La vie eternelle
Title: La vie eternelle
Fandom: The devil wears prada / The hunger crossover
Pairing: Miranda Priestly / Miriam Blaylock
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I most certainly don't own them
A/N: Before you say anything, I know very well I have lost my mind, pairing up Meryl Streep and Catherine Deneuve, two acting goddesses, but I just couldn't resist. It's impossible to do these two justice, but I still hope you'll like it.
La Vie Eternelle
Somewhere deep inside her soul Miriam knew that John, her John, her loving John, would lose his youthly appearance soon, turning into nothing more than a living corpse in a matter of days. That process hadn’t started, yet, but despite her prayers she knew that that time was close, too close and who was going to take his place? She hadn’t even started looking for a new partner yet. Maybe Alice, the young, talented violinist who came to her house three times a week to rehearse with her and John. No, she was a sweet and good girl, but that was precisely the point. She was a girl, not yet a woman. It would take too long. Miriam was no good with solitude. She had been alone for twenty years once and despite the fact that she was undead, it nearly killed her. During that period she did only two things, drink blood to still the hunger and sleep. Luckily, she met Lollilia, she was her salvation.
Her heels clicked on the marble as she walked up and down the hall, smoking her cigarette. Who? The not knowing made her restless. A little aggravated she pushed the half smoked cigarette out in one of the ashtrays which were scattered across the house. Smoking, the only human addiction that had managed to get a hold of her. It was John’s fault, but she didn’t blame him. It reminded her of France. She wished she could return, but John wanted to stay in New York. Perhaps her next lover would want to move there. Return to Paris, her heart’s desire.
Sighing she put on her white coat and her hat which covered her eyes in shadows. Fresh air would help her think clearly. She needed to get away from the house she shared with John. His presence clouded her ability to think of a new lover. She lit up another cigarette and inhaled deeply. Slowly she let the smoke escape from her mouth.
‘I’m going out,’ she called out to John. She heard a muffled reply coming from their bedroom. Opening the front door she shook her head. The poor man had no idea what terrible fate was rushing towards him. Toujours…pour toujours, for ever and ever, only he had no idea how he was going to spend that eternity. She did, but barely dared to think about it. It was too horrible.
The cold air filled her lungs when she inhaled deeply after she closed the door behind her. It was like a weight had fallen of her shoulders. She loved John, there were no doubts about that, but she had to think about her future now. Inhaling once more she started walking towards what she hoped was a new partner, the person she was going to spend the next few centuries with.
Miranda was waiting for the light to turn green so that she could cross the busy street. She hesitantly touched her hair. Just a few hours ago she still had long, reddish brown hair and now she had short, bleached, nearly white hair with a stubborn lock that fell over her left eye. Only yesterday she had received a promotion. She was just one step away from being the youngest Editor in Chief of Runway. That was why she decided that she needed a haircut that suited her personality and her newly gained power, instead of her mousy brown hair.
She sipped her hot starbucks and smiled, already a rare real smile. She felt confident, powerful, almost like a new woman, well, at least a transformed woman. The light jumped from red to green and she started walking, still a little daydreaming. Her high heels clicked sharply on the asphalt.
Too late she noticed a woman in white and collided with her, spilling her coffee all over and in her new coat. She gasped. Why did she have to drink her coffee so hot? She felt the coffee burn a way down between her breasts down her torso.
‘I’m sorry,’ the woman said with a French accent. Miranda looked up and any breath that was left in her lungs was knocked out of her. The woman had the most beautiful face she had ever seen; there was something unworldly about her. ‘Come,’ the woman said and pulled her off the street onto the sidewalk and not a minute too soon, because she had barely removed her feet from the asphalt or the cars started driving like madmen.
‘Well, this coat is ruined and judging by my burning skin, my blouse is also worthless by now,’ Miranda said with a smile. It seemed almost impossible to mad at this woman. She felt the woman’s eyes going over her body, leaving a completely different heat everywhere they went.
‘My house is nearby. You can wear something of mine,’ the Française said. Miranda looked up, surprised.
‘I don’t know you,’ she replied. The other woman smiled and held out her hand. Hesitantly Miranda accepted it and shook it.
‘Miriam Blaylock,’ the woman said.
‘Miranda Priestly,’ Miranda replied. The Miriam’s smile widened.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘You work at Runway.’ Miranda was surprised the woman even recognized her with her new haircut. She let go of Miriam’s hand and immediately missed the warm touch.
‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to put on dry clothes,’ she said, trying to sound cool, while her hot coffee started to hurt. Miriam looked at her and Miranda had the feeling that she looked right into her soul and read her mind. It was little terrifying, yet she never felt so wonderful. Miriam nodded and starting walking in the direction of what Miranda hoped was her house.
Her eyes never left the French body. The swaying of her hips was intoxicating. Miriam could have walked straight out of Runway. She was beautiful, had, judging by her coat and shoes, an incredible sense of fashion and walked like a model. Perhaps she was a model. Miranda couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to touch Miriam, to know if every bit of skin was as soft as her hand. She shook her head. She was being ridiculous. She had a fiancé home, waiting for her.
Miriam listened closely to the woman’s steps. There was something exquisite about her, something extraordinary and Miriam could not wait to have it. Her daring haircut, her slender slightly crooked nose and then those piercing blue eyes which seemed to challenge anyone who looked into them. When she first saw all that, she knew she wanted it, she wanted it all, but somehow there was something different about this Miranda. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she couldn’t ignore it either.
She walked up the small stairs that led to her house and opened the door. The atmosphere in the house told her that John wasn’t there. That would make it all the more easily to get to know this woman.
‘Follow me,’ Miriam said to Miranda as soon as she had hung up her own coat and put her hat away. Slowly she started to ascend the stairs. She noticed that Miranda was a bit hesitant at first, but then followed her; all the way up until the reached the room that lay next to her bedroom. There she opened one of her closets.
‘Choose any thing you like,’ she said and sat down in one of the chairs.
Miranda stood there looking at all those clothes. She had been right; Miriam did have an incredible sense of fashion. Most of the clothes she saw were haute couture, one of a kind. How could she choose something from this selection? Miriam had to be wealthy. Miranda decided the first minute she sat foot in her house; she would buy something like this when she had the money, something extremely large with a winding stair.
She took of her coat and placed it in Miriam’s extended hand. ‘I’ll have it dry-cleaned for you,’ she said. Miranda nodded. Every time Miriam talked, her legs nearly turned to bubblegum. The warmth, the softness, the accent, it was beautiful and addicted. She wished Miriam talked more, just so that she could listen to her.
Miriam extended her hand again. Miranda raised an eyebrow, but still started to unbutton her soft pink blouse. The silk was ruined beyond repair. The coffee had destroyed the delicate fabric. She felt Miriam’s eyes on her torso, on her chest, her lacy white bra.
She watched as Miranda slowly took of her blouse. Miriam held her breath. It had been long since she had seen a woman’s body, besides her own, way too long and Miranda’s body, at least what she could see of it, was absolutely stunning. She was slim, but not skinny, curves in all the right places. It was a shame the coffee had burned the pristine white skin and made it turn red.
‘I’m sorry about your blouse. You can have one of mine,’ she said. Miranda didn’t turn around to look at the closet instead she kept looking at her with those blue eyes that pierced right through her. Cautiously Miriam took a step closer. Miranda didn’t move.
They were close, so close. Miriam could feel the other woman breath on her skin. She watched Miranda’s heaving chest and felt the tension her body. Slowly she moved forward until their lips touched.
Never in the twenty-six years of her life had Miranda kissed a woman and now she was kissing a French goddess. Her lips felt the same as her voice, warm, soft, unworldly. She felt how Miriam placed her hand on the back of her neck and pulled her closer. A small almost inaudible whimper escaped from her lips. An unknown feeling streamed through her body and it unsettled her.
She really was exquisite. Miriam never told John, because she loved him, but she preferred female lovers and this woman, there were no words for her. She was unlike anyone she had ever kissed or touched. Special, different, but very desirable. Her fingers moved down from her neck to the swell of her breast. Miranda arched into her touch. She slid her hand further down and rested it on Miranda’s waist, pulling her closer until their bodies touched. Silk against lace and skin and the cool gold of her ankh pendant was now between Miranda’s breasts.
The whole experience was new to her, but still she allowed Miriam to slip her tongue inside her mouth. The taste was indescribable, it tasted like love, life, and it made her want more. How was it possible that she never cared for women like this before? Was it all like this? Or was just the Française who could make her feel like this? Her fiancé never made her feel like this, kissed her with so much passion or touched her so softly she thought she would die of the touch alone. Shit, her fiancé. She hadn’t thought about him since she set foot in Miriam’s house.
There was one thing she really hated and that was betrayal and now she was doing it herself. She was cheating on him with a woman she didn’t know. Immediately she pulled back from the kiss and instantly missed Miriam’s lips on her own.
‘I can’t do this, Miriam, I can’t,’ she said. Miriam raised her eyebrows. How was this possible? Nobody had ever done that, nobody ever resisted her. ‘I’m engaged. This is wrong. I, I should go.’ She saw how Miranda took a white blouse out of her closet and quickly buttoned it. ‘I’ll send it back as soon as possible,’ she added.
Miriam saw the sincerity in her eyes, the sadness and even a hint of love. She shook her head. ‘Keep it. In the closet in the hall, take the black fur coat. It will suit you.’ Miranda smiled weakly at her. She walked passed her, but Miriam grabbed her arm.
‘Will you be back?’ she asked. Miranda looked in her eyes and almost wanted to say ‘yes, yes Miriam I’ll be back’, but she knew she couldn’t. Slowly she shook her head.
‘No, I think it’s best if we never meet again.’ And with that she exited the room and descended the stairs. Miriam walked towards the balustrade and looked down. With her eyes she followed Miranda’s path. Never had she let anyone get away. She doubted for a moment whether or not she should run after her and offer her what she had offered John four hundred years ago, la vie eternelle, eternal life, but she decided against it. No matter how much she wanted Miranda, how much she might come to love her, Miranda didn’t want her, not for eternity. She knew the woman would break many hearts with her extraordinary beauty and her incomprehensible character. Sometimes it was best the let the thing, the person, the woman you crave most, get away.
She waited until she heard the door slam shut and then returned to the room. She needed to look for another person to replace John when the time was there. The ruined pieces of clothing were lying on the floor. She picked them up and burned the blouse. The jacket she had dry-cleaned and sent over to Miranda’s apartment.
She knew she would never forget Miranda, never, not even when she did find a replacement for John. Sarah was beautiful, but still she missed Miranda, regretting the fact that it just wasn’t meant to be.
Fandom: The devil wears prada / The hunger crossover
Pairing: Miranda Priestly / Miriam Blaylock
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I most certainly don't own them
A/N: Before you say anything, I know very well I have lost my mind, pairing up Meryl Streep and Catherine Deneuve, two acting goddesses, but I just couldn't resist. It's impossible to do these two justice, but I still hope you'll like it.
La Vie Eternelle
Somewhere deep inside her soul Miriam knew that John, her John, her loving John, would lose his youthly appearance soon, turning into nothing more than a living corpse in a matter of days. That process hadn’t started, yet, but despite her prayers she knew that that time was close, too close and who was going to take his place? She hadn’t even started looking for a new partner yet. Maybe Alice, the young, talented violinist who came to her house three times a week to rehearse with her and John. No, she was a sweet and good girl, but that was precisely the point. She was a girl, not yet a woman. It would take too long. Miriam was no good with solitude. She had been alone for twenty years once and despite the fact that she was undead, it nearly killed her. During that period she did only two things, drink blood to still the hunger and sleep. Luckily, she met Lollilia, she was her salvation.
Her heels clicked on the marble as she walked up and down the hall, smoking her cigarette. Who? The not knowing made her restless. A little aggravated she pushed the half smoked cigarette out in one of the ashtrays which were scattered across the house. Smoking, the only human addiction that had managed to get a hold of her. It was John’s fault, but she didn’t blame him. It reminded her of France. She wished she could return, but John wanted to stay in New York. Perhaps her next lover would want to move there. Return to Paris, her heart’s desire.
Sighing she put on her white coat and her hat which covered her eyes in shadows. Fresh air would help her think clearly. She needed to get away from the house she shared with John. His presence clouded her ability to think of a new lover. She lit up another cigarette and inhaled deeply. Slowly she let the smoke escape from her mouth.
‘I’m going out,’ she called out to John. She heard a muffled reply coming from their bedroom. Opening the front door she shook her head. The poor man had no idea what terrible fate was rushing towards him. Toujours…pour toujours, for ever and ever, only he had no idea how he was going to spend that eternity. She did, but barely dared to think about it. It was too horrible.
The cold air filled her lungs when she inhaled deeply after she closed the door behind her. It was like a weight had fallen of her shoulders. She loved John, there were no doubts about that, but she had to think about her future now. Inhaling once more she started walking towards what she hoped was a new partner, the person she was going to spend the next few centuries with.
Miranda was waiting for the light to turn green so that she could cross the busy street. She hesitantly touched her hair. Just a few hours ago she still had long, reddish brown hair and now she had short, bleached, nearly white hair with a stubborn lock that fell over her left eye. Only yesterday she had received a promotion. She was just one step away from being the youngest Editor in Chief of Runway. That was why she decided that she needed a haircut that suited her personality and her newly gained power, instead of her mousy brown hair.
She sipped her hot starbucks and smiled, already a rare real smile. She felt confident, powerful, almost like a new woman, well, at least a transformed woman. The light jumped from red to green and she started walking, still a little daydreaming. Her high heels clicked sharply on the asphalt.
Too late she noticed a woman in white and collided with her, spilling her coffee all over and in her new coat. She gasped. Why did she have to drink her coffee so hot? She felt the coffee burn a way down between her breasts down her torso.
‘I’m sorry,’ the woman said with a French accent. Miranda looked up and any breath that was left in her lungs was knocked out of her. The woman had the most beautiful face she had ever seen; there was something unworldly about her. ‘Come,’ the woman said and pulled her off the street onto the sidewalk and not a minute too soon, because she had barely removed her feet from the asphalt or the cars started driving like madmen.
‘Well, this coat is ruined and judging by my burning skin, my blouse is also worthless by now,’ Miranda said with a smile. It seemed almost impossible to mad at this woman. She felt the woman’s eyes going over her body, leaving a completely different heat everywhere they went.
‘My house is nearby. You can wear something of mine,’ the Française said. Miranda looked up, surprised.
‘I don’t know you,’ she replied. The other woman smiled and held out her hand. Hesitantly Miranda accepted it and shook it.
‘Miriam Blaylock,’ the woman said.
‘Miranda Priestly,’ Miranda replied. The Miriam’s smile widened.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘You work at Runway.’ Miranda was surprised the woman even recognized her with her new haircut. She let go of Miriam’s hand and immediately missed the warm touch.
‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to put on dry clothes,’ she said, trying to sound cool, while her hot coffee started to hurt. Miriam looked at her and Miranda had the feeling that she looked right into her soul and read her mind. It was little terrifying, yet she never felt so wonderful. Miriam nodded and starting walking in the direction of what Miranda hoped was her house.
Her eyes never left the French body. The swaying of her hips was intoxicating. Miriam could have walked straight out of Runway. She was beautiful, had, judging by her coat and shoes, an incredible sense of fashion and walked like a model. Perhaps she was a model. Miranda couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to touch Miriam, to know if every bit of skin was as soft as her hand. She shook her head. She was being ridiculous. She had a fiancé home, waiting for her.
Miriam listened closely to the woman’s steps. There was something exquisite about her, something extraordinary and Miriam could not wait to have it. Her daring haircut, her slender slightly crooked nose and then those piercing blue eyes which seemed to challenge anyone who looked into them. When she first saw all that, she knew she wanted it, she wanted it all, but somehow there was something different about this Miranda. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she couldn’t ignore it either.
She walked up the small stairs that led to her house and opened the door. The atmosphere in the house told her that John wasn’t there. That would make it all the more easily to get to know this woman.
‘Follow me,’ Miriam said to Miranda as soon as she had hung up her own coat and put her hat away. Slowly she started to ascend the stairs. She noticed that Miranda was a bit hesitant at first, but then followed her; all the way up until the reached the room that lay next to her bedroom. There she opened one of her closets.
‘Choose any thing you like,’ she said and sat down in one of the chairs.
Miranda stood there looking at all those clothes. She had been right; Miriam did have an incredible sense of fashion. Most of the clothes she saw were haute couture, one of a kind. How could she choose something from this selection? Miriam had to be wealthy. Miranda decided the first minute she sat foot in her house; she would buy something like this when she had the money, something extremely large with a winding stair.
She took of her coat and placed it in Miriam’s extended hand. ‘I’ll have it dry-cleaned for you,’ she said. Miranda nodded. Every time Miriam talked, her legs nearly turned to bubblegum. The warmth, the softness, the accent, it was beautiful and addicted. She wished Miriam talked more, just so that she could listen to her.
Miriam extended her hand again. Miranda raised an eyebrow, but still started to unbutton her soft pink blouse. The silk was ruined beyond repair. The coffee had destroyed the delicate fabric. She felt Miriam’s eyes on her torso, on her chest, her lacy white bra.
She watched as Miranda slowly took of her blouse. Miriam held her breath. It had been long since she had seen a woman’s body, besides her own, way too long and Miranda’s body, at least what she could see of it, was absolutely stunning. She was slim, but not skinny, curves in all the right places. It was a shame the coffee had burned the pristine white skin and made it turn red.
‘I’m sorry about your blouse. You can have one of mine,’ she said. Miranda didn’t turn around to look at the closet instead she kept looking at her with those blue eyes that pierced right through her. Cautiously Miriam took a step closer. Miranda didn’t move.
They were close, so close. Miriam could feel the other woman breath on her skin. She watched Miranda’s heaving chest and felt the tension her body. Slowly she moved forward until their lips touched.
Never in the twenty-six years of her life had Miranda kissed a woman and now she was kissing a French goddess. Her lips felt the same as her voice, warm, soft, unworldly. She felt how Miriam placed her hand on the back of her neck and pulled her closer. A small almost inaudible whimper escaped from her lips. An unknown feeling streamed through her body and it unsettled her.
She really was exquisite. Miriam never told John, because she loved him, but she preferred female lovers and this woman, there were no words for her. She was unlike anyone she had ever kissed or touched. Special, different, but very desirable. Her fingers moved down from her neck to the swell of her breast. Miranda arched into her touch. She slid her hand further down and rested it on Miranda’s waist, pulling her closer until their bodies touched. Silk against lace and skin and the cool gold of her ankh pendant was now between Miranda’s breasts.
The whole experience was new to her, but still she allowed Miriam to slip her tongue inside her mouth. The taste was indescribable, it tasted like love, life, and it made her want more. How was it possible that she never cared for women like this before? Was it all like this? Or was just the Française who could make her feel like this? Her fiancé never made her feel like this, kissed her with so much passion or touched her so softly she thought she would die of the touch alone. Shit, her fiancé. She hadn’t thought about him since she set foot in Miriam’s house.
There was one thing she really hated and that was betrayal and now she was doing it herself. She was cheating on him with a woman she didn’t know. Immediately she pulled back from the kiss and instantly missed Miriam’s lips on her own.
‘I can’t do this, Miriam, I can’t,’ she said. Miriam raised her eyebrows. How was this possible? Nobody had ever done that, nobody ever resisted her. ‘I’m engaged. This is wrong. I, I should go.’ She saw how Miranda took a white blouse out of her closet and quickly buttoned it. ‘I’ll send it back as soon as possible,’ she added.
Miriam saw the sincerity in her eyes, the sadness and even a hint of love. She shook her head. ‘Keep it. In the closet in the hall, take the black fur coat. It will suit you.’ Miranda smiled weakly at her. She walked passed her, but Miriam grabbed her arm.
‘Will you be back?’ she asked. Miranda looked in her eyes and almost wanted to say ‘yes, yes Miriam I’ll be back’, but she knew she couldn’t. Slowly she shook her head.
‘No, I think it’s best if we never meet again.’ And with that she exited the room and descended the stairs. Miriam walked towards the balustrade and looked down. With her eyes she followed Miranda’s path. Never had she let anyone get away. She doubted for a moment whether or not she should run after her and offer her what she had offered John four hundred years ago, la vie eternelle, eternal life, but she decided against it. No matter how much she wanted Miranda, how much she might come to love her, Miranda didn’t want her, not for eternity. She knew the woman would break many hearts with her extraordinary beauty and her incomprehensible character. Sometimes it was best the let the thing, the person, the woman you crave most, get away.
She waited until she heard the door slam shut and then returned to the room. She needed to look for another person to replace John when the time was there. The ruined pieces of clothing were lying on the floor. She picked them up and burned the blouse. The jacket she had dry-cleaned and sent over to Miranda’s apartment.
She knew she would never forget Miranda, never, not even when she did find a replacement for John. Sarah was beautiful, but still she missed Miranda, regretting the fact that it just wasn’t meant to be.