An Antwan and Nigel Adventure by whatthefoucault
Sometimes, when all seems lost, and mistakes were made, and it feels as though life has descended into a pit of endless frowny face blue screens of death, what is needed is a hard restart.
That was how Antwan Hovachelik found himself in a distressingly rustic little chalet on a picturesque lake in northern Québec, plotting his redemption arc.
Here’s the first of 22 chapters of these two, featuring feelings, nature, shenanigans, some spicy times, you know the usual. Except, of course, there’s nothing usual about it at all. You don’t even have to be super familiar with the source media to read it because I planned for this and there’s enough exposition to get you up to speed.
A storm was brewing on the horizon, but it was like no storm Nigel had seen before. This was new, and advancing at alarming speed.
When Antwan awoke from his heavy and dreamless sleep, he was struck by a strange, undefinable feeling that something had changed.
At first glance, Antwan was nothing like anyone Nigel had met in Jumanji. There was something intensely interesting about the man, about his bearing and apparent character, and Nigel hoped that perhaps they could work together.
(Thanks so much to the lovely folks who’ve been reading and commenting and sharing! Writing this has basically occupied my every waking thought since, like, September, so it’s equal parts nerve-wracking and super exciting that it’s finally being posted. I’d love to hear what you think about this little adventure so far, and do feel free to share this with anybody who you think needs more ofmd-adjacent Taika Character x Rhys Character shenanigans in their life)
So the thunderstorm must have been pretty bad, thought Antwan.
Oh dear, thought Nigel, feeling the heavy little thumps of raindrops hitting his hat. Not ideal conditions for a long walk, by any means, but it would likely pass with relative speed and they would surely be dry again by the time they reached their destination. Nothing to worry about at all.
Antwan was sure they ought to have reached their destination at least an hour ago, if his internal concept of time was anything to go by: this far into the journey, he seemed to be propelled forward on muscle memory alone, sure that his legs would ache in protest the moment he allowed himself to stop.
He would miss Antwan, curious fellow though he was, with his reckless use of rude words and dark eyes that sparkled with a strange, hyperactive brilliance, but Nigel was not about to abandon his duties as field guide just when Jumanji was in imminent danger, and Antwan had expressed more than once and in no uncertain terms that he had come here to be alone.
“Nigel?” he called out, finding no one but a startled deer, who scampered into the trees. “Nigel! What the fuck, man!”
Chapter Ten:
After breakfast, and still muddied from his morning meanderings, Nigel elected to avail himself of the opportunity to blast a few days’ worth of forest from his person, and sequestered himself in the shower.
The paint water was in the Garfield mug, he told himself as he wet his brush, swirling it in one of the little square pans until it was saturated with pigment. Do not drink from the Garfield mug, he thought.
