him. Godric allowed her to stand near his table awaiting his attention for several long minutes. He purposefully ignored her because he knew exactly how much it annoyed her, and she did love being annoyed.

Finally he took pity on her and acknowledged her presence.

"What has you in such a contemplative mood tonight, GrandMaker?" Pam gestured toward the seat across from him, and he nodded permission for her to sit.

"It seems you have been busy, my GrandChild. Tell me more about these Fangie Awards." Godric gestured toward the program in his hands.

Pam preened. The Fangie Awards was her baby from top to bottom. Barring drunk celebrities, this year's Awards were bound to let her shine, erm, go quite well! Well, they would as soon as she could figure out what in the world was up with that doctor who apparently had no other name.

"Oh, you've got last year's program! This year's Awards will go even better," she exclaimed, truly excited to tell her esteemed GrandMaker about her favorite project.

"If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'll collect information about this year's Awards!" In a blink, she was gone.

Godric sighed. Bitchy Pam was at least entertaining. Excited Pam...a different story altogether. He flagged a waitress for another Blended. It was going to be a long night.

All too soon Pam returned laden with reams of paper filled with notes, ideas, schedules, photos, memos, and sample programs.

This seemed like a great occasion to practice his downtime, he thought, as Pam prattled on about some doctor. Doctor who, he had no idea. Human doctors meant nothing to him.

Suddenly his attention was captured by the name "Callisto".

"Excuse me, Pam, but why did you just mention Callisto? I thought we were well rid of all maenads by now?"

Pam laughed evilly. "Yes, Maker of my Maker, we are finally rid of those evil beasts, but remember, while they were rather destructive, they also encouraged a deliciously fun time. So, in her honor, I've decided to add another category to the Awards: "The Callisto Award ~ Best Written Erotic Fanfic", and we have some very," she purred, "interesting submissions this year."

"Ahh," Godric replied, his eyes gleaming. He could write a thing or three about erotic activities. "Are there any other new categories of interest?"

"Oh, yes," Pam exclaimed. "I have introduced quite a few!" She shuffled through her notes with a self-important air. Godric rolled his eyes and sipped his tepid Blended.

"Here we go!" Pam waved a sheet of paper around as if she were waving off flies or fangbangers.

"Let's see... Ok, because of the furor last year over the use of Newlin's name, we've changed that Award to "The Hoyt Fortenberry Award ~ Best All Human Fanfic."

"And who is this vaulted Hoyt Fortenberry?"

"He's a mediocre but harmless oaf who trails around our Jessica like a moose in heat. He is completely human, however, hence the Award name."

Godric nodded, not too terribly interested, but motioned for Pam to continue. With any luck, he might be able to salvage this night yet.

"Do you remember me telling you about that disgusting little prick, Bill Compton, bragging to some of the vermin about sexcapades with his Maker, Lorena?" Without waiting for his response, she happily continued. ""The Lorena Ball Award ~ Best Oh My God Sex Scene Fanfic" was created to praise a fic with an especially spectacular sex scene." Pam wiggled in her seat, extremely proud of herself for creating this Award.

Her GrandMaker smirked. Young vampire lust was legendary. True, his interest was vaguely piqued, but he'd never hear the end of it if he told Pam.

"Last year I made a horrid omission. Two of them, actually." Godric quirked his brow. Pam never admitted any sort of failure. "I completely forgot the most important categories!" She waved her hands near her eyes, trying to stall the gathering red tears from falling. "To remedy this unconscionable omission, I created "The Russell Edgington Award ~ Best Villain in a Fanfic" and "The Nan Flanagan Award ~ Best Villainess in a Fanfic" Awards."

She waited expectantly for Godric's enthusiastic approval. A few moments later, she started tapping her nails, certain his appreciation would come just any second. Finally, he stated quite blandly, "Well, it is good that you have rectified this omission of yours. Are there any other new Awards?"

Miffed, Pam scanned her notes, then snapped her fingers for a Royalty Blended.

"I've added "The Bubba Award ~ Most Original Plot for a Fanfic", "The Preston Pardloe Award ~ Best Mystery Fanfic", "The Charles Twining Award ~ Best Action Fanfic", and "The Alcide Herveaux Award ~ Best Were Fanfic", which are all fairly self-explanatory."

Godric chuckled. If he'd known that irritating her would have hurried this along, he'd have done so earlier. Later he might ask her for more information regarding the kinds of action these "fic writers" portrayed in their stories, but not now. He also wandered why in seven hells anyone would write a story mainly featuring Weres. They were a smelly, ill-tempered lot, although some could be quite loyal...like a dog. He struggled not to snort.

Pam continued. "It was suggested that I create "The Dr Ludwig Award ~ Best Novella/ Novelette Length Fanfic" to appease the small doctor, and so I did. Reluctantly."

This time Godric didn't bother holding in his reaction, which helped thaw the still-miffed Pam.

In a somewhat better mood, she added, " The Ginger Award ~ Best Beta"...I created that one to honor the lovely, hard-working people who help the writers so much." Pam's dreamy expression made Godric wonder if Pam considered herself a "writer" who was "helped" by one of these Beta persons. He just about bet Pam could describe in lurid dental exactly how a Beta tasted.

Recalling her surroundings, Pam unnecessarily cleared her throat and quickly described the next Award.

""The The Fangtasia Award ~ Best SVM/True Blood Fan Site" is new, too. Its mission is to provide recognition for fan-run websites which give us the latest fandom news, pics, updates, and more. Apparently these websites are highly valued by both writers and readers of fanfics."

Godric nodded encouragingly. Pam had indeed given a lot of thought and effort to these Awards, and she did deserve recognition for her work, even if the whole concept of "fanfic" eluded him.

He considered his words for a few moments and delighted in teasing his GrandChild by making her wait.

Finally relenting, Godric spoke.

"I am very proud of you, Pamela. You have obviously put much hard work and thought into these Awards of yours. While I have no prior knowledge of this form of written art, I am curious about the ceremony itself. Would you happen to have a spare ticket handy for your 2000-year-old GrandMaker?"

For the first time in her centuries of undeath, Pam squeeee'd. Loud.

Many thanks to Meridian for writing such a fantastic promotional fic for the Fangreaders Awards .Be sure to show some love by leaving her a review.

***If you would like to write a promotional fic showing our favourite SVM/True Blood characters getting ready for the Fangies, please send an email to thefangreaders@gmail.com***

 

Fangreader Award Nomination Ballots due in ONE more week! Enjoy our Latest Promo Fic by @1merick

 

We are coming to the end of  nominating period with the Nomination Ballots due in just 7 more days!!  All Fangreaders that received a ballot are eligible to vote so please get those ballots in.  Any questions please email  thefangreaders@gmail

Now to continue the excitement before the Public Voting begins , let us enjoy our second promotional fic from Merick :

A Vampire and a Wizard walk into a bar.

They called it a Vampire Depth Charge; a pint glass of Royalty Blended with a shot glass of Fairy blood dropped in just before you drank it. You had to be careful when you shot it back, so that the little glass inside didn’t chip a fang. Bill didn’t know where they got the Fairy Blood to put in it, didn’t want to know, really. What he did know was that it gave his head a pleasant fuzzy feeling, and that it cost a small fortune. The first of which he appreciated; the second of which didn’t bother him a whit as he motioned over the male bartender; (a well built sort of man, large shoulders, but not so large that they didn’t fit within the sleeves of the pressed white shirt he wore,) and ordered another. It went down just as smoothly as the first, though the fog in his head did little to lift the misery he had piled on himself. He would have let out a great sigh just then, if he had actually had to breathe. In its stead he looked around at the other guests in the hospitality suite. The Fangies had certainly grown in their popularity of late, and he noted that there were many new faces milling about the room, very different than in years past when it was only the Vamps and the Weres sharing a tremulous peace for Fairy’s sake.

But now Bill made out all manner of Supernatural, and regular natural creatures; witches, warriors, and a few little elves scurrying about; though they seemed to be part of the help. The one creature that interested him the most was sat one barstool down from Bill, looking as intently at his glass as Bill has been looking at his, when it had been full that was. He (Bill was fairly certain it was a he), was quite grey, with sunken in features on his face and an all-encompassing black robe. His fingers were skeletal, and his head quite free from hair, and Bill couldn’t quite sort out if he were alive or dead.

“Something interest you Vampire?” The thing muttered without even turning his head.

Firewhiskey burned, but it was a good burn, at least it meant he could feel something. He didn’t want to look around at all the other people in the room, he didn’t even know why he’d bothered to show up. One of the minions had mentioned that it would be good PR if he did, and apparently there were new categories this year, and, oh hell, he’d just been hoping to get a glimpse of her, maybe get a chance to say a few words, try to change her mind about the whole ‘rejecting his offer’ thing. Or rather, part of him wanted to do that, the stupid, weak part of him. Of course, he wasn’t going to be able to accomplish that if he kept himself hung over the glass in his hands. He slammed back another shot. He could feel the eyes of his mate down the bar on his back, and contemplated for a moment stupefying him. But Voldemort wasn’t even certain if those kind of spells would work on the dead; and he hadn’t taken the time to read up on the Gollum spells at his disposal, mostly because the aforementioned minions had insisted that this night be low-key, and without bloodshed. It so went against his nature that it nearly made him sick to think of it. He hissed slowly into the empty glass and put his hand over the concealed wand in his cloak.

“Something interest you Vampire?”

The air between the men grew suddenly thick, and though the people around them didn’t know why, they all unconsciously moved away as both men finally stared at each other. Bill held up his glass and bared his fangs as if it was some kind of feral acknowledgement of the other’s presence. (And partially out of fear as he finally saw the full force of the grey face he had heretofore only seen in profile.) Voldemort raised his own shot glass, just refilled and tipped it slightly towards the Vampire, admiring the fangs, and wondering how much better he might look with a set of them. Not that he was about to admit any weakness or envy in front of the undead.

“You have a problem?” He asked the question again.

“No problem.”

“Really? Then why are you watching me?”

“I’m not watching you.”

Voldemort sighed very deeply, trying to keep in check the desire to turn the Vampire into a pile of ash; mostly because he knew if he tossed out a good solar spell it would likely kill off most of the denizens of the room. The voices of his minions rang in his ears; ‘just try to keep it under control, we need to get back in the game here’. Another deep sigh rattled in his head, and he found himself clenching the glass hard enough to probably shatter it, fingernails cutting into his palm around the firm cylinder. He tried to remember exactly when his minions had turned into spin-doctors, and snagged the bartender, procuring the entire bottle of firewhiskey for his use.

“If you know what’s good for you,” he began to say, when an odd noise in the far corner of the room forced everyone’s attention towards it. The whoop whoop whoop accompanied the materialization of some sort of tall rectangle, with ‘Police Call Box’ emblazoned on it near the top. All the guests turned to see it and stare as the door to it opened up, and a tallish sort of man, with untamed brown hair, a brown blazer and a wine colored bow tie emerged from it. The grin on his face was that of a man walking into a party where he knows everyone, and where he knows that he is surely the most important and most interesting one in the room; yet without any of the arrogance that normally goes along with such things. Hushed whispers reached Bill and Voldemort’s ears at the same time. And both faces screwed up with confusion.

“The Doctor.”

“Doctor who?” Both said at the same time as the man spotted them, and his grin grew even wider as he made his way across the room towards them both, arms outstretched.

“Gentlemen! How fortunate to find you both here. Well, of course, I knew you’d both be here like this, so perhaps more fortunate for you than me, however, good enough, no time to quibble about semantics.”

Bill wondered at the frenetic nature of the words that tumbled from the odd man’s mouth, Voldemort wondered if there was a way he could kill him, and escape without any consequence. Unfortunately there was little time to ponder either idea as the man joined them at the bar, draping an arm over each man’s shoulders, his head bobbing back and forth between them like he was watching a tennis match, albeit a very confined one.

“Well how very predictable this whole time and space sort of thing when it involves affairs of the heart.” He announced to them both. “Bringing both of you together here with the same type of misery.”

“I object to that characterization.” Voldemort began; only to be interrupted by Bill.

“Of course, because you have been such a ray of sunshine since you arrived.”

“And what exactly would you know about rays of sunshine Vampire?”

“Oh, like I’ve never heard that one before.”

“Gentlemen!” The suddenly harsher tone quieted both aspiring combatants. “Much better. Now we can get down to dealing with your problem.”

“I don’t believe I have a problem.” Voldemort’s voice was turning to a hiss again.

“Neither do I.” Bill echoed.

“Really? Then why gentlemen, are you sitting here alone, without the benefit of female company, drowning yourselves in your respective anesthetics of choice?” The Doctor paused. “So, if you’d like, we can get down to exactly why you two are Bach’ing it tonight. Or I could just leave? Your choice really.”

“Leave.” They both echoed.

“Well, you see, unfortunately I’m not exactly allowed to do that, being the host of this event and all. And as the host I have a type of veto.” Bill fell silent at that announcement, but not the Wizard.

“So you aren’t leaving?”

“No, that was just a sort of polite way of making you think you had a bit of control over the situation.”

“What if I just kill you?”

“Many have tried, believe me, thing is, I just keep coming back, so it’s hardly worth the energy or the negative repercussions.”

“I see.” Voldemort turned back to the bar, hoping that if he just ignored the man that he might just go away. He had better things to concentrate on, like where Hermione had gotten to; he fully expected that she was going to be in attendance at the event. While he didn’t yet see her, he did become aware that the Doctor had turned his attention back to the Vampire; even though his arm was still draped in a very uncomfortable way, linking the three men together. He would have given his kingdom for a handy Floo network.

“So William,” The Doctor began, “Why is it you don’t have a date for this evening’s festivities?”

“Because she’s with someone else right now. But I know she’s going to come back to me, we were together before and we will be again.”

“And you know this because?”

“Because I love her, and she loves me, she’s just caught up in the glamour of his big muscles, and blond hair, and physical assets.”

“I see.” The Doctor finally let go of both men and sat himself down between them at the bar, focusing on Bill. “And why did she leave you in the first place?”

“We had a misunderstanding.”

“Meaning she didn’t understand why you were trying to ensnare her for your Queen, and were lying to her about your purposes?” Voldemort snickered, and poured himself another drink, quite happy not to be a target just then.

“Don’t you worry big boy, you’re not much purer over there are you?” Voldemort slammed back the firewhiskey and shuddered as it hit his gut.

“If you knew the answers why did you even bother to ask the question?” Bill also turned away and focused on another drink.

“So you would understand the truth of your situation William.”

“Go to hell.”

“Tried that, not as exciting as you might think.” A cup of tea was placed in front of the Doctor and he took a long drink, the china cup peeling against the saucer like a bell. “And now you Mr. Voldemort. Why is it that you are unescorted this evening?”

“She wouldn’t take my owls.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“No idea, I apologized for the whole torture thing, and in my defense, it really was one of my minions who did that. And she’s dead now, so the whole thing should be even.”

“But funnily enough she won’t forgive you?” The Doctor’s eyebrows rose up in a psychoanalytical kind of way; not that Voldemort was aware of the implications of the body language.

“Women eh?”

“Yes, such unreasonable creatures, lie to them, cheat on them, torture them a bit and they run off screaming, fancy that.” The Doctor took another drink. “But the question is, what do you two do about it?”

“Wait for them to come to their senses.” Voldemort answered. Bill remained silent.

“Somehow I think it may take more than that.”

“Well what then? Go back in time, take it all back?” Bill mumbled into his pint glass, looking more and more inebriated and disassociated from the goings on.

“Ah, we don’t use the TARDIS for things like that I’m afraid. These lessons are all about personal growth don’t you know.”

“And what do you suggest then Doctor?”

“Well, I suppose you could start with sincere apologies to these ladies.”

“What about ruling the world, and keeping her at my side while doing it is not sincere?”

A great sigh rolled from the Doctor’s lips.

“Perhaps I’ll have to tell Fairy that this isn’t going to work.” He muttered into his teacup

“There’s a fairy behind this?” Voldermort asked.

“Isn’t there always?” Bill continued to mumble, leaving Voldemort, with his own sigh, to continue the conversation with the Doctor.

“Not a Fairy, the Fairy; the person organizing this function; the person who wants to ensure that everyone is having a good time, and that everyone is behaving. But you two may well be beyond saving.”

“Well you’re one to talk, I don’t see any women on your arms.”

“That’s because the show hasn’t started yet. We still have work to do on your behalf.”

“So you’re set on getting women for us?”

“Not so much set on that, as set on putting you two down the proper path to find companions of your own; honestly. And without the need for torture I might add.”

“Sookie.” Bill moaned to himself.

“You do take all the fun out of things Doctor.”

“You have an odd definition of fun Wizard.”

“And what about him?” Voldemort thumbed over to Bill whose head was now down on the bar.

“All he needs to know is to be honest with the women he likes, and to understand how important trust is; and that once you’ve broken it sometimes it can’t be recaptured. And sometimes you just have to move on.”

“Oh Sookie.” Was the muffled punctuation to that statement.

“Although you may be right Wizard.” The Doctor conceded.

“Then what would you suggest for me?”

“Well, giving up the whole World Domination thing might be a good start.”

“It wasn’t my choice to do so, but that damned Potter boy has seen to that. It took a great deal of magic just to get myself together for this evening. It will be many centuries before I will have the power to muster that type of campaign again.”

“So in the meanwhile, perhaps an honest job, some flowers occasionally, a coffee date? Let this woman see the new man you want to become.”

“That’s what the minions keep saying.”

“Maybe I need minions.” Bill mumbled to his empty glass. The Doctor waved off the bartender who was prepared to bring him another.

“He needs a coffee.” Voldemort and the Doctor stared at the Vampire, still slumped over the bar, shaking their heads. “Does that work on Vampires?”

“I don’t believe so. He needs something else entirely I think.”

“Can I just kill him, to put an end to all our sufferings?”

“I think you are missing the point of this whole ‘turning over a new leaf thing’.”

“I am not a druid Doctor.”

“Very funny.”

There was a subtle change in the lighting of the room; a gentle flickering that drew the attention of all assembled. It was a signal that the show was nearing its commencement and a focused and excited buzzing began to fill the room as women checked their makeup once more, and men had their bowties adjusted by their companions.

“Well, it would seem our time together has come to an end then Mr. Wizard.” The Doctor stood up from the bar and straightened his brown jacket, running a finger through his hair; not that it made a great deal of difference to its overall appearance. “I hope that you don’t forget the few things we have spoken of.”

A hush fell in the room as the broad doors opened and two women entered, sweeping towards the Doctor in floor length red ball gowns. The Doctor smiled again, and Bill finally raised his head from the bar, sensing the presence of the one he loved.

“It’s time to go Doctor.” The women said, almost as one.

“Sookie?” Bill whispered to the blond one, his voice reverent of her beauty. Her hair fell in large curls over bare shoulders, and the sweetheart cut of her bodice revealed ample breasts, the kiss of the sunlight in their coloring, her careful breathing making them rise and fall in a way that was pure seduction.

“Hello Bill.” Her voice was music to deafened ears, opening senses that were dulled nearly beyond resurrection by the drink and misery. And it was kind, something he had not expected.

“Oh Sookie. Can you ever forgive me what I have done to you?”

“Oh Bill.” She stepped towards him and put a hand on his cheek. She was warm; he had missed that warmth, but felt himself unable to even raise his own hand to cover it. “Bill I have already forgiven you.”

“You have? Then you will come back to me?”

“No Bill.”

“But why Sookie?”

“My path has gone in a very different direction than I imagined it would when we first met Bill. I’m sorry. You need to find your own path too.”

“Is it Eric?”

“It isn’t any one person Bill, except me. I don’t know where I am destined to end up, or who with if anyone at all, but I know that I have to move forward. And you are part of my past. I am sorry.”

“So am I Sookie.”

“Go on, enjoy the show, I’ll see you later. I have to take the Doctor backstage now.”

Bill could only nod as he stood, all the drunkenness slipping away from his mind. Sookie smiled, and stepped back to take the Doctor’s left arm.

At about the same time Voldemort was looking at the woman at the Doctor’s right arm.

“Hermione.”

“V.”

“You look exquisite this evening.” And she did. Her red dress was different than Sookie’s, a deep V covered, or barely covered her breasts, held by ribbon-like straps over her shoulders, a natural waist, from which a liquid drapery skirt fell, pooling around her feet like a spell. Her dark hair was drawn up in a loose chignon, free wisps framing high cheekbones and pale skin, ruby lips begging to be properly attended to.

“Thank you.” She smiled demurely, holding fast to the Doctor.

“I am so glad that you felt comfortable to attend.”

“And you as well.”

“I am, turning over a new leaf, thanks in part to the good Doctor here.”

“I am glad to hear of it.”

“Perhaps you might do me the honor of allowing me to apologize to you properly at some point in the future Hermione?”

“You can send me an owl sometime, I suppose. But for now we have to go.”

“Thank you Hermione.”

Both women, arms linked with the Doctor did a pirouette of sorts. The Doctor looked back over his shoulder at both men, grinning.

“Do remember what I said gentlemen. Now, on with the show.”

Voldemort and Bill watched as the women they wanted sashayed from the room, hanging on to the strange, slim man in the bowtie. An unspoken word passed between their glances and both straightened their ties and robes and prepared for their duties.

Many thanks to Merick for writing such a fantastic promotional fic for the Fangreaders Awards .  Be sure to show some love by leaving her a review.

***If you would like to write a promotional fic showing our favourite SVM/True Blood characters getting ready for the Fangies, please send an email to thefangreaders@gmail.com***

Important Dates for the Fangreaders Awards:

9th of December 2012- Nomination Ballots go out to all the members
20th of January 2013 ( 6 weeks of nominations)- Nomination Ballots Due
3rd February 2013 - Public Voting Begins
17th of March 2013 – Public Voting Closes

30th March 2013 - Award Ceremony announcing the winners on the Hall of Fame Site  at 9pm GMT

There will be much more information to come, so please stay tuned.

Twitter: @FangreadersChat

Facebook Page : The Fangreaders

Fanfiction.Net : http://www.fanfiction.net/u/3514708/The-Fangreaders-Awards

15 Days Before Fangie Nominations Are In ~ Our First Promotional Fangie Fic

 

The Fangreaders are still nominating the best fics in the fandom and once all are in we will start our public voting for the best SVM/TB fanfics.  Nomination Ballots are due in just 15 days!

Excited to see who will win this year’s Fangies?  Let the celebration get started with our first promotional fic for the Fangies from Chicpea  (http://www.fanfiction.net/u/3500318/chicpea)

From the Desk of Donald Trump: SUPER DUPER SERIOUSLY ANNOUNCEMENT

Tension was high in the well-lit halls of the new Authority headquarters. The news had come across the wire that Donald Trump was slated to make an announcement at exactly midnight. In the media room, the wall of television screens were tuned to twenty-four hour news networks from around the world. The center screen – the largest – was centered on the New York City skyline.

“I can practically smell the pee and the rudeness from here,” Eric Northman sneered, and the vampires surrounding him chuckled and smiled indulgently.

Unnoticed by the ancient vampire, a small cluster of interns rolled their eyes.

“He really needs to stop insulting New York. A lot of people are from there,” one huffed.

“Everyone likes to hate on New York.”

“That doesn't make it okay!”

“Sssh, it's starting.”

A wispy-haired sourpuss settled into the camera's view, eclipsing the skyscrapers in the background. His ruddy face looked angry as he gave the camera a squinty glare.

“I come to you today with an important announcement. First, I want to say that I am humbled and gratified that due to my efforts, and my efforts alone, we have finally succeeded in getting Eric Northman to release his original long form birth certificate.”

The speaker paused, as if for applause. Considering the format of the broadcast, that was kind of weird.

“Do you think they've been able to translate it yet?” Pam asked, sotto voce.

“I doubt it. No one speaks modern Swedish anymore,” Eric said with confidence.

“Well, except the people who write the subtitles,” Pam argued.

“I write the subtitles,” Eric asserted.

“He's so talented,” one of the interns said dreamily, before swooning away.

Unbeknownst to 'The Donald,' the document released by the Authority last week was nothing more than a dirty limerick about sexual proclivities of red-headed women.

“Eric Northman is the least transparent Sheriff of Area 5 that this country has ever seen,” Donald Trump continued. “That guy with the curly hair? He was always upfront about his orders. But Eric Northman works in secrecy, ladies and gentlemen. He works in secrecy, because he's hiding something!

“I come to you today to announce that if Eric Northman releases, in full, his college applications, college transcripts, in full...

“And if he releases, IN FULL, his passport application... then I, Donald Trump, will, within one hour...”

Donald help up a single, accusatory finger, to let the world-wide audience know exactly how many hours was “one.”

“Give five,” The Donald threw up all five fingers, “million dollars to the production budget of True Blood, to be used for the improvement of his choice.”

There was a collective gasp around the room, and indeed, around the nation.

“He wants your college transcripts?” Pam asked quickly.

“From the community college I attended in the seventies?” Eric scoffed. “He can have them. I got a B+ in ETL. English as a Twenty-second Language,” he clarified, to those who had given him blank looks.

“Passport is going to be tricky,” the ghost of Godric observed.

“Godric slash Godfrey,” Eric whispered with awe. “When did you get here?” he asked reverently.

“I am always with you, my son.”

A boyish wonder reflected in the face so hardened by centuries of ordeal, turmoil, and the frequenting of whorehouses. Eric had seldom looked so innocent, or so handsome. The touching moment was interrupted as Donald blundered on.

“If he releases, to my satisfaction, these documents...he can use five million dollars for anything. If they want to get more extras for the Fangtasia scenes, if they want to bring in Charlaine Harris to script-supervise the final season, if they want to use the editors that do the promotional clips to actually edit the show...

In another part of the world, Alan Ball minimized the window on his computer screen and brought up the camera feeds from his security system. He watched the silent guards pace the grounds of his sprawling estate for several minutes before breathing a sigh of relief. Still secure.

In New York, Mr. Trump continued, “... fund the lynch mob to capture the fugitive Alan Ball... whatever he wants to use it for, that's fine. All he has to do is produce the documents, and within one hour, HBO will have the check.”

Mr. Trump paused again, as if he knew that in newsrooms and boardrooms across the country, people would have broken down into the same low murmur of conversation that was taking place at the Authority.

“He should totally do it,” one of the interns murmured. “It's completely implausible that he would have a whole secret basement room full of cash when they can't even get more than ten people into the bar on a Friday night. How is he making that money? It just doesn't make sense.”

“It doesn't have to make sense,” another argued. “For god's sake, there are plot holes the size of Texas everywhere you look, and you're worried about the extras? We need Charlaine, toute suite.”

“There's no chance. She's moved on. Not even the whole five million could tempt her back.”

“Oh please, she's a total money grubber, she'd do anything for five million dollars.”

The room went absolutely silent. The hapless intern suddenly found herself the focus of everyone in the room. Eric stalked forward, the only movement in the space, apart from the girl's trembling. He fixed her with his glacial stare.

“Do not. Speak ill. Of The Maker,” he bit out viciously.

A tiny flick of Eric's fingers summoned half a dozen Authority guards to surround the intern.

“I d-didn't mean it! I thought this was an anonymous forum!” she babbled. “I didn't mean it! She's great! I just happen to like the show better!”

It was too late.

The guards seized each one of her limbs, her head, and her torso. With another nod of Eric's head, they wrenched. Blood and viscera exploded from the dismembered corpse, splattering the room and all of its occupants with a vibrant crimson spray. The glossy red sheen that coated the walls and furniture was dotted with flecks of deeper, purplish entrails, and the sinewy strips of vein and muscle tissue clung to people's hair like bad extensions.

One of the guards hefted an arm through the air where it turned three perfect rotations before landing with a dull thud and a sickening final bounce as it settled near a puddle of the former intern's former life force.

Eric lifted his middle finger to wipe an errant spatter from his eye. Cold dominance radiated from his towering form, filling the room with a thousand years of accumulated menace. He was daring anyone else to speak.

“Um, hello?” Donald Trump spoke from the screen.

“Right, so, in conclusion,” he went on. “College applications and transcripts, and passport applications, and True Blood gets five million. You could greatly benefit this entire country, Mr. Northman. I hope you don't disappoint me.”

The tension in the room ratcheted down significantly as the video seemed to be coming to a close.

“Oh, and there's one caveat,” Donald said smugly. “The documents have to be released by the close of the 2013 Fangreaders Awards, or the entire deal goes out the window. And I'd like to be invited to the awards. I want one of those gift bags. And also...”

“Alright Donald, that's enough,” came the voice of a different authority.

Barbara Walters suddenly appeared on screen, dressed in a pale yellow suit with a magnificent brooch pinned to her lapel. Her ash blonde hair was styled in a flawless coif and her petal pink lips were tight with a stern scowl.

“You're being ridiculous. Stop it.”

“Come on, Barbara, he's hurting America...”

“You're embarrassing yourself, Donald. Stop it.”

“But Barbara.”

“I said stop it. Don't make me call Rosie.”

“Oh god,” he shuddered.

“That's right. Now finish up.”

“All the documents, by the Fangies, and True Blood gets the money. America needs a Sheriff of Area 5 that it can trust. Hand over the documents, Mr. Northmen, or else... you're fired.”

The set switched off abruptly.

“Well he can't fire you,” Pam asserted.

“He could talk to Felipe. They know each other from Vegas.”

“Who's Felipe?” one of the interns whispered. The others ignored her.

“Besides, you may or may not have already been fired,” Pam reasoned.

“I can't handle this right now,” Eric said.

“Where are you going to go?” Pam asked.

“You know where,” he said darkly.

Eric took to the sky the second he was outside the Authority headquarters. He was making a bee-line for Bon Temps.

She just better not be with Bill right now, that was all he could think. Who the hell knows what they could be getting up to? Bill was probably teaching her how to download audiobooks on that damn fangled computer machine so she could relive the steamier highlights of their failed relationship again and again. He was so conniving. How did people not see this? Fucking innocuous sideburns.

Passport documents. What in the hell was Donald Trump thinking? It's not like you have to meet with customs officials when you travel Air Northman. Ugh.

This could be a problem.

Many thanks to Chicpea for this great promotional Fangie fic. Be sure to show the love and leave a review! 

 

Important Dates for the Fangreaders Awards:

9th of December 2012- Nomination Ballots go out to all the members
20th of January 2013 ( 6 weeks of nominations)- Nomination Ballots Due
3rd February 2013 - Public Voting Begins
17th of March 2013 – Public Voting Closes

30th March 2013 - Award Ceremony announcing the winners on the Hall of Fame Site  at 9pm GMT

There will be much more information to come, so please stay tuned.

Twitter: @FangreadersChat

Facebook Page : The Fangreaders

Fanfiction.Net : http://www.fanfiction.net/u/3514708/The-Fangreaders-Awards

Show your Love for Your Favourite Fanfics

 

The deadline for the Fangreaders to submit their nominations is rapidly approaching.

  Sunday, January 8th 2012 at 11:59pm GMT (6:59pm EST)

All the Fangreaders should’ve received their nomination ballots via email.  If you didn’t receive yours ,PLEASE contact Fairy right now so you can get your ballot.  I’m afraid no ballots can be accepted after the deadline.

Once all the nominations are made, the Fangreader Panelists will take the top four nominations for each category and start the Public Voting~  Look out all over the Fangreader sites and all over the  SVM/TB fandom for links to make your vote.

  Since the nominations began, our favourite characters have been getting ready for the big  Fangie Awards Ceremony which is the 25th of February 2012.  Tonight, let’s have a peak in Bon Temps, LA …..

 

“The Fangies” by CrisiTM  

A/N: Many thanks to my dear friend Vic Vega 66 for beta’ing this story for me.

Disclaimer: none of these characters belong to me, they belong to Charlaine Harris.

The night had barely begun but I was already feeling restless, something was urging me to get up and do something, hmm, interesting, immortality had few drawbacks, boredom was one of them, unfortunately. When you have countless centuries behind you and endless amounts of time ahead of you there wasn’t much that could excite you.

I got out of my king sized, fur covered bed, took a quick shower, dressed and went out, on the hunt for intrigue and adventure.

I drove my beautiful red corvette aimlessly around the streets of Shreveport, waiting for something to catch my attention, trying to discover what it was that was making me feel so restless. Like a moth drawn to a flame my car left the city only to find myself driving into a small town.

Town was too strong a word for this rag tag collection of houses, shops and bars. The streets were empty rubbish blew down the road and dogs barked from behind the fences of the little white washed houses.

“Fuck!” I cursed as I hit my knees on the dash-board my car had hit a pot hole in the road.

“What the fuck is this town?”

I noticed a bar a little further along the street, so I pulled into the parking lot. Exiting the car, I circled it to see if there was any damage, it wasn’t as bad as I imagined, there was a little damage to the paintwork but other than that it looked fine. I looked up and heard the noise of breaking glass so I shifted my focus towards the bar.

It looked rough and old. A redneck bar.

What was I doing here, the Sheriff of Area Five; the proud owner of the best bar in Shreveport?

I approached the front door, taking care not to step in anything.

“Hey! Let go of my sister, you son of a gun!”

There was a crashing sound and the doors flew open to let two men fly out of the bar clenched in a tight embrace? Was it a fight, it was hard to tell. I quickly moved aside to let them hurtle past me and cautiously entered the bar.

If you could take a western saloon, change the clothes of the people, throw in a little TV, a relic from the fifties, add a few beer soaked drunks and you would have a pretty accurate picture of the bar.

To top it all the bartender was a shifter, I smelt him as soon as I entered. He looked at me as if he’d he seen the devil himself entering the bar. Well, he might not be too far off the mark. There was another loud bang I turned to see where the noise had come from. A curvy waitress had just hit a customer over the head with her serving tray.

Very nice place indeed.

The waitress turned her head and suddenly she had all my attention. She had a beautifully curved body with a face to match, big blue eyes, a small aristocratic nose, an inviting mouth with full red lips and long wavy blonde hair.

Hmmm, this place was getting better and better by the minute.

She looked at me dumbfounded, and then she came over to me.

“Excuse me Sir, are you a vampire?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I am, how did you guess?”

Not many people would have guessed right away that I am a vampire. I’d learned over the ages to make myself appear very human.

“What do you mean how did I guess? You’re glowing!”

“I’m glowing? How very interesting.”

“Yes, your skin is glowing like is lit from the inside.” She touched my face as if to prove her point.

“Do you have anything here to slake the thirst of a vampire?”

I leant my head in to hers to better scent her fragrance. She was exquisite! Her smell made my mouth water, so fresh and pure, so exotic and sensual, like a ripe peach just waiting to be tasted. I was just the vampire to taste it.

She blushed at my double entendre and led me to an empty table on which there was a half empty cup of coffee and few sheets of paper.

“We have True Blood, if you would like one?”

“Sure, bring me one of those.”

“Do you want it heated?’

“Of course, otherwise where would be the fun?”

She blushed a little more and left to bring me my order.

She was innocent and sexy, it was always a good combination.

I looked at the sheets of paper on the table.

The Fangies, what the fuck was The Fangies? And the picture, it looked awfully like me!

„Umm, sorry, I forgot to clean the table,” the witress extended her hand to take the papers away.

I grabbed her hand and held it firmly. „I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Eric Northman, at your service ma’am”

I tried my best impersonation of a southern gentlemen as I kissed her hand.

„I’m Sookie, Sookie Stackhouse, pleased to meet you,” she responded politely.

„Sookie, a beautiful name for a very beautiful woman. Could you spare some time for me, dear Sookie?”

„Sure, I can take a little break, excuse me for a second.”

She went to the bar and told the shifter she was going to take a shrt break and came right back. She sat on the chair across from me and quickly gathered all the papers from the table.

“So what are these papers and what are the Fangies?

“You shouldn’t stick your nose in another people’s business,” she lectured me like an old school teacher.

I almost laughed out loud. “yes, but it seems that I already did that and now I’m dying to know what those Fangies are. Will you be so kind to have mercy on me?”

“OK fine,” she brushed a hand through her hair nervously. “The Fangies is an award for the nicest fanfiction stories from SVM and True Blood fandom.”

“Mmmm I find myself troubled. I don’t understand what SVM means, would you care to explain?”

“It’s a book and it’s called the ‘Southern Vampire Mysteries’ it’s by Charlaine Harris. It’s about.”

“Let me guess, vampires?”

“Well yes! And just so you know you look very much like one of its characters.”

I snatched the piece of paper from her hand and looked at the picture again, “do you mean this one?”

She blushed, she seemed to do that a lot, and nodded.

“So what is your part in this, ‘Fangies?”

“I wrote a story that was nominated for it, I am hoping that someone will vote for me.”

“I would very much like to read your story,” I fixed her with a stare, trying out my glamour.

She brought her hand up to her face and pinched her nose, “I have a headache, please excuse me,” she rose from her chair, “I have to go and take care of my customers, have a nice night Mr Northman.”

“You too, Sookie.”

She went to the bar and took her tray and began gathering all the empty bottles and glasses from the tables.

That was interesting; no-one had ever resisted my glamour before. Perhaps there was more to her than met the eye. I pulled a hundred dollars out of my wallet, placed it under the unopened bottle of True Blood bottle and went outside.

I snapped my phone open pressing the first number on the speed dial.

“Pam, this is what I want you to do; find out everything you can about the Fangies and bring it to me by the end of the night. I am also interested in a woman, an author, her name is Sookie Stackhouse, she intrigues me greatly.”

“She must be very pretty to catch your attention that way; will I be getting a vampire sister in the near future?”

“No, Pamela, you will not, one childe is more than enough,” I chuckled as I shut my phone putting it in my jacket pocket as I got inside my car.

I looked back at the dump they called the ‘bar’ and starting to plot; what would possibly make a nice, innocent girl fall into the hands of the big bad vampire like me?

The End

Many thanks to CrisiTM for her promo fic for the Fangie Awards.  Please go over to http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7702560/1/The_Fangies and leave some review love.

We hope everyone is as excited as we are to celebrate the hard work from our fanfic authors in our fangtastic fandom that give us great stories that make us laugh, cry and swoon.

The Deadline is Approaching!

The deadline for the Nomination Ballots for the Fangreaders Awards is 8th January 2012.  Our Fangreaders have the honour of submitting their favourite fanfics for nominations. In a little over two weeks the ballots will close, and we will be getting ready to present the nominees to a public vote in our fandom.  Each fanfic nomination is crucial, because only the top 4 fics will be available for voting in each category so please fill out your ballot as soon as possible.

We’re all getting very excited for the Awards.  Let’s take a peek and see how our favourite characters are getting ready for the big event in our fandom.

“Important Men” written by AlphaEN

He was a very important person. He made wheels turn and things happen; people meet and businesses concluded. Oh, yes, he was the man behind the scenes. Very, very important.

He parked in the garage and went inside, into the pristine kitchen. It was quiet in the house; not a heartbeat around, as it should be in the vampire’s dwelling. That’s what I’m talking about, he though as he kicked his shoes off by the garage door (one of the house rules) and put the groceries he’d bought for Sookie in the refrigerator. He checked the expiration date on the True Blood bottles on the top shelf; they were still good for another week. Who needed these, with a warm, breathing human girlfriend?

Oh, yes. She didn’t live here. Women.

He went into the empty office and sat in the large black leather armchair. Methodically, he opened general correspondence and utility bills and put them in a neat stack in the “In” basket. He left the largest package – a long tube they normally use to ship large posters and printouts – for last. Finally, he placed the tube on the top of the desk and tore the plastic pocket to pull the enclosed letter out.

Sent by the Fangreaders Awards 2012 esteemed panel of the SVM and TB fanfiction authors, it read:

“Dear Mr. Northman,

We would like to thank you for your kind support you have shown to our project. We know how valuable your time is, and we appreciate you agreeing posing for the Fangies portrait. As a token of our appreciation, we are sending you an enlarged copy of it. We are looking forward to seeing you as our guest of honor at the Awards ceremony on…”

A portrait?! He threw the letter on the desk and, his hands almost trembling, removed the packaging.

The poster was large, five feet by two and six. The quality of the print was amazing, the colors vivid, as if it was the original itself. The Viking’s imposing presence was so real, it seemed he was about to step off the paper and into the room, and that sword… He’d give anything to hold the real thing in his hands!

With a few pieces of a clear tape, he attached the poster to the bathroom wall next to a tall mirror. He ran back to the office, where several weapons were hung on display behind the desk. He knew what he wanted – the old broadsword right in the center. He removed the heavy piece, trying not to drop it on his foot.

“Heavy, sucker!”

He drew a deep breath, gripped the handle with both hands and dragged the sword into the bathroom. There, he stood in front of the mirror, imitating the Fangie’s stuns in the portrait. He puffed his chest and squared his shoulders.

He was an important man. He made wheels turn and things happen; people meet and businesses concluded. Oh, yes, he was the man behind the scenes. Very, very important.

The mantra wasn’t helping; he wasn’t feeling important, not in the slightest.

With a grunt, he leaned the sword against the bathtub edge and shook his jacket, tie, and shirt off, remaining in just a white undershirt. He took the sword again, pointed it downwards into the tiled floor and held it in place, not without an effort. How did people wield, cut, and stabbed with this monstrosity?...

He thrust his chin up and looked in the mirror again. He was a very important person. He made wheels turn and…

“What the hell are you doing in my bathroom, Bobby?” Eric’s voice startled him, and he dropped the weapon on the floor.

“Ahmm… I’m…,” he cleared his throat, “Well, sir, Master, Mr. Northman, I was just… just cleaning this sword for you.”

“I see,” Eric stood in the doorway, his eyebrow perked up. He wasn’t exhibiting any signs of emotions, though, and Bobby Burnham was speechless. He must have lost track of time, striking this pose and trying that turn, this glance and that facial expression.

“And that’s why you took your clothes off?” the vampire asked, coldly.

“Hmm… Yes, sir, of course, to keep’em from being spoiled…” Jesus Christ, what a lame excuse! He’d been caught his hands in the cookie jar, like the telepathic barmaid used to say. His master knew for sure he was lying.

“Bobby,” Eric took a step inside and carefully picked the sword from the floor, “If you take it upon yourself to clean my weapon… in the future, do it in the garage.”

Beads of cold sweat had been forming on the man’s forehead, and they chose this particular moment to start running down his face. “Yes, master.”

“Well? Do you need a special invitation to get dressed?”

Bobby Burnham had never dressed faster than he did in Eric Northman’s bathroom. What a disaster… At least, his head was still attached to his neck.

He peeled the poster off the wall and carried it inside the office, where Eric had already started the computer and was going through the mail his day man had prepared and left for him in the “In” basket.

Bobby cleared his throat for the thousandth time. “The groceries are in the refrigerator, your things dropped off at that special dry cleaner’s, and this…” he pointed at the poster, “came in the mail for you.”

“So I see. Turn it around.”

Bobby did as he was told. Up until this moment, he hadn’t noticed the back of the posted was completely covered with signatures, “Eric, love you forever!”, hearts, and impressions of lips made with lipstick of hundreds of shades of red. Eric smiled for the first time since he’d risen for the night. He decided not to go too hard on his day man. He’d spotted Bobby in the bathroom and watched for a few minutes before interrupting the human (Sheriff Northman didn’t have all night, after all), amused and even flattered. He didn’t realize his day person had feelings for him… Wait, how come Sookie had never said anything about? Was she not jealous? Interesting…

“That’ll be all for tonight,” Eric said.

“If I may,” Bobby muttered.

Eric frowned. “What is it?”

“I was hoping… well, this Awards ceremony… is it at all possible to get an invitation?”

Eric didn’t expect such boldness from the man; perhaps, it was Bobby’s lucky star that his master had been rather entertained with his earlier show in the bathroom.

“I’ll put a word for you to the Awards panel,” he said finally, as he dismissed Bobby.

The man was more than happy to get out of the vampire’s home. Only when he sped away in his car, turning around the corner of the block, was he able to breathe slowly again.

Hopefully, he’d be getting one of those purple invitations in the mail soon. He deserved it. He was a very important person. He made wheels turn and things happen; people meet and businesses concluded. Oh, yes, he was the man behind the scenes. Very, very important.

Thank you , AlphaEN, for writing this promo for the Fangreaders Awards.  Please, show her some review love HERE.

The Fangreaders Awards Ceremony will be posted live on the 25th of February 2012 on the Fangreaders Hall of Fame website.  

All ballots have been sent out to our Fangreaders. If you haven’t received yours, please let Fairyblood know by clicking HERE.

(Please allow 24 hours to receive your invite.)

And if you ask to join now, you too can have a nomination ballot sent to you so you can nominate your favourite fanfics.

Nominate Your Favourite Fic!

Bon Temps, Shreveport and New Orleans are all buzzing with excitement as everyone gets ready for the 1st Annual Fangreaders Awards.   I wonder how the Sheriff of Area 5 is preparing for the awards?…

"The communication of not communicating"
from menoma_minx

“I don't get why this is so important to you Eric, what's it to you if a bunch of humans exchange gossipy stories?”
Eric looked at his wife in frustration, sometimes she could be such a human!
“Because my business is based on my brand and my brand is me. People come to Fangtasia to see me, to worship me, even with the best of intentions they're diluting my brand. If I want to stay in business, I have to maintain control of my image.”
“I still don't get it.” Sookie mumbled dejectedly, sometimes Eric could be such a vampire!
“I need people to see vampires in a way that's profitable and the only way to do that is to hijack the awards ceremony by writing our own stories.”
“So like, vampire stories for vampires?”
“More like, vampire stories I control the content of. I'm even bringing in a focus group to find out exactly what the humans want. This way there's absolutely no way any human can win those awards and my reputation stays intact.”
“Uhh, okeydokey then, I guess. Can I leave now?”
Clearly she wasn't getting this, Eric, tried again.
“How can I possibly know if the people in my focus group are telling the truth about what they really want in a story without you there to tell me what they're not telling me? You yourself have told me many times how humans say one thing and actually think something entirely different. Besides, it's work related, so I’ll pay you.”
Sookie had to acquiesce (last week's word of the day calendar) that he had a point and this being a paying job didn't hurt either, a girl has expenses and this girl more than most. Her cousins were eating her out of house and home and her shifts at Merlottes were dwindling on account of the lack of customers. She had always absolutely refused to ask Eric for money! She simply wasn't the kind of woman, this way, it wasn't charity, she knew her Gran would be proud of her for maintaining her independence!

The focus group started trickling in, so much for optimism she thought, it was going to be a long night.
The setup was simple enough.
Firstly, each person would be interviewed using a questionnaire, then they would all be brought together the next night after Eric assigned his Area vampires to write whatever it was the humans wanted.

The stories would be read aloud to the focus group audience and afterward they would fill out a comments card.
While all this was happening, Sookie was to monitor their thoughts for later comparison to their outward responses and report back to Eric.
It should've been easy!
After the questionnaires were completed it was clear everybody was lying!
Sookie and Eric went back to his house for the night and sprawled out on his oversized jewel colored couch.
The highlights of the evening:
…

“Would you encourage your blind date to drink at a vampire bar, if you thought it would increase the chances of your date having sex with you?”

46% said no but 63% had actually done this before and were planning to do it again .The other 37% mostly latched on to the idea immediately to varying degrees and many were planning do this as soon as possible.
The questionnaire was putting ideas into people's heads they otherwise would never thought of seemed to be a running theme for the night.
Other winners:
“Would you pursue a relationship with an ugly vampire in the hopes of being turned into a vampire yourself?”

13% said yes but another 24% were planning on being ‘black widows’ the very second they were turned by the aforementioned ugly maker.

Very creepy! Eric had definitely not liked the answer to that one. It's not like everyone was perfectly perfect like him and he had the people in his area to protect.
“Is being kidnapped by a vampire to be kept as a human might keep a pet an attractive idea to you?”

Everyone pretended to be put off by the idea but most secretly, started to pray for it. It turns out, a lot of people hate their lives and would find eating out of a dog dish preferable to being in a dog eat dog world.

That was just depressing.
Not all of them were this extreme, but by the end the night they were both questioning their sanity on how they could actually be neighbors with some of these people! They all looked so average and normal.

Who would suspect such innocent looking people had imaginations that could frighten even vampires?
Then suddenly, Sookie realized something, the focus group had absolutely no fang bangers!
When she queried Eric about it, he replied that their opinion didn't matter, because he already owned them as steady clientele.
“You know something Eric, it sounds to me like you already own these writers too, just like with the fang bangers.”
He looked thoughtful for moment ,and then replied, “I hadn't thought about it that way. I'll have to make sure when the stories I have commissioned are submitted, that they don't decimate the pre-existing writing communities goodwill towards vampires, especially considering it will be a vampire writing under my orders winning every single award.”
Some marriages just don't have any communication sometimes.

Thank you menoma_minx for submitting this promo fic for the Fangreaders Awards. Please show your review love and see the full story HERE .  I’m sure Eric doesn’t own ALL the fanfic writers *Looks out over the audience and sees everyone drooling * Well, maybe he does!!

Please contact Fairy if you are interested in submitting a promo fic for the Fangreaders Awards.

All Fangreaders were sent Nomination Ballots for the new Fangreaders Awards. Please check those email boxes and nominate your favourite fics for each category.  Don’t worry, you don’t have to complete it in one go. Your nomination ballot can be saved for you to return and complete later.  Just be sure to hit SUBMIT at the end of the ballot when you are happy with all your nominations.

Any Fangreader that has not received their ballot, please contact Fairyblood as soon as possible.

Nomination Ballots need to be submitted no later than

8 January 2012

Here are the categories of the

Fangreaders Awards: 

(There will also be some special awards announced on the night of the awards ceremony on 25th February 2012 )

 

The Baby Jessica Award~ Best Fanfic for a New Author
This award is for a fanfic from a first time author who has posted their first story after January 2011

The Longshadow Award~ Best One-Shot Fanfic

The Newlin Award~ Best All Human Fanfic

Mr Cataliades Award~ Best Series Fanfic

The Ancient Pythoness Award~ Best Fanfic Published before 2010

The Lafayette Reynolds Award~ Best Alternate Universe Fanfic ( For the purpose for this award Alternate Universe A/U means any fic that takes the characters out of the "canonical" world of SVM or True Blood )

The Jason Stackhouse Award~ Best Comedy Fanfic

The Bill Compton Award~ Best Angst Fanfic

The Eric Northman Award~ Best Epic Fic
Fic must be at least 25 Chapters AND 200,000 words

The Sookie Stackhouse Award~ Best Romantic Fic

The Adele Stackhouse Award for Reader's Choice~ Your choice for any fanfic that deserves recognition for excellence regardless of genre.

If you would like to have a PDF version of the nomination form to look at instead of going into your live ballot, just click http://bit.ly/fangies

(Please allow 24 hours to receive your invite.)

And if you ask to join now, you too can have a nomination ballot sent to you so you can nominate your favourite fanfics.