The thought occurs to her, over the delicate curls of steam rising from her mug: it is, Mireille feels, a little like how someone would be aware of a thorn on a flower stalk.

(Or a live bullet in a gun barrel.)

To be exact: her persistent sensitivity to having Kirika as a flatmate is...jarring.

The point is that Mireille's been alone, for as long as she cares to remember, and having another person sharing her home takes getting used to. To say the least.

So, we’re nearly at the end of the month, and I haven’t posted *half* as many recs as I’d hoped to. An injured hand made typing a real pain, but if the recs I *did* post whetted your appetite at all, please do check out the fandom overview and the links posted there (or just head on over to my rec site: ireadthat/tag/noir).

Fandom: NOIR
Pairing: Mireille/Kirika
Author on LJ: Unknown
Author’s Website: FF.net profile
Why this must be read:

Another story set post-series, this one heavy on the spoilers. Pretty, bittersweet, and ultimately hopeful--Kirika and Mireille put the past to rest, and face the future together.

( Story sample )

glazzal

"Mireiyu."

Mireille put the cup to her lips. "Hmm?"

"I really do like the park. But that is because you're there with me."

Mireille narrowed her eyes, but not before she could hide the surprise widening her pupils. "Well. I...."

She stood, turned. "I...."

"Let's go, Kirika."

They proceeded to the park in silence, passing the river on the way. Mireille glanced over. They kept pace comfortably with each other; they always did. If only everything else were this effortless.

She started. Her footsteps faltered. Kirika had approached in her distraction and slipped warm fingers into her palm.

Fandom: NOIR
Pairing: None
Author on LJ: Unknown
Author’s Website: Independent Soul
Why this must be read:

This story, beautiful and sad, looks at Mireille’s parents in the time leading up to their deaths. Though we saw very little of Odette and Laurent Bouquet in the series itself, their characterization here seems quite plausible, and their backstory intriguing. Nicely handled, too, is Altena’s philosophy, and what it means to those affected.

( Beware series spoilers )

Fandom: NOIR
Pairing: Mireille/Kirika
Author on LJ: Unknown
Author’s Website: FF.net profile
Why this must be read:

This story strives to reflect the ending credits of Noir. It is pretty, and has the same sense of quiet intensity of the anime, though with a decidedly more peaceful mood. It’s a bit more poetic than I imagine either of these women, but nonetheless, I’d like to think that this is a possibility for Kirika and Mireille, after all they’ve been through.

Daylight pries at the corners of her eyelids, and she opens them slowly to golden softness. For just a moment, she is disoriented; her surroundings are not immediately familiar. Then she remembers where she is, and the realization brings a dizzying, pleasant feeling to replace her split-second panic.

Everything is as it should be.

Fandom: NOIR
Pairing: Mireille/Kirika
Author on LJ: geekerypokery
Author’s Website: moon pants
Why this must be read:

This fic is set during episode seven of the series, but stands fairly well without any pre-knowledge of the events in that episode. This is a dreamy, disjointed series of moments, as seen by an injured Kirika. There is Mireille/Kirika, and smutty content, in this fic, but what stands out the most is the feeling of heat, and pain, and confusion.

"Can you focus on my finger?"

She tried that, too. It wasn't hard. Mireille's finger hovered close to her face, and it was easily the biggest thing in the world. Behind it, Mireille's face swam out of focus, somewhere in the sky, the fan flickering in circles around her head like a halo. She thought she could feel where Mireille's hand left a shadow, interrupting the sunlight on her face. Then the finger went away, or it turned into a hand on her forehead, and Mireille's face came unblurred; Mireille had taken off her sunglasses, but her eyes were as blank and mirrored as the lenses. That was okay. She didn't mind being kept outside.

The fan breathed some more. So did she.

Fandom: NOIR
Pairing: Mild Mireille/Kirika
Author on LJ: [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com] Unknown
Author’s Website: Fanfiction.net Profile
Why this must be read:

There are a few glitches with grammar and verb tense, and the first person Kirika voice is more flowery and descriptive than I imagine she would actually be, but:

This is a nice look at Mireille and Kirika, and their relationship after the series ends. I appreciated Kirika’s focus on Mireille, as well as her constant awareness of the people around them as they walk the streets of Pairs; and Mireille’s playfulness and subtle signs of affection towards Kirika.

Two Steps Behind

ijemanja

Outside, the streets of Paris go by in a blur of colour and sounds. Buildings and people and traffic - it's the middle of the day, but it doesn't feel like it.

Kirika yawns and rests her head against the window of the taxi.

'Jetlag, huh?' Mireille says.

Is this jetlag? She doesn't know - she has no frame of reference by which to judge.

Is she used to flying? Has she ever flown before at all?

It's been months. She still hasn't quite got the hang of asking herself endless questions, and coming up with nothing.

Fandom: NOIR
Pairing: Gen
Author on LJ: ijemanja
Author’s Website: Unknown
Why this must be read:

We’re benefiting from some lucky timing with this rec: ijemanja started posting her Noir fics just days before I got the go ahead to begin posting recs at Crack Van.

This fic takes a look at the series’ four principal characters (Mireille, Kirika, Chloe, and Altena) in the years set before the series. We are allowed a glimpse of an important moment of each of these women’s lives--a moment that informs the characters that are slowly explored in the series itself.

Guns are heavy - no one can hold such a stance indefinitely.

That's another thing her uncle always says, but now he is silent. He is letting her make the choice, she knows. But this isn't a choice for her - at least, it doesn't feel like one.

This man will die by her hands, or another's - her uncle's probably, if she lets her hands drop. There is no negotiation to be made, no clemency to be granted, not by her or anyone. It almost doesn't matter what he's done, at this point. And everyone dies in the end, anyway. That isn't a choice, either, but a matter for fate to decide.

She lets the unrest in her mind subside, she lets the weight on her shoulders dissipate to nothing. She lets the decision fly out of her hands, and the man falls from his chair onto the grass.

It was a choice, after all, she realises.

Noir, it is the name of an ancient fate.
Two maidens who govern death.
The peace of the newly born,
their black hands protect.