#outer wilds fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tksfandomhellhole · 2 months

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Apparently the outer wilds fandom is somewhat popping on tumblr, so I figured I'd offer something of actual substance to you all: A Pre-Canon OWV Founders fic, with heavy inspirations from Elwensa's designs on their dynamics.

Summary: In which everything that could go wrong during a routine trip into space does, and it takes all of them to fix it.

Characters: Feldspar, Hornfels, Gossan, Slate

Tags/Warnings: POV Third Person/POV Alternating, Near Death Experiences, and of course plenty of crashes and explosions

[AO3 Version Here]

Hornfels and Gossan sat idly in the makeshift ground control room that currently doubled as Outer Wilds Ventures' Observatory.

"Observatory" was a bit of a stretch, as it was mostly just the cobbled together bits and bobs that made up the ground control room plus a telescope Hornfels had just managed to upgrade. The program was still in it's pilot phase–Gossan rolled their eyes whenever anyone said that, which is why Feldspar made it a point to bring it up whenever they could–but in due time, they knew the program would only grow.

They'd already managed to land successfully on the Attlerock and a few of the other planets even, and had planned to start work on some sort of space outpost once Slate was finished with the latest ship.

Whenever Slate was questioned on the progress of said ship however, they'd bark that "It'd help if someone didn't waste so much of my time with constant repairs on their ship."

Today was a routine space trip to Brittle Hollow, and they were waiting for Feldspar to report back that they'd made it back to their ship and they were heading back home.

"Feldspar to ground control, do you copy?"

"We copy, Feldspar!" Hornfels chirped cheerily, happy to hear back from them so soon.

"About to take this death trap Slate calls a ship off this death trap of a planet we call Brittle Hollow, I've gotten all I need from it today. ETA five minutes."

Gossan sighs, inaudible in the background, and Hornfels has to stifle a chuckle. "Sure thing, Feldspar, did you want me to pass your comments onto Slate when we tell them to clear the launchpad?"

Feldspar clears their throat nervously, "Uhh, that won't be necessary ground control, I might need to stay in their good graces today..." they trailed off, and Hornfels exchanges a knowing smirk with Gossan, the telltale sign that Feldspar had managed to break something critical again.

"Uh-huhhh," Hornfels draws out, "And you're sure you can make it back to Timber Hearth in one piece?"

Feldspar scoffs "What me? I could fly this thing in my sleep. You think I can't make it back without the nav systems?... and the lights... and the landing gear..." Their voice trails off uncertainly. "Please don't tell Slate before I get there." They whisper, as if afraid rattling off the damages done had already summoned them.

Hornfels and Gossan laugh heartily at their friend's expense, Hornfels wiping an imaginary tear from their eye before responding, "Well, just do your best not to break off anything else on your way back, and you might be able to escape Slate's wrath."

"Aye-aye ground control, liftoff has already been achieved. There won't be a single other scratch on the ship if I can h–Oh crap-!"

The sound of Feldspar's panicked shout is quickly overtaken by a horrible crashing noise, as metal, wood, and glass splinters and shatters over the line.

For a heartstopping moment Gossan and Hornfels are frozen, eyes wide in fear.

"Feldspar?! Feldspar come in!" Hornfels shrieks into the radio, already frantically trying to orient the telescope towards their last known location. They wait with bated breath for Feldspar's response, to no avail.

A sharp intake of breath from Hornfels draws Gossan's attention, "Hornfels, what do you see, where are they?!"

"Th-They're hurtling away from Brittle Hollow into space!" Hornfels says, looking up from the telescope to check the readings from the pilot monitor, "Vitals are low–Feldspar might not be conscious!"

Gossan grips their arm so tightly it'll bruise later. "How many minutes of oxygen did they have left?!"

"S-Seven I-I think, but they might've punctured their suit and could be losing oxygen at a faster rate!"

"Stars above–" Gossan is already tripping over their own feet as they run out the observatory door. "SLATE! SLAAATE!"

Slate jolts from where they're at, hitting their head on the underside of the ship they were working on. Rubbing their head, they lift the welding helmet from their face. "Gossan? What's the big–"

Gossan yanks Slate out from under the ship, shoving them unceremoniously to the side as they hop in. "I need to get to Feldspar," they shout, "They're running out of oxygen!" Gossan is already slamming the hatch closed and their helmet on, sliding into the suit faster than they've ever managed, even in a race against Feldspar.

Slate is up now, and has stumbled a few feet away from the launchpad, but there's an unmistakeable frenzy to their movements, as they wave their arms desperately for Gossan's attention, trying their hardest to yell over the din of the engines already firing up.

"Gossan, wait! That ship isn't space-ready yet! It won't last past the–"

Gossan gives a quick two-fingered salute, uncaring of Slate's panic, and launches into the sky.

Slate books it into the observatory just as Gossan clears the atmosphere, "Hornfels, what the hell just happened?!"

Hornfels doesn't look up from where they're frantically readjusting the telescope. "It's Feldspar, their ship collided with one of the meteors from Hollow's Lantern, and it looks like they just barely managed to eject, but now they're drifting out into space, completely unresponsive!"

Slate is already gripping both sides of their head, tugging painfully at their ears, "Hornfels we need visual on Gossan! That ship they took isn't going to last much longer!"

"I'm trying, I'm trying!" Hornfels responds, voice shrill.

Gossan was well aware the structural integrity of the ship was deteoriating fast. It seemed that trip through the atmosphere had already put more force than it could handle on the poor unreinforced parts, and the ship groaned and creaked as Gossan coaxed every last bit of power out of it. They were still too far away from Feldspar, their best friend still just a blip on the horizon. Just a little more!

The lights in the cockpit start flashing a headache inducing red just as several ear-piercing alarms went off in tandem, and Gossan clicks their tongue in frustration. So much for the hope that they could retrieve Feldspar in the ship.

They double check their EVA suit and oxygen, making sure everything is tightly sealed, and grab their jetpack and repair tools. They couldnt fit the medkit, so they'd have to worry about injuries after they landed safely.

...If they made it back safely.

They're just about to open the emergency hatch and go careening into space themself, before they notice the console.

Slate had added an updated graphic to the newer models it seems, to indicate what parts were broken.

Gossan hated to admit it, but Slate could be a genius sometimes, not that they had time now to really appreciate the usefulness of their pal's latest experimental feature.

Because right now they were just putting it together that the shrill piercing alarm was indicative of a reactor failure.

Gossan is pretty sure Slate said that one's bad–well they were all bad, but Slate had said that one in particular meant "start praying and be prepared to get your ass kicked when you get back"–so they could only panic as the invisible timer continued to count down.

"I have visual!" Hornfels declared, triumphantly, before they were shoved out of the way by Slate.

That was definitely the reactor alarm flashing.

Gossan wasn't going to make it out of the blast radius in time unless–

Slate flipped the frequency switch to Gossan's suit radio so fast it almost snapped off.

"GOSSAN, USE THE AUTOPILOT!"

At the sound of Slate's voice screeching in their ears, Gossan was spurred into action, just managing to find the autopilot controls.

They lock onto the furthest celestial body, and smash the button, jumping out the hatch and engaging their jetpack with a speed they hadn't known possible, watching as the autopilot took the ticking time bomb of a ship further away from them until–

The ship explodes, several pieces flying off into space in all different directions, and Gossan raises their arm instinctively to shield their face from any straggling parts. Thankfully none seem to pelt them as they reorient themself towards where they'd last saw Feldspar.

"Gossan, do you copy?!" Hornfels seemed to have wrestled control of the mic back from Slate, and had taken over again on ground control.

"I copy, Hornfels! Approaching on Feldspar's position now!"

"Good, they still haven't stirred, so you might have to do all the heavylifting on this one!" Hornfels tries to joke, nervously. They were already doing the calculations in their head, and they didn't want to admit that there was a high chance the fuel and oxygen Gossan had on hand wouldn't last the distance between them and Timber Hearth.

Gossan smiles a little despite themself, "Me picking up Feldspar's slack? What's new, Hornfels?"

They fall back into a tense silence as they approach on Feldspar's limp form, hooking an arm around them and trying to stabilize both of theirs velocity.

"I made it to Feldspar, Hornfels!" Gossan reports, giving Feldspar a visual inspection. The side of their face was bleeding sluggishly, and they looked pained even in their unconsciousness. But it looked like their ship had managed to take the brunt of the damage, as their helmet was still intact, and they could only find minor suit tears along Feldspar's frame, where glass and wood had embedded themselves.

Gossan breathes a sigh of relief, "Somehow their visor stayed intact, but they're definitely out cold and I think I'll need to repair some suit punctures!" They inform, grabbing the suit repair tape from their pockets.

"Thank stars, Gossan that's great! Could you get a look at the oxygen tank on their back when you're done, what's it say?"

Gossan finishes removing some glass and wrapping the tape around some punctures along Feldspar's leg, and orbits around their friend, making one last inspection, before turning to the tank on their friend's back. They frown at the display. "Only four minutes, Hornfels..."

There's an audible intake of air on the otherside. Four minutes of air between there and Timber Hearth would run an incredible risk of running out before they even made it into its orbit.

Gossan looks at Feldspar's face, pained and lifeless, and makes an executive decision they know Feldspar is never going to let them hear the end of.

"Hornfels, I'm gonna swap our oxygen supplies, I can't risk Feldspar running out of oxygen before we make it back!"

"But, Gossan...!" Hornfels swallows the rest of their protest, knowing exactly why Gossan is making that choice.

Feldspar was a foolhardy explorer, an incredible astronaut–and just about the sickest hatchling as a child. Their lungs were weaker than everyone else's, and they'd spent so much time in their youth bedridden from their lungs' refusal to work properly.

But that same sick little hatchling had always dreamed of going to the stars, and well, who were they to stop them?

"...Okay. Be careful, Gossan!"

There's a breathless moment as Gossan detaches the hose from their suit and oxygen supply first, swapping it out for the one connected to Feldspar's suit, before scrambling to take Feldspar's oxygen tank off their back and attaching their hose to it instead.

There's a gasp as air fills their lungs again, and Gossan gives a shaky, "I'm g-good," in response to Hornfels query of "Is everything alright?"

Hornfels and Gossan let out twin sighs of relief as Gossan hooks an arm under Feldspar's shoulder and around their waist.

"Alright I'm heading towards the Attlerock, I'm going to try to re-enter Timber Hearth's orbit from there!"

"Ok, but hurry back, Gossan. I think even Slate was holding their breath back there for a moment."

There's an indignant "Hey!" in the background, and Gossan smiles a little once more, "Things must look pretty dire if even Slate's worried, huh?" They remark.

"As if! The only thing I'm worried about is that I won't be able to properly chew the two of you out for this when you get back if Feldspar's not awake!"

Gossan smirks, as the body of the Attlerock slowly approaches, "Well, maybe if you made the jetpacks easier to maneuver with only one free hand you'd have a better chance, Slate."

"Hey, you were the one who wanted 8 axes of movement rather than four! How do you think I managed to implement the other four? But... your suggestion is noted." And Gossan can almost see the abashed look on Slate's face, as they realize they're basically admitting they're worried.

Hornfels continues to track the pair's flight with worry, the timer in their head ticking down far too fast in comparison to their slowed speed. Feldspar was slowing Gossan down too much...!

"Slate, I don't think they're going to make it in time, they're not moving fast enough!" Hornfels whispered urgently, and if Gossan heard it they didn't comment.

Slate's eyes widen at this, voice caught in their throat as they search for a response. What could they even say? What could they even do? The two of them weren't pilots and Slate didn't have any other tech to help them, not after Gossan flew off in their only remaining protot–

Wait, maybe not their only remaining prototype...

Sure they could go get it from their workshop but-!

Slate is NOT a pilot. Their domain was rocket science-ing, not rocket piloting.

"Gossan only has two minutes of oxygen left, they're not gonna make it to the Attlerock before that runs out, Slate!" Hornfels' grip on the telescope was so tight the metal was beginning to creak.

Ohh, Slate was so killing those two when they got back!

"Keep talking to them! We need to keep Gossan focused!" Slate directs, startling Hornfels when they grab a helmet off the table.

"Slate, where are you–?!" What did Slate need with the improved pilot helmet they had both been working on?

"Keep talking!" Slate reiterates as they run out, putting the helmet on their head.

Gossan heard the one minute warning on their oxygen go off, and swallowed anxiously. The Attlerock was still a ways away, and no matter how they shifted Feldspar they couldn't seem to make this thing go any faster.

The air was already starting to feel thinner, their vision starting to darken around the edges.

"Gossan, stay focused! You're almost there!" Hornfels pleaded, but it was beginning to sound so distant.

They had been moving with such urgency, but now they floated gently as they approached the Attlerock, getting too lightheaded to keep their facts straight.

They finally manage to enter the orbit of the Attlerock, and land none too gracefully on the barren surface.

They need to stand up, need to drag their friend to- to...

Where were they going?

They couldn't remember, but they needed to. They needed to keep moving, needed to remember what they were doing before they...

Before what?

And actually why did they need to keep moving? They'd already made it to solid ground. That had been the goal, hadn't it?

They could relax now, surely, they think, sitting down heavily, pulling their friend onto their lap.

A nap couldn't hurt.

Their eyes slip closed, arm locked around their companion and they start to drift off.

But there's this annoying buzzing sound, like a fly zipping around their ears, and they blearily blink them back open in annoyance. Why were there flies in space?

Well if they focused, it sounded more like a crackling, like a fire or a radio maybe.

They get the vague sense that that might be important, so they try to make out the sounds better. It's slow going, but they can definitely recognize someone shouting now. Kinda strange though, it almost sounded like–

"–GOSSAN, SO HELP ME STARS, IF YOU TOOK MY LATEST PROTOTYPE AND BLEW IT UP IN SPACE JUST TO DIE ON THE ATTLEROCK I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF!"

With no small amount of effort, Gossan stands, dragging Feldspar up with them, barely managing to loop an arm around their waist. The world is spinning, and they can hardly keep their eyes open.

With one final jump they press down on the accelerator just managing to clear the Attlerock's orbit, Feldspar in tow.

They feel more than they see that they're floating inbetween the Attlerock and Timber Hearth's orbits, and using their last moments of lucidity, they angle themself and Feldspar towards Timber Hearth, before pressing on the control stick one last time, curling Feldspar closer into them.

They don't even see if they made it into orbit before the world fades away below them.

With a burst of water, Slate's feet leave the ground just as Hornfels screams that they're both going to crash and die on impact.

Slate isn't a pilot–and they pray their feet never have to leave the ground again after this–but with nothing but a helmet and their prototype jetpack on they use the initial burst from the geyser to launch towards the rapidly descending streak across the sky.

They jerk and veer all over the place, as the handling is much much looser on their prototype, and Slate thinks that they're either going to be flattened into a fishcake by the end of this or save their friends, and quite possibly both, as they bear down on them, but there's no time to think about it only do–!

Slate spreads their arms wide and braces for impact, intercepting the pair just moments before they'd have connected with the ground.

All three of them go sailing another 40 feet as they crash, eventually tumbling to a halt just at the edge of a patch of forest.

It takes a few minutes for Slate to open their eyes against the ringing in their ears, and everything hurts, but they're intact and back on solid ground in one piece, which hopefully means–

They stand up so fast they get dizzy, stumbling to where Gossan and Feldspar lay a few feet away.

"...SSAN, FELDSPAR, SLATE DOES ANYONE COPY?! ARE YOU GUYS STILL ALIVE?!" Slate winces at the sound of Hornfels shouting over the comms in utter hysteria, rubbing at their head before they respond.

"Hornfels, it's me, I'm with Gossan and Feldspar, we crash landed some...some direction I can't really tell right now from the village... I haven't checked on them yet, they might need medical attention!"

"Slate?! Ohh... Oh.. Thank stars...THANK YOU STARS!" And Slate thinks they hear sobbing on the other end before Hornfels finishes, "I-I'll start heading your way with assistance!"

With that sorted, Slate switches the helmet off, dropping onto their knees next to Feldspar and Gossan's prone forms.

Slate snatches their helmets off, listening as the suits depressurize, shaking them both vigorously by the shoulders. "Feldspar, Gossan, wake up!"

Surprisingly, it's Feldspar who stirs first, groaning loudly, eyes blinking opening slowly one pair at a time. Pupils are different sizes, Slate notes, so yep that's definitely a concussion, but–

"Feldspar, you're alive!" Slate launches into a hug just as they sit up, before Feldspar can even make sense of what's what or who's who.

"Whu...haah?" Feldspar mumbles incoherently, but Slate just hugs them tighter, like they might disappear if they let go.

Eventually Slate thinks better of it, removing themself from Feldspar and clearing their throat, just as the sounds of Gossan stirring reaches their ears.

"Gossan!" Slate turns back to them now, shaking them a little, "Y-you did it! Wake up!"

Gossan makes a noise of protest against the movements, but eventually they blink their eyes open, sitting up straight, rubbing at their face. "Slate?" Gossan asks, confused, before they remember–

"FELDSPAR?!" they shout, and upon seeing their friend sitting up, launches into a hug of their own.

Feldspar grunts at the impact, but manages to brace themself this time, looking a little more alert now even as they fumble their words. "'M sorry, Gossan..."

Gossan doesn't respond, sniffling loudly into their shoulder, and Feldspar knows they're going to be in worse trouble than they thought after this.

"Oh gee, we're so sorry, Slate for getting your only remaining ships wrecked, including your super cool new experimental ship, and also thank you for saving us from our own stupid deaths, can you ever find it in your heart to forgive us?" Slate snarks, when they've decided the pair has had enough time together.

"Slate?" Feldspar asks, as if only noticing them for the first time now, "What's with the get-up?"

Feldspar and Gossan both seem to notice it at the same time, gasping in shock.

Slate removes the helmet, striding over to them and bending down to angrily push an accusatory finger in their chest, "Well after you wrecked your ship again, Gossan went and took MY, as in I-haven't-even-finished-building-this-one-yet-so-it-was-still-mine, ship into space to save you from becoming a floating corpse! But oh wait, that's kind of hard to do when YOU BOTH NO LONGER HAVE A SHIP, so of course I had to do the one thing I never EVER want to have to do again, to keep you guys from becoming fish paste!"

"Slate, did you–"

"YOU FLEW?!"

Slate slips the prototype jetpack off their shoulders, legs trembling as the adrenaline leaks out, before their legs drop out from under them entirely, Gossan just barely managing to catch them by the shoulders. Slate leans heavily into the touch now, too tired to put up a facade. "And if you ever make me do it again, I'm grounding you for life." They mumble into Gossan's shoulder.

Gossan yelps as Slate suddenly goes limp against them, exchanging an incredulous glance with Feldspar.

"Poor guy must've crashed," Feldspar says, "You know how much they hate space flight."

There's a beat of silence, before Feldspar and Gossan burst out into laughter at the absurdity of it all.

They'd actually survived...

Feldspar's laughter tapers off with a sharp inhale, "Stars, I'm actually getting lightheaded again." They say, hand rising to clutch the side of their head that wasn't sticky with blood with a grimace.

"Let's just wait for Hornfels to show up." Gossan agrees, patting the grass next to them as they shift Slate to be draped more comfortably across their lap.

Feldspar slots into place at their side, laying down in the grass.

Seems no one would be flying for awhile... they'd really have to make it up to Slate for this one. Hell, Gossan and Hornfels too.

But as Gossan's hand wraps around theirs, giving it a comforting squeeze, Feldspar thinks maybe it's okay they'll all be grounded for a little while.

#outer wilds #outer wilds ventures #fanfic #my writing #feldspar #gossan #slate #hornfels

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