Kinkmeme for Peace and Long Life

[zvi]

As a part of three_weeks_for_dw, welcome to the first ever Vulcan Reforged kinkmeme.

How This Works

1) Comment anonymously with a prompt featuring either Vulcans or consequences from the destruction of Vulcan in the Star Trek: Reboot Universe. This can be gen or shippy, serious or funny. (Examples: A day in the life on the new Vulcan colony, the Vulcan people become space pirates, lots of Vulcans go into pon farr early since there's a population crisis, an Andorian cook stumbles on something that tastes almost exactly like plomeek soup and makes a fortune!)

2) Read other people's requests, and make them something to fulfill it: icons, fic, vids, art, filk, anonymous post card, whatever you got. Post it as a reply to the prompt which inspired you, anonymously or as yourself, your choice.

3) Wait three weeks from the time you fulfilled the prompt before you post it outside of Dreamwidth, but if you want to post it on your Dreamwidth journal sooner, that's fine.

4) Repeat until satisfied.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

The Romulans offer compassionate aid to the Vulcans, and the Vulcans have to figure out how to react

Fill: Reach For Rejection

[senmut]

Spock listened, watching as the newest emissary bearing offers of aid spoke eloquently. In another world, he had betrayed this woman. In another time, he might even have felt the first stirrings of love, only to bow to duty.

Now the woman he knew as Commander argues passionately about their mutual heritage, the need for reunification of their species. Beyond her, Tal, still a Sub-Commander, watches impassively as her honor guard. Some of the words the Commander uses are familiar to Spock in other ways, as he recalls his own defection to Romulus in hopes of finding just what is offered here and now.

Vulcans, he knows from personal experience, are as proud and haughty as those Romulans he once tried to convince. Despite their conquest of their emotions, the troubled era of Surak still haunts the primitive mind lurking beneath the logic, and they seek the logic to avoid acceptance of the offer being made to them in the form of this woman's words.

"Honored council." His voice breaks out from the silence ringing after she ceases to speak, before T'Pau can bring her weight to bear on the matter. She will resist, he knows, because her memory is longest, hearkening back to the troubles that had come by accepting the humans into an alliance. She does not care for the wild emotions evoked by the Romulan presence. "I do not see that we have the leeway to refuse to entertain the offer of our long-separated kin," he said, his aged voice as eloquent as Sarek's. "There are, to my knowledge, many orphans within the Romulan Empire. There can be cultural exchanges, as we learn one another's ways once again. This tragedy, wrought by misunderstanding and personal vengeance by one, should not stand in the way of pure logic. The offer must be considered as it stands, an outreach of compassion that can further both our races' needs," he argued, seeing how the Commander's eyes came to rest on him, the attentive pose of her body.

T'Pau frowned slightly, to any who knew how to read it, and Spock was one such. He waited, but, as with his demand for the presence of his friends at his first pon farr's madness, she acquiesced. "Thee has spoken well, Commander; we shall take the matter into consideration."

"I shall await in the chambers you have provided, Honored One," the Commander said, but her eyes strayed back to Spock, curious as to his open endorsement of her ideas.

She would have to learn more of the enigmatic elder whom all the Council listened to, despite his apparent outsider role.

`~`~`~`~`

"Selek," came the call of a woman's voice, one that had haunted more than one play of events in Spock's mind. He turned to see the Commander, noting Tal nor her Vulcan escort were in sight.

"Commander." //Di'on Charvon, later Liviana Charvanek,// his mind whispered, but those names were not meant to be said aloud.

"Tell me how it is you know of the orphans?" she invited. "It is true their placement was something we were interested in obtaining with our offer of assistance."

Spock merely steepled his fingers and looked at her with an arched eyebrow. "Orphans, Commander, are a given in any society that practices the warfare and subterfuge that Romulus has been rumored to foster. Your words tell me my logic is sound." He would not think about another orphan, one that would need his influence in the near future. Or would she? Did Saavik exist? That was yet another of his quandaries in navigating the new field he played upon.

The woman before him appraised him intently, then nodded slowly. "You have depths I am unaccustomed to in even my race," she said, reminding him that she was not so far removed from the telepathy of their shared heritage, with her uncanny, near empathic ability to read people.

"And you, Commander, are a being ahead of your time." He bowed his head just slightly. "The decision will be reached soon."

"And you feel..." she prompted.

"I am Vulcan. We do not," he allowed himself to reply, the prevarication coming as easily as if he were sparring with McCoy on his Enterprise. "Until the Council resumes session, be at peace."

"And you, Selek."

`~`~`~`~`

T'Pau stood and delivered the word of the Council. "It is the finding that thee has made a logical suggestion, and New Vulcan will allow the cultural exchange to occur, with provisions for preserving both ways of life. It is also our wish that Selek, for his intercession, be the Minister attached to overseeing the program and its consequences."

"We accept this, and the Praetor will accept your choice," she told T'Pau with certainty.

Spock, under the guise of his new life, met the gaze of the Commander, and wondered if the game of cat and mouse would be as stimulating this time as before, given the frank expression of interest written in her eyes.

Life was never boring, even in new universal timelines, when this woman was involved.

[(Anonymous)]

Vulcan treasures from offworld are sent to the new colony.

This might not be the fill you're looking for?

[(Anonymous)]

It was not, Dr. Celeste Smith, archivist of Musical Traditions in the Smithsonian Pan-Federation Institute, it was not, she thought insistently, that she was perturbed at the thought of her collection, carefully cataloged and tagged and set out just so for full visual impact and ...

She sighed and ruefully shook her head. It's not like I have any claim to these things at all. As a matter of fact, the Institute hadn't even realized that the items in question were Vulcan. The gongs and stands and mallet were seemingly displaced from history, almost as if they were from another time or an alternate path, perhaps they were even representative of a different sect or society than the modern Vulcan... maybe even pre-Surak...

She came abruptly back to herself. She needed to be packing these for travel, not daydreaming about the potential history and significance of the materials and construction and the fact that the Ambassador, upon seeing the collection in the new "Amanda Grayson Memorial Wing" immediately demanded their return to the Vulcan people.

It was very tempting however, to daydream a little about metallurgy processes, religious ceremonies, processions. Maybe this gong, with its sonorous resonance and shrill overtones, lived at a temple and called supplicants inside. Maybe this gong announced the logical joy of a marriage ceremony. Maybe this gong announced who exactly was the passerby ahead on the road. Did this gong sing differently depending on how it was struck?

There was no script on the gong and the only indication that it wasn't Terran was the materials used - a much hotter fire would have been used to anneal this gong than the multitude of its plain orchestral counterparts. Dr. Smith drew herself away from further contemplation of the avenues of study lost, the Vulcans were so secretive, she pouted silently, and placed the final block of packing foam over the top of the gong. She firmly smacked the lid down on the shipping crate, initiated the sequence to air-evac and vacuum seal, and walked away.

She was going to break for lunch, she decided, and bring her sketchbook; determined to have a few final drawings and daydream about descending tones over iced tea and a sandwich.

[(Anonymous)]

A large number of Vulcan infants are conceived by in vitro fertilization and offered for adoption, in order to insure the species does not die out. What efforts are made to insure they are culturally Vulcan as well.

[(Anonymous)]

an Andorian cook stumbles on something that tastes almost exactly like plomeek soup and makes a fortune

I can't write fic, but I can give inspiration!

[majoline]

Plomeek soup

- 1 cup onions, finely chopped
- 1 cup butter
- 4 cups carrots, peeled and chopped
- 5 cups celery, chopped
- 4 cups vegetable stock
- 1 teaspoon pepper
- salt

1. Melt ½ cup butter in a saucepan and sauté the onions over low heat until transparent.
2. Add the remaining butter, melt, and add the carrots – cooking over low heat until browned, about 30 minutes.
3. Add the celery and cook 10 more minutes on low heat. Pour in the stock, salt, and pepper, bring to a boil, then reduce heat and let soup simmer for about an hour.
4. Serve!

Alternatively, get the replicator to do it.

[(Anonymous)]

We know from TNG there are Vulcan dissidents among the Romulan population (Romulans who regret leaving and have carefully handed down Vulcan training and ideals over the centuries) so what happens when they (perhaps led by a familiar lady Commander from TOS) escape the Empire to the colony?

[(Anonymous)]

Romulans, who are facing the backlash of Nero's actions, are finding it increasingly appealing to pass as Vulcan. What happens when a young Romulan girl is arrested for trying to falsify her identity in order to gain citizenship in the new colony?

[(Anonymous)]

Spock!Prime and T'Pau are both widowed, now. In the interests of being An Example and preserving their clan, they get married.

[(Anonymous)]

Many Vulcans who survived are the only survivors from their clan/house/whatever. They have to marry soon for both Pon Farr and repopulation. Since Vulcan fertile periods are so long, they try and restart both clans/houses by having one batch of kids raised as one clan, and then later another group of kids raised as the other. What's it like growing up in this kind of family?

[(Anonymous)]

The Vulcan people become space pirates.

[(Anonymous)]

Corrigan, Sorel, and T'Zan from The Vulcan Academy Murders were offworld at a medical conference when Vulcan was destroyed. (Or maybe just two of the three, you choose which.) What happens next?

[(Anonymous)]

Something about young Tuvok, and colonial Vulcans in general, set in reboot-verse.

Pike/Sarek

[(Anonymous)]

Sarek's work as ambassador to Earth and the federation has never been more important, but he finds that life without Amanda's human influence makes him not just unemotional, but also uncaring and harsh.

Pike is learning to readjust to losing his ship, his mobility, and many of his closest friends.

Both men are mourning, and they work together to overcome their pain and rebuild the Federation and Vulcan.

Can be slashy or friendship at the author's discretion but lots and lots of h/c, please.

Those Left Behind

[beatrice_otter]

Not much h/c, but I couldn't figure out a way to do that while being in character without writing a huge long piece with the two of them getting to know one another, so. I got everything else in, at least.

---

Sarek stood in the officer’s lounge in Starbase One as Enterprise glided out of orbit, carrying his only son into the treacherous darkness of deep space. When even Vulcan itself hung shattered, and T’Kuht was sucked out of its orbit, what protection could a ship of metal and wiring be? The elder Spock from the original timeline had argued persuasively that the Spock of this timeline was young, and had many years to contribute to the new society they were building; at this moment of crisis, when so many Vulcans were leaving positions within the Federation to return to what home was left them, the position of executive officer/science officer on the flagship of the fleet would be a strategic one to retain. It was much the same argument that had resulted in Sarek’s presence here on Earth as Ambassador to the Federation.

And yet, Sarek would much rather have his son beside him, where he might see Amanda’s eyes and know that the flesh of their flesh, in Amanda’s own words, was safe and whole.

Kaiidth. What must be, must be.

“Ambassador! Come to watch our intrepid heroes set off on their journey?”

Sarek turned with composure. There was no reason to continue his watch; Enterprise was now far beyond the range of his sight. “Admiral Pike. You are looking well.”

Pike grimaced, leaning on his cane. “Not well enough to ever sit on the bridge of a starship again,” he said. “Even those who say a Captain shouldn’t be going personally on away teams and into hazardous situations know that rule can’t hold all the time. So, the Enterprise goes to Jim Kirk. He’ll do a good job.” A firm nod indicated his complete confidence in his protégé.

It would have been far more convincing, were Sarek not a stronger telepath than an average Vulcan. The Human had misgivings. Sarek knew enough of the maneuverings of Starfleet to know that James T. Kirk’s captaincy was the result of a lack of truly qualified candidates and the need to capitalize on his image to build popular support for Starfleet in the wake of the disaster. Regardless of any innate skill, his only practice was with the Nero crisis; and however well he had acquitted himself, three years of Academy training were not enough to substitute for experience.

Spock, although still young himself, had the experience Kirk lacked; experience gained while serving under then-Captain Pike, aboard the Yorktown. It was not pride to know his son would be instrumental in the functioning of the Enterprise; it was merely acknowledgment that the elder Spock’s strategy of maintaining Vulcan’s influence in the Federation was sound.

(Sarek would still have preferred to see his son contribute to that strategy in a less hazardous position. No matter how much she supported Spock’s choices, Amanda would have agreed with him.)

“Are you booked on the 1600 hours shuttle back down to San Francisco, Ambassador?” Pike enquired politely. “If so, you should probably get headed toward the docking bay.”

“No,” Sarek replied. His time sense had always been excellent and he was quite capable of ascertaining the time needed to locate and board his shuttle. “I am scheduled on the 1645 shuttle to Dar es Salaam.” From there, he would go to the Tanganyika Medical Institute for a reception in honor of Vulcan. There had been several researchers from the Healers’ Guild of Xir’tan participating in studies at the Institute, who had left abruptly in the wake of Vulcan’s destruction. Sarek’s visit was supposed to smooth over any “ruffled feathers” caused by the researchers’ abandonment of their project and serve as the occasion for the Institute to present a ceremonial gift to the Vulcan people in their time of need; the actual aid, in the form of gene sequencers and medical computers, had been sent nine days earlier. After the reception, Sarek would travel back to the Vulcan Embassy in San Francisco, in order to be ready for the Federation Council meeting the next morning.

“I’m staying up here overnight, myself,” Pike said.

Sarek had to check his memory to be sure he had not missed anything else the Human had said. Obviously, Sarek needed to spend more time meditating, given the amount his thoughts were drifting this afternoon.

“Would you care for some refreshment, while we wait?” Pike asked.

Sarek hesitated. It would be rude to refuse. “Very well,” he said. He was adequately prepared for both tonight’s reception and tomorrow’s meeting, despite his much-reduced staff; there was no excuse to snub Starfleet’s newest (but at least for the moment, most favored in both public and private) admiral.

“It’s still weird to see this place so deserted,” Pike said, making small talk as they walked towards a nearby food kiosk. His tone was light, but his face and emotions were shadowed with grief.

Little as the destruction of several starships seemed in comparison to the loss of an entire world (Sarek’s home and family and Amanda), it was heavy to Starfleet officers in ways comparable to the loss of Vulcan was for Vulcans. So, at least, Sarek had been told by those who might reasonably know. “I have few experiences of this place prior to the destruction of the Sector 001 Fleet,” Sarek said. “But the level of activity is much less.” Maintaining what Humans called “small talk” was draining and difficult at the best of times; it was filled with trivialities, followed no logical course or easily detected pattern, and yet was the “social lubrication” that facilitated all relationships, particularly the diplomatic. (Amanda had spent hours helping him improve his skills, had sparkled with wit and humor and grace as he diligently learned the steps of this verbal dance.) He found the banality more irritating, the illogic more grating, than he had before Vulcan’s destruction. Perhaps it was due to the longer hours he worked to compensate for his reduced staff. Perhaps he needed to meditate more.

In any case, Pike seemed no more eager for “small talk” than Sarek was, and the rest of their walk was quiet. At the kiosk, Sarek ordered a cranberry juice and a banana. Bananas were acceptable compromises for Vulcans ordering “fast food” in Human establishments: they could be eaten while holding the peel, never touching the fruit inside, and thus satisfied Vulcan eating taboos without requiring a special request for silverware which such establishments seldom provided. (Bananas had been Amanda’s favorite fruit.)

Pike ordered a coffee and a muffin.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, yet, but I’m supposed to be working with you on the commission that’s going to be working on upgrading planetary defenses for Federation member worlds,” Pike said as they sat down at a small table by the wall.

“I had not,” Sarek said. “I look forward to the experience.” One of the benefits of being so often either on Vulcan or sent out to negotiate with other worlds was the excuse to hand off whichever committees Sarek did not like or did not feel required his personal attention off to one or another of his aides. Since he would be staying on Earth for the foreseeable future, that was no longer the case. He had no real knowledge of, nor interest in, the military details which such a commission would be handling.

“Likewise, I’m sure,” Pike said dryly.

Perhaps Sarek had allowed his displeasure to show through. His control was … not as he was accustomed, since Amanda’s death.

“I didn’t know you were interested in Starfleet, Ambassador,” Pike said. “What brings you up to watch Enterprise ship out?”

“I wished to bid farewell to my son,” Sarek said shortly. It was unsurprising, under the circumstances, that even Spock’s former commanding officer did not know who his father was.

“Spock?” Admiral Pike said, leaning back. “Huh. He never mentioned you were his father.”

“We had been estranged for some time,” Sarek said. “I wished him to enter the Vulcan Science Academy.” He paused, as a realization struck him for the first time. “If he had, he would most likely be dead now.” And without Spock’s knowledge of where the Council would be in a time of crisis, the refuge of the Katric Ark at Gol which was on no map Starfleet had access to, Sarek and the rest of the Council would likely have died, as well; he would have been with Amanda. But he could not wish Spock dead, nor the rest of the Council.

“Good thing he chose Starfleet,” Pike said. “Earth might have been destroyed, as well—I don’t know if Kirk could have saved the planet without Spock’s help. You should be very proud of your son, Ambassador; he’s a fine officer and we’re lucky to have him.”

“Thank you,” Sarek said, nodding. He peeled his banana and began to eat as they lapsed into silence again. He was relieved. As a diplomat, he was accustomed to accommodating other species’ views on speaking during meals, but it was … easier not to have to.

As he finished, he found himself watching his companion. As they were to work together, Sarek needed to form a profile of the man. Currently, he was sipping his coffee, watching his fellow Starfleet officers go about their business. His cane was leaned against the wall by his chair, and he idly rubbed his thigh. His body was tense, although Sarek believed he was attempting to project calm body language. On the wall across from their table was a display board listing the ships in dock, parking slips, or close orbit of Starbase One. On a board with twenty-five slots, only three were filled. Admiral Pike’s eyes kept returning to that board. It took Sarek almost two minutes to realize that the hollow emptiness he had grown so used to recently came, in this instance, not from himself or his fellow Vulcans but from the Human across the small table from him.

Sarek knew the figures, the ships lost and people dead in what Starfleet called the “Battle of Vulcan.” To him, it was mere data, swallowed up in the annihilation of the world. Not so for Admiral Pike. How many of his friends, his close companions, had died that day?

“I grieve with thee,” Sarek said. It sounded strange in Standard, but Admiral Pike would probably not understand it in Vulcan.

Admiral Pike turned to him, startled. “Thanks,” he said. “I grieve with you, too.”

Sarek nodded in acknowledgment. Nothing more was said. Twelve point four minutes later, Sarek rose and left to meet his shuttle.

[(Anonymous)]

With the loss of the VSA, large numbers of surviving Vulcans are joining Starfleet. How does this effect later generations of starships, as more and more officers are Vulcan? Alternately, how does serving on ships with humans affect Vulcans?

Sybok

[(Anonymous)]

Sybok helps to rebuild the Vulcan colony, despite having been banished from Vulcan.

[(Anonymous)]

Away team beams down to a planet, locals don't like Spock because of his brother, and Spock's all, I don't have a brother, but what's Sybok done? And it turns out that he had forced a telepathic marriage bond on one of the women in town and raped her during his Pon Farr, and now she's pregnant, and Spock has to deal with figuring out how to help her and track down his brother to bring him to justice (which traditionally would be putting him to death, but so many Vulcans have died already, but on the other hand Vulcan doesn't have the resources to deal with a prisoner and most other Federation worlds don't have prisons designed to hold such powerful telepaths as Sybok). Also, Spock has to deal with his friends and crewmates now that part of the story about Pon Farr has come out in the worst possible way.

[(Anonymous)]

Sarek is going trough his first Pon Farr since he lost Amanda. He feels like forging another bond would be to betray her and is ready to die. But duty (and maybe the thought of Spock losing another parent so soon) keeps him from letting go. Paring up to anon, but I'm partial to Sarek/Gaila or Sarek/Pike.

[laurajv]

It was a Standard year from the death of Ah'rak (the death of Amanda, almost as great a blow as Ah'rak itself, spinning into the void of space) when Sarek felt his blood burn. He had known, from the moment her death tore a hole in his mind, that this day would come too soon. Ah'rak, hot bitter world, he thought, pressing his hand to the shielded warp-glass, you burn into me, into my heart, from beyond the dark you draw me, even though I will never see you again.

The burning would shake him soon, scald through his blood. He closed his eyes and saw Amanda, as she had been the first time, young and strong and facing him without fear, her naked body bone-pale under the red sky. She was all coolness to his fever, slippery-wet like her world when he slid into her body. When the plak tow had passed and he could speak, Vik, he had called her, well in the desert.

He saw her again, years later, four burnings later, her skin softer and her hair grayer, laughing as she bore him down upon their sleeping-couch and drew his body into her own, too human to know that a male in pon farr is never taken: he only takes. And yet even in the burning, he could deny her nothing, his desert well.

Amanda.

His nails bit into his palms; this had come upon him hard and fast. Had he a few more years, he might have been able to remarry, but the wound of her absence was too great, still. Even had he wanted to, the healers said his mind could not sustain a bond yet; they advised another Standard year before he even attempt it.

The soul-healers, the ritual sex-caste of his people, had all died with Ah'rak; he had no one to whom he could turn to ease the burning.

A scent touched him, then, something enticing and rare, on the edge of his awareness. He opened his eyes and turned; an Orion woman in a Starfleet uniform stood at his shoulder. "Ambassador," she said, "I -- I didn't want to intrude, but you're giving off sex pheromones like CRAZY, and I have NEVER run into a Vulcan doing that before, and I thought, WHOA, and also, do you need help with that? Because I could help."

Her own pheromones, then, were that enticement on the edge of awareness; a knife through the dark of the burning. "My wife died," he managed. "With Vulcan. I--" loved her "--need her."

"Oh," she said. "No sex for a year? I know Vulcans don't talk about sex much, but you're in a state, if I may be so bold--"

"Clearly you may," he said. Her mouth was wide, and the curve of her breasts beneath her uniform--

"OK," she said. "I probably shouldn't do this, but: I'm off-shift at 1800 hours. My quarters are D9-58A. You decide you need me, you show up between 2100 and 2130."

"I could hardly impose," he said, dazed by the offer; her scent winding around him. Nothing like Amanda's scent; suddenly, she was everything he wanted.

Her eyes flicked up and down his body, and she smiled. "Trust me, it'll be no hardship, Ambassador. Just don't tell the Captain."

"You may rely upon my discretion," he said, feeling the burn low in his belly, wanting to see her bright red hair and long green limbs spread beneath him. Amanda, is this a betrayal? Yet this woman would open her body to him willingly and without fear, for nothing more than the pleasure it could bring them both. In that, she was like Amanda, if in nothing else, and Amanda would want him to live.

"See you then, Ambassador," the Orion woman was saying, and he blinked rapidly, recalling himself and where he was.

"Of course--" --he looked at the stripes on her sleeves-- "--Lieutenant."

"Gaila," she supplied, with a wink. "You'll be screaming it by 2200 if you're lucky."

Before he could respond, she strode off, her back ramrod-straight, her long fingers clasped behind her back. "Gaila," he whispered, as the door to the observation deck hissed shut behind her, that he might not forget the name of the one who offered him life, with the gift of her body. "Gaila."

[(Anonymous)]

Spock prime is on the new vulcan colony, helping to rebuild, but he feels disconnected from this timeline. He's just about convinced himself that it's just as well he'll never find either love or friendship again. Does something or someone change his mind? (This anon would offer the Internet for a Spock prime/reboot Kirk pairing, but feel free to go where it takes you!)

[majoline]

+1 (or infinity, take your pick)

[revdorothyl]

Very nice work!

[(Anonymous)]

Some of Surak's writings are found and Sarek (and/or) SpockPrime is asked to bring them back to New Vulcan.