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therealflickerman · 18 days

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Split Lips (tasm!peter parker x reader)

Part two

series summary: Its simple hating peter parker, the cocky asshole who has made it his mission to one up you every chance he gets. In the same vein, its simple loving spiderman, the sweet masked vigilante who has made it his mission to ensure your safety. How simple will it be when the two worlds meet.

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chapter summary: You never want Peter Parker around, but you find he tents to show up whenever you need him most.

word count: 4.9k

chapter contents: reader is intended to be fem! , language, a little banter and a little fluff, reader is anxious and a mess, idk anything about american diner culture, these two r awkward idiots that don’t know how to be soft

note: poor pete just wants to be your friend, and poor reader is a disaster girl. I had so much fun writing this chapter I hope yall enjoy it!, thank u charlie for editing

masterlist

series masterlist

chapter one / chapter two / chapter three (ongoing!)

Your earphones carry music to your eardrums, blaring at the highest volume possible, it's a feeble attempt to drown out your thoughts and you’re not quite sure it’s working. It crosses your mind that you should probably lower the volume sparing others in the library from the distraction, however, as you find yourself re-reading the same sentence for the third time, you can’t quite find it in yourself to care.

A groan slips past your lips, the heels of your palms find the sockets of your eyes and you sit like this for a moment before dragging your hands down your face in irritation. Your biology textbook sits on the desk in front of you, the annotated page, a testament to last night's productivity, mocks you with its perfection.

You’ve been at this since Eleven a.m. and you can quite literally feel your brain melting out of your head, it’s rare you have trouble studying, actually, you would go so far as to call it a forte of yours. You blame your recent bout of sleeplessness and curse how busy your brain has been the last few nights.

Sliding your sleeve just above your watch, you check the time, it reads ‘one twenty-six p.m.’. “Shit,” you exhale, scolding yourself for letting the time slip through our hands.

You look at the testbook with disdain, promising yourself at least fifteen minutes of study before your shift at the diner begins. You flip to a new section and pray a change of scenery will kickstart your brain into surrendering a bit more work, though you feel deep down that it’s a lost cause.

A defeated sigh escapes you, your eyes lock on the start of the page and you begin to read. The chapter talks of the immune system's response to pathogens and you recall touching on the topic in class. You specifically remember that day because Peter had ‘accidently’ spilt his milk all over your notes during one of his usual attempts to irritate you, despite the way his grin curled into that of a worried frown, and the way he had jumped into action, letting out frantic apologies, you’re not so sure it truly was an accident, though maybe that's what you’d like to think.

Your brows furrow as you realise you’ve in fact lost your train of thought once again, your brain had wandered off about a thousand times already that morning, but it particularly bugs you this time as it dawns on you that you are unable to escape Peter Parker, even as you sit alone with your thoughts. For a second your throat feels tight and you think you could cry from pure frustration, though you look to the library that surrounds you, there are a mix of silently working students and businessmen, and you decide you don’t want to be the deranged woman crying into her biology textbook at one-thirty p.m. the afternoon before her test.

You opt to take a deep breath rather than the later and you reread the line, taking a note on the sentence before completing the paragraph. You turn the page and you finally feel concentration begin to build.

A yelp slips from your lips as a book drops and lands before you with a soft thud, it breaks the still silence of the library, shattering the first string of focus you had managed since last night's study session. Your gaze shoots upwards and you’re met with the same big brown eyes you’ve become accustomed to.

“Enjoying your last-minute study session?” he plops into the chair across from you carelessly.

You struggle to hear him through your loud music though you quite like it that way.

Your eyes narrow and you rip your headphones out with a swift tug. Music plays from them softly as they’re discarded on the desk. “Peter-”, you start, and wish you had the chance to finish.

“I finished studying last night but,” he slides your textbook across the table, spinning it in his direction so he can read your annotations, “it’s good to see you putting in the work,”

“Peter, I am going to kill you” In a fit of irritation, you aggressively shove the textbook back to your side of the desk, you genuinely cannot believe your luck or lack thereof.

“That's not very nice,”

“You…” you spit loudly, wincing at the volume of your voice before lowering your tone, “are not very nice.” Your hand motions to all of him and your eyes narrow further in aggravation.

He mouths a humoured ‘wow’, and leans back in the chair with an arrogant grin and a cross of his arms.

“How did you even,” you find the words, “there are like twenty libraries in Queens and you’re

sitting across from me…” your arms crossed, “uninvited” you emphasise.

He shrugs with a grin and leans over, digging through his beat-up backpack.

He silently places his things on the desk, ‘just make yourself at home’ you huff ironically with an eye roll. He laughs softly at your comment as he pulls out a small pencil case, it's dark blue and covered in Sharpie doodles, then grabs the rest of his books, piling them on top of the one he had used to startle you.

“I thought you were done with studying” you deadpan.

He hums a laugh, “you can never be done with studying" he quips sarcastically.

You let out a breath of frustration as he continued digging through his bag.

“Look Parker I really need to focus-”

“Oh I wanted to give you this,” he mumbles, cutting you off and pulling a sheet of paper from the backpack, sliding it across the desk to you.

You look down at the page, it's a photocopied version of his messy, yet readable notes.

“Your bio notes…?” you look up at him and meet his eyes, “why?” your brows furrow further though this time fueled by confusion.

He hums, opening his book, “felt like being nice” he adds and you let out a humoured scoff.

“And you just somehow knew…” you correct yourself with a clearing of your throat, “Well, thought I needed these” You watch him, a brow raised in confusion,

“I can take them back,” he grins, meeting your eyes and reaching across to snatch them from your hands. You pull away, further furrowing your brow and begin reading the notes.

“What did you do to them,” you ask, sceptically as you skim the page. His work seems genuine, in fact, the notes are far more well-versed than the half-assed sheet of scribbles you’ve been working on and you swallow the insecure feeling you’ve grown used to.

He laughs, his smile growing as his hands pull back and raise defensively with a soft ‘nothing’.

You spare him a cautious eye with a shake of your head, continuing to look through the notes.

“Hey… look at this way,” his face turns earnest as he leans in to speak, you humour him, placing the paper down and giving him your attention.

“Now you won’t fail” he nods, the mask of seriousness slipping away as he breaks into a stupid grin.

‘Asshole’ you mumble to yourself softly, a gentle smile tugs at the corners of your mouth and you shake your head.

He watches you carefully, satisfied with the faint smile that curls on your lips.

“Seriously though, how’d you know I’d be here?” your focus turns back to the notes with the raise of an eyebrow and the linger of a smile.

He shrugs, leaning back in his chair, “remember that one time in English,” he says in an attempt to jog your memory, his hand finds the textbook in front of him and he fidgets with the pages, “we were fighting about the best libraries,” you’re sure he’s right because the two of you fight about everything, “you said this one was your favourite, specifically this area because you like to look into the garden”

He’s right, you like to look out of the giant glass windows and watch people sitting in the library's garden, studying with their friends.

“And what, you wrote all that down in your journal?” you joke, watching as he laughs.

He hums nodding his head with a, ‘Yeah, wrote it all down in my personal diary’.

“No um,” he breathes a laugh, “I just have a good memory,” his eyes flick to meet yours, you exhale a sceptical hum, nodding your head in response.

“How else do you think I beat you in all those exams,” he smirks watching the grin tug at your lips,

“What, like the one on friday?” you mock.

“No like the one tomorrow” he retorts.

This pulls a laugh from your lips, you roll your eyes with a shake of your head.

You hum as the laughter dies down, “you might’ve got me there” you say softly, letting up the teasing and your eyes leave his, suddenly very interested in your textbook. Unconsciously your lip slips between your teeth and Peter notices.

“Do you… want help studying?” he offers awkwardly, it’s unusual for him and your eyes flick up, sending a sceptical look.

You’re met with a genuine smile.

You beckon him towards you with furrowed brows, he leans forward, accepting your hand against his forehead, with a roll of his eyes and a sweet laugh.

“No fever,” you hum, “but you’re just not acting like yourself,” you mumble in sarcastic dismay and your hand pulls from his forehead, sitting back in your chair, you turn your focus back to your textbook.

"You're a regular comedian," he remarks dryly, a humoured smile never leaves his lips.

Your eyes keep on the page in front of you, “so I’ve been told” your voice drips with irony, pulling a laugh from Peter.

“So…” his words fade though you know what he’s asking, he bites the inside of his cheek watching you.

Your eyes drift to your watch before meeting his, they’re already staring at you.

“I truly, truly would love to you” you deadpan with a nod, “I would, but luckily for me, I have work in about ten minutes and my boss will wring my neck if I’m late” You give a wry smile, collecting your things.

A stupid grin stays curled on his lips, ‘yeah yeah’ he shoos you off with a roll of his eyes.

You’re satisfied with his reaction and push your chair into the desk.

“Thanks for the notes!” you tease, waving them in his direction as you head for the door.

______________________________________________________________

As dusk settles outside, the diner is left lit by the dingy light bulbs that hang overhead. Your eyes hurt from their flickering and you blink tightly with a shake of the head in an attempt at dulling the pain.

Balancing a coffee cup in each hand and a slice of hot apple pie on your left wrist, you tread cautiously, one foot after another, approaching an older couple on the far right of the diner. The heat from the porcelain kisses the tips of your fingers, both cups filled to the brim with boiling hot coffee, your eyes trace the black liquid, watching as it sways with each step you take.

“Here you are,” you give a sweet smile to the older couple, placing their coffees down and hiding a wince as your raw fingers place the hot plate of apple pie between the two of them. The wife thanks you sweetly with a smile and you ask if there's anything else you can help them with, to which they politely decline.

You offer a smile before turning on your heels and heading back to the kitchen, pushing open the swinging doors softly and slipping inside. You quite narrowly dodge a kitchen hand who’s balancing a towering stack of porcelain dinner plates, frantically apologising, you offer to help out but she swiftly brushes you off, rushing in another direction before you can finish your sentence.

You slip to a quiet corner of the kitchen, avoiding the preparation benches and bury your face in your hands for just a moment, an exhale of frustration slips from your lips.

“Hello!” Your manager's voice is grating as he calls your name, your hands drop from your face and you quickly turn to meet him, instead you’re met with clicking fingers inches away from you eyes, you recoil at his obnoxiousness with a flinch. “You’ve still got twenty minutes on the clock kid, get out there” his voice is raised over the sounds of the kitchen, he points to the kitchen doors and you send him a sheepish smile, ‘sorry’ rolls off your tongue but you’re not sure he hears, let alone cares for your apologies. Your expression drops to that of disgust as he passes by, heading to grab something from the freezers, and you throw the finger in his direction.

You push through heavy kitchen doors, and you notice the back of a man's head sitting in your section of the diner. Rushing to the booth, your eyes flick to your watch quickly and you make a mental note that you have around fifteen minutes left.

Your hand feels around your apron for your small notebook and pen and your eyes flick down to assist, “Hello welcome to Uncle Bills,” you find it and flip it open giving the man your name, “I’ll be your server today,” you plaster the usual cheesy smile on your face and look up to meet the eyes of the man you’re serving.

“What a surprise seeing you here”

“Parker…” your eyes narrow and you try to find the words, “Do you not have a job or like, anyone else to bug?” you genuinely wonder how it’s possible to see someone that you actively avoid twice in a day.

“That's not a very nice way to talk to customers” he quips, tilting his head to the side.

“Seriously are you stalking me or something,”

“What you didn’t know about that journal of mine?” he grins up at you, “the one with all that info about your favourite libraries” he laughs with a shrug, and mumbles a ‘thought you knew’.

You roll your eyes with a cross of your arms and turn to clean the table of an old trucker who had finished his burger.

“Wait, I’m sorry,” he laughs out, “I promise. I didn’t know you worked here,” his face is sincere though that stupid grin remains.

You raise your brows at him and a beat passes.

“I just want a coffee,” he smiles sweetly.

“Okay” you exhale a sigh, “how do you like it”

“Just black,” he answers, “so um… when do you get off?”.

“In like ten minutes thank god, why?” you question writing in your notepad.

“Sugar?” you ask before he can answer and he shakes his head with a, ‘no thanks’

“Well, I just thought, maybe I could walk you home”, he offers with a hint of uncertainty

“What, is my address missing from your journal?” you joke, putting your notepad back into your apron.

“You’re just on fire today aren’t you” he teases.

“Aren’t I always,” you give him a sarcastic grin.

Before turning to get his coffee you pause a moment, meeting his eyes with a genuine smile, “Look Parker… thank you, for the offer but I’m… I’m just exhausted, maybe another time”, you nod and your teeth catch your lip picking at the skin as he responds.

He nods softly, “Yeah, for sure”.

You offer a pressed smile before turning to brew his coffee

You return just a moment later, lowering the near overflowing cup ever so slowly ensuring none of it spills.

“There you go,” you lean in slightly, “I found you our biggest mug, absolutely free of charge” you whisper with a wink, sending a sweet smile.

“My hero” he murmurs sarcastically, matching your low tone with a grin.

You let out a hum and stand up straight brushing your hands down your apron, “well I’m just about off” You smile and there's an awkward beat of silence.

“Hey you keep those notes I gave you safe, I heard they’re worth a lot” he teases, looking up at you.

“Hmm, I don't recall any important notes, I did throw away a sheet of paper with unreadable chicken scratch on it though”

He offers an eye-roll laced with amusement, wishing you a good night.

You return the sentiment with a sweet grin.

______________________________________________________________

Awkwardly, your hands fumble behind your back, untying your firmly tied apron. You grab your tips from the pocket and stuff them in your jean pocket. With care, you fold the apron neatly and slide it into the pigeon-hole designated with your name, swapping it with your jacket which you slip on.

The image of Peter's big brown eyes flash in your mind and you feel the all-too-familiar pang of guilt rising in your throat. Your teeth snag your lips as you frown slightly and for a moment you think you should have accepted his offer to walk you home.

You swing your backpack over your shoulder, taking a second to think, and release it’s likely you’ll catch him on your way out, you swallow your nerves and decide you’ll take him up on his offer.

You let your manager know you’re leaving and push through the kitchen swinging doors, expecting to see Peter still sitting at the booth.

Instead, you’re met with a half-drunken cup of coffee and a five-dollar tip. Your lips curl into a smile and you roll your eyes, ‘always the gentlemen’ you think to yourself as you pocket the money.

______________________________________________________________

The soles of your shoes tap against the floor of the subway, and you hum along to your music, resting the back of your head against the cool of the glass. The subway is quiet at this time of night having just missed rush hour and you’re more than grateful for the peace. The voice of the announcement system warns you that your step is the next, you hear it quietly through your music, opening your resting eyes.

You step onto the quiet platform, thankful for the more peaceful trip this time around. You walk slowly through quiet backstreets taking your time and mindlessly listening to your music, the volume is gentle, wary of the softly throbbing headache that you’ve acquired from the day. You hum along softly, and your teeth sink into your lip, occupying themselves.

“I thought we weren’t doing that anymore” a familiar voice calls out and a flash of red drops down next to you.

You jump slightly, turning to look at the man. “And I thought we weren’t scaring young women at night” You let out a breath attempting to control your heart rate, he laughs with an apology and follows your footsteps, walking by your side.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again?” you utter, though it comes out as a question.

He hums a laugh, “I just couldn’t stay away” he teases sarcastically.

“Seems to be the way a lot of people feel” you mumble with a grin.

“Elaborate”

“I’m fairly sure I have a highly dedicated stalker” you nod playfully.

He chuckles, “And what makes you think that”.

“You know that kid I was talking about, Peter?” you ask and Spiderman nods along, “well, he first found me at my favourite library and then walked into my job four hours later to order a coffee”.

“Sounds like we have a high-profile case on our hands,” he jokes and it pulls a small laugh from your lips with an eye roll.

“You know you sound a lot like him” you say matter-of-factly.

“You don’t know what I sound like” he retorts rather quickly.

“No I mean,” you think for a moment, “you’re both annoyingly witty”.

“I’ll take that as a compliment” he jokes with a satisfied nod.

“How does the um,” you raise your hand to your lips, “the voice thing, how does it work” you question with a small tilt of your head.

“It’s just a vocal converter” he nods.

“Like Ghostface in Scream,” you add and he nods.

“And the um,” your hand hovers over your wrist, and you contort your hand into his signature pose.

“Oh, here look” he stops the both of you and flips his wrist, a white web shoots onto the brick wall behind you.

“Try it,” he mumbles, your hand hovers over his wrist and he gives you a soft nod, encouraging you to press down on the sensor. You press the heel of his hand and a web shoots past you, sticking to the wall in one swift motion. Your mouth forms an ‘O’ as you mumble a soft, ‘woah’,

Spiderman watches you, a soft smile sits behind his mask. “So do you, like, have any actual powers?” you ask with a furrowed brow, “besides being a genius” you add and the irony draws a small laugh from the boy.

He hums a soft ‘hmh’, he shakes the web from the shooter and walks past you. You stand with crossed arms and watch as he climbs the walls, his hands and feet sticking to the vertical bricks. “So you can do that without the suit?” you call up at him and he gives a soft nod, releasing the wall and gracefully falling from the height.

“What else can you do?” you ask in awe, you had never particularly been a fan of Spiderman, you’d watched the news clips, and defended him when your mum questioned if his presence was ethical, though you’d never questioned, nor ever thought of, the logistics of his ‘powers’.

He lets out a laugh, “I have um, enhanced strength, agility, stamina, all that” he nods, “Oh and um, a tingle?” it comes out as a question and he tilts his head slightly.

“I do not want to hear about your tingle dude” you laugh with a disgusted face, he elbows you gently, with a, ‘Not like that you weirdo’. “No it’s like, I can tell when there’s danger,” he attempts to explain, “like, I know to duck before something hits my head”.

You shove your hand in your pocket, pulling out a scrunched-up receipt and throw it towards his head. His hand raises swiftly, catching the ball of paper, “really?” he questions before unravelling it, with a serious face and a hum he reads, “Hemorrhoid cream?”.

Your brows furrow and you quickly grab the receipt to see a grocery list of, ‘gum, Coke Zero and a KitKat’, you roll your eyes with a ‘ha ha, very funny’.

“So,” he looks down at you and the two of you make eye contact, “tell me about your day,” he mumbles as the two of you continue your stroll, you accept his offer once again.

“It was pretty boring… I studied for like god knows how long and got nowhere,” you grumble and Spiderman listens attentively. “Then, just as I was on a roll Parker interrupted me… but he gave me his notes so,” you give a pressed smile, “never will I ever tell him how much it helped me out but he is a lifesaver.” you nod.

Spiderman's lips curl into a wide grin behind the mask and he lets out a hum in response, ” Anyway my boss is an asshole,” you add with a, ‘but what's new’.

“What’d he do today?” he questions and watches as your eyes roll at the thought of your manager. He’s so intensely focused on you and for the first time since knowing you he’s able to take in the small imperfections on your face, he observes the slope of your nose and the way your mouth moves as you speak, and suddenly he’s all the more grateful for the guise of his mask then he’s ever been before.

“He’s just an asshole you know?” you ramble, eyes locked on the floor in front of you as your brain trails back to your manager's fingers in your face. “I mean he clicked in my face as if I’m like some dog,” you let out an angry huff, “seriously, get your dirty ass fingernails out of my face dude, and then he yelled in my face!” you take in a deep breath before releasing it with the rest of your frustration.

Spiderman frowns slightly behind the mask with a shake of his head, “you want me to web him up?” he attempts and grins as your lips curl into a smile. “That would be great actually,” you giggle.

There's a beat of silence before you start up again, “and, I don't know, I feel guilty, I think Peter keeps trying to hangout with me, I mean I refused him like twice today and I don't know…” you trail off for a moment, “It’s not like I hate him, I mean he’s annoying, but so am I, and… well I actually really like talking to him, I just,” you look up at Spiderman, “I’m not blabbing on too much?”.

His masked face shakes slightly with a soft laugh and a, ‘You’re good.’

“I just don’t think I’m that great at being friends with people,” you exhale a sigh.

“Well we’re friends” he adds and the Peter behind the mask feels a pang of guilt.

“Yeah, I guess,” you mumble.

“What you don’t think we’re friends” he quips, nudging you softly and you hum a laugh.

“Well this is our second time talking…” you trail off and look up at him, sending a stupid grin.

“That's okay… we just… move fast,” he mumbles and you hum in agreement with a nod, ‘really fast,’ you add and he laughs with an, ‘Exactly’.

“No… you’re right,” and you send him a genuine smile, “Thanks Spidey, for listening”.

“Spidey huh?” he asks teasingly. “Well I’m not going to say Spiderman every time we talk” you ask with a grin, “I bet you’re not even a man,” you add teasingly.

“What makes you say that,” he asks defensively.

“Well first of all that was a little defensive,” you giggle, “and I don’t know,” you shrug, “I’m a teenager, I go to school with teenagers, I know how they act,” you mumble matter-of-factly with a grin.

“Also I would be a little worried if a forty-year-old man actively sought out walking me home at night,” you add

“Proud of your detective work are you?” he teases and you give a cocky nod.

“Well I can’t actually tell you my age-”, he begins,

“Oh come on,” you grin, cutting him off.

“Okay, you wanna know?” he asks, his tone is earnest and you respond with an eager nod. He pauses and leans in slightly, and you follow his action,

“I’m actually eighty,” he says and a giggle slips from his lips. You grin with an eye roll and hit his arm playfully, he lets out a joking, ‘ow’.

“I think you should have a little more respect for senior citizens,” he laughs following as you continue your route home,

“I have plenty of respect for real senior citizens,” you mumble.

As the two of you reach your apartment block you let out a huff of pain. “I’m going to rip my feet off,” you groan, wiggling your toes in your shoe.

“Not so sure that will do any good,” he quips and you grin.

“What kind of apartment building doesn’t hand an elevator,” you moan,

“Why don’t I swing you to your fire escape,” he offers sweetly, and you send him a smile, “really?” you ask.

He hums a, ‘mhm’, and your smile curls wider, before dropping ever so slightly, “my mum… she’ll wonder why I didn't come through the front door,” and Spidey gives a shrug.

“Maybe she just didn’t notice,” he offers, winking behind the mask before he remembers that you can’t see his face. “Yeah… why not,” you shrug dismissively with a smile.

He wraps a tight arm around your waist, ‘which is yours?’ he asks and you point to the one lit up with a string of fairy lights with a sheepish smile, he lets out a small laugh finding your attempt at decoration sweet.

“You’re going to need to hold onto me okay,” he mumbles and you swallow a pang of nerves with a nod of your head before wrapping your arms tightly around his neck.

He shoots a web, swinging you both upwards and you let out a small yelp at the feeling of the floor disappearing beneath your shoes. Your arms tighten around him and your eyes slam shut at the strange feeling of freefalling for short bursts of moments.

You feel his chuckle rise with a chuckle as you cling to him tightly. Wind rushes past your ears and through your hair before you feel your feet land on the slightly shaky fire escape, it's over before it begins and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Holy shit that is terrifying,” you mumble with big eyes, a laugh escapes your lips and you meet his gaze.

“Next time you should try opening your eyes,” he teases and you mumble a ‘next time?’ with the raise of a brow. He nods with a laugh, “I’ll take you,” he says and his voice is sweet.

You breathe out an, ‘okay’ with a sure nod of your head. “You should see how beautiful the city is at night,” he mumbles softly and you feel a grin of admiration grow on your face.

“I’ll look forward to it,” you smile and you wish each other a goodnight before he swings off.

TAGLIST

@chaoticcoffeequeen

#tasm!peter x reader #peter parker x reader #andrew!peter x reader #i wrote this instead of sleeping #spiderman #spiderman x reader #fem!reader #tasm peter parker #the amazing spiderman #friends to lovers #angst with a happy ending #hurt comfort #academic rivals #Split Lips series

83 notes · View notes

paganminiskirt · 2 years

Note

It may be just me, but people are weirdly harsh about their dislike of fc6 to the point where they cuss out anyone who asks them about it.

With the Far Cry games, I’ve found it helps to give the public opinion some extra time to form, but as things stand now I’d be willing to believe it’s not just you.

Far Cry 6, judged as a singular entity, is hardly a bad game. It sold well enough to be credited for one of Ubisoft’s best financial years ever, and it has most of the drawing points of a successful Far Cry property but on a much broader scale, with little more than the usual drawbacks installments in this franchise have.

If you want my opinion, I had a lot of fun with it. The scenery was lovely, the setting very intense, the characters entertaining if not exactly engaging. Even so, I found myself resenting the way they capitalized on Giancarlo Esposito’s success in their marketing only to turn around and give his character the short shrift when it came to number of appearances and quality of dialogue in the actual game. Anton is cool, his motivations are uncomfortably rational given the perspective he’s approaching from and he possesses a level of open pathos that’s always enjoyable in this series, but at the end of the day both he and his lieutenants were woefully half-baked. The people around him, especially Maria, needed more depth, and he needed more time to shine. (And they should’ve gotten rid of McKay altogether. Full stop. Like what was he even for.)

That said. Whatever Far Cry 6′s issues, it’s obviously not unplayable; note the aforementioned record sales. But at the same time, you are right, it seems like once people actually sat down and played Far Cry 6 they had a lot more vitriol to throw at it than they ever had for the last few installments.

And that vitriol, like most things Ubisoft-related, was a fairly predictable step in a long term pattern. When Far Cry 5 came out, it garnered more negative press than the previous two games combined, though it’s gotten a light redemption in recent years. (Remember what I said about giving the public opinion some extra time to form?) New Dawn’s sales numbers were absymal by any standard, it’s reviews much of the same. The Insanity DLC was well received, with reviews in the high seventies, but as the nostalgia of the old characters and the novelty of the roguelite formula wore off, that average slowly began to go down: Control’s reviews rounded out in the mid sixties, Collapse’s in the fifties. The three Rite of Passage comics were more or less ignored after Vaas left the building.

(Spoilers: it’s better that way. The first and third were little more than okay; the second was flat out subpar. Pagan Min got whitewashed, Yuma Lau was depicted as an adult wearing a full Kyrati military uniform in scenes where she was supposed to be living in China as a sixteen year old girl, and the already self-contradictory timeline of the Far Cry games grew messier by the page as Anton “leader of a functioning society that exists in conjunction with modern America” Castillo went around retelling the stories of characters who are supposed to have canonically witnessed the apocalypse. But I’ll get back to that later.)

That’s not to say that all of the backlash against Far Cry 6 has been reasonable. As you pointed out, the level of aggression people are willing to levy at anyone who does have a favorable view of Far Cry 6 is both completely uncalled for and symptomatic of one of those ravenous internet outrage machines that swarm around any game that draws sufficient ire. Part of the negativity about Far Cry 6 is, in essence, more shallow tripe than genuine criticism.

But that doesn't necessarily mean that Far Cry 6's poor reception lacks precedent. Over the past few years, the Far Cry series has started to lose it’s shine in the eyes of the public. Not because any one major installment in the series was, in and of itself, significantly worse than the others, but because the company producing this series refuses to deviate even slightly from the repetitive, masturbatory formula it’s been relying on for what’s now a decade.

If there are few parts of Far Cry 6 that are bad, there are even fewer parts that are original. This is the sixth major game in the series, and the biggest one to date, being released with a marketing campaign designed to generate as much hype as possible alongside supplementary content that revisits old games. And while that succeeded in fulfilling Ubisoft’s main objective - to make them a lot of money - the content that was actually waiting at the end of all that build up was tragically uninspired.

Anton’s character is a retread. His status as dictator is a retread. The DLCs are a retread. The fatherhood theme, the cost of war being dealt unto children theme, the nationalism theme, the animal symbolism, the jungle setting, the colonizer character, the torturer character, the hellbent-on-revenge character, the funny unconventional throwable, the drug trip mission, the crop burning mission, the casual misogynoir, the roadblocks, the vehicles and aircrafts and animal riding - hell, the scene where someone gets shot at the big bad’s opulent dinner table! All of this has been done at least once in the Far Cry games, if not two, three or four times by now.

Dani is easily the best protagonist this series has seen since Jason Brody, but like... Dani’s character is passable, but it isn’t especially good. Definitely not as good as Jason’s was, and definitely not good enough to stand out amongst other franchise’ protagonists. Even as this series serves up a rehash of a rehash - like the production company is just that confident that it will keep being satisfying time and time again - Far Cry 6 manages to meet neither the standards of it’s oh-so-similar predecessors or those of it’s competitors.

The story refuses to change, the quality of the animation has gone down. The lore is in complete and utter shambles, with each new addition answering zero questions and creating five new ones. This issue in particular makes the current timeline much more difficult to get invested in, when it’s not retroactively butchering the old ones. (Did you hear? Apparently, Mohan Ghale was raising Lakshmana Min as his own when he murdered her! No, this is not what the text of Far Cry 4 says happened, but that’s okay. The makers of Far Cry 6, who were responsible for the Control DLC, didn’t actually write Far Cry 4. Or play it. Or seem to know a lot of important stuff about it.)

I’ve noticed a phrase that’s been bandied about more and more since 6′s release: “Peak Ubisoft.” The notion that this company’s products (all of them, not just Far Cry) are reaching a breaking point in their ability to stretch across various different games with different narratives without really changing anything significant. The usage of a standardized formula for every new game means most of the old flaws are not only still present, but exaggerated to the point of new unbearableness after getting copied and recopied for years on end without any installment thinking to address them.

Far Cry 6 is a good game, it’s worth playing. But it’s also the target of a collective discontent that has been brewing since Far Cry 4 - a game which, while generally agreed upon to be great, was also noted as a bit too similar to it’s predecessor, a criticism which would later prove to be a bad omen. Ubisoft never changed, they just doubled down, and now, three games into this formula, whatever hopes may have been persisting that the company would fix this - the lore problem, the repetition problem, you name it - have dwindled enough that the community is a lot less forgiving than it was the last couple times around.

Which is discouraging to say the least. But hey, give it time. Like I said, these games often look better in hindsight. Far Cry 6 stands on it’s own two feet pretty well, and if it can do that, then there will probably come a time when it will be judged as an individual, instead of as the least attractive of a set of quadruplets. (Sextuplets? I don't know. Everyone seems to have silently agreed to ignore one and two.)

The YouTuber responsible for one of the best Far Cry 3 breakdowns to date, DJ Peach Cobbler, has made one full length review of Far Cry 6 (ignore the title.) I’d recommend it to anyone who’s interested, as well as another popular review of his where Far Cry 6 came up briefly as an example of a video game made by a company that’s suffering from stagnation. Neither video is accusatory, disparaging, or particularly brutal, which I appreciated.

#far cry 6 #anton castillo #asks #princess-sparklebutt

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