In the Oven
Benedict Bridgerton x Reader
Summary: She was never all that good at baking, so perhaps a bit of assistance from her husband would be a sufficient help?
Word Count: 3.9k
Rating: 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Warnings: NSFW, p in v sex, fluff and smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), breeding kink?, Benedict Bridgerton is his own warning, not terribly proofread (i’m sorry)
A/N: this is my first time writing anything... steamy, so please be gentle, I promise I’ll try to get better if I continue to write more steamy content!! I hope you like it :’)
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The sweet and intoxicating scent of sugar filled the air of My Cottage, omitting directly from the rather formidable kitchen, the newly named Mrs. Bridgerton had been working herself silly on the project before her. Two empty pie crusts—a third and rather poorly constructed one had been discarded to the side—sat across the counter, just waiting to be filled. Mrs. Bridgerton was not one to bake often, but it calmed her all the same. As a girl, she learned from her staff—at the insistence of her chef who had caught her sneaking bites from the kitchen anyhow—so she tried her hand at it every now and then, to keep it fresh in her mind and repertoire.
What better way than to make an apple pie?
Benedict Bridgerton had spent the afternoon down at the pond near their property, hoping to practice on his landscapes. It had been a sunny enough day, the weather was relatively peaceful, not a drop of rain in sight—it was the perfect time to break out his oils and give it a go.
So imagine his surprise, trailing up from the long journey back to his home, only to find his wife—oh how he loved calling her that—humming contently to herself in the kitchen, a sight he has never seen before? He was awestruck. The sun had been setting, the warm orange sky basking through the open window and draping onto her profile so beautifully—his jaw went slack, mind blank, dropping his bag of supplies right on the ground.
“Oh, Benedict!” She smiled, turning to face her husband and the source of the sudden noise. “Welcome home.”
“A warm welcome, indeed,” Benedict smiled back, his grin lighting up the room. “You look beautiful.” Her face darkened, the flush rising from her neck up to the apples of her cheeks. He loved getting a reaction like that from her, it was one of his greatest hobbies and passions.
“You only jest,” (Y/N) smiled sheepishly, waving her husband off dismissively. “I’m absolutely covered in flour and the like,” she glanced at the apron she had been sporting, “I also fear I ruined Mrs. Crabtree’s apron as well…”
“Nonsense,” Benedict scoffed, taking leisurely steps to reach his beloved, “the flour is charming.”
“You think?”
“Would I ever lie to you, my love?” Benedict smiled sweetly, his eyes soft. He glanced down at the apron she had been wearing—(Y/N) wasn’t kidding about ruining the thing, it was absolutely covered in splotches of who-knows-what. “Shame about the apron…”
“So you do think I ruined it,” (Y/N) groaned.
“I will buy Mrs. Crabtree another,” he laughed lightly, “you’ll have to discard the evidence though, my beloved.”
She laughed. “We could just launder it ourselves, could we not?”
“No,” Benedict clicked, his hand brushing a clump of sugar off of her thigh. “It is beyond saving. I reckon we tie it to a rock and toss it into the river, never to be seen again.”
“Why Benedict,” (Y/N) gasped playfully, “that is absolutely barbaric!”
“It must be done,” Benedict nodded solemnly. “Why ever are you wearing it in the first place?”
“I’m baking,” (Y/N) motioned to the workspace in front of her, “or did you see the completely out of place mess in our kitchen?”
“I’m afraid I was just focused on you,” he said, carefully swiping his finger over her nose—she had speckles of flour dusting the tip. “As I normally am, I should add.”
“You’re ever the charmer, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“Only for you, Mrs. Bridgerton,” he placed a gentle peck on her cheek. The smile that graced her lips was enough to fill Benedict up to the brim with joy—how he loved to see her smile, to make her smile. “I do have to ask, why are you baking? I have never seen you partake in it before.”
“Well,” (Y/N) said, pushing softly away from Benedict and taping her fingers against the wood counter, “it is the Crabtree’s anniversary tomorrow, and I would like to surprise them with a pie made from the trees on our grounds.”
“That is awfully kind of you, my love,” Benedict smiled again, “I’m sure they’ll love it.”
“I would hope they do,” (Y/N) laughed, “seeing as I almost got myself killed over these apples today.”
Benedict’s blood ran cold. “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh!” (Y/N) exclaimed, immediately realizing her mistake. “No, no, I was being dramatic! It was just terribly hard to pluck the apples from the tree, you see, I had to rely on a rickety chair and my poor balance to grab them.”
“If only you knew a tall man—one who would do anything you asked of him, mind you—to assist you in any and all endeavors…” Benedict sighed dramatically.
Her laughter filled the kitchen like a gentle breeze. “I did not want to ruin your afternoon, you were much too focused on your oils today.”
“If you believe that you could possibly ruin my afternoon,” Benedict turned towards her, “then you are sorely misinformed, Mrs. Bridgerton.”
“Is that so?”
Her voice was teasing and he knew it. She was playing a dangerous game and Benedict, ever the lover of games and sport, was keen to play along.
“I want nothing more than to help you,” Benedict hummed, leaning closer to her ear, “want nothing more than to please you.”
A breath caught in her throat. “If that is to be the case,” she coughed, “it would please me greatly if you could help me finish.”
“I will always help you finish, my love.”
“With the pies,” she corrected, “finish with the pies, Benedict.”
“And why ever would I do that, dearest?” Benedict grinned, brushing a finger down her cheek.
“The sooner I finish the pies,” (Y/N) said quietly, “the sooner I will be free for the evening, free to spend time with you.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” Benedict clicked, nodding lightly, “of course I’ll help you. But, do be aware that I know next to nothing about baking.”
“The job is almost done,” (Y/N) waved, “I just need assistance in filling the crust. It isn’t terribly difficult.”
“Assistance… of course.”
Slowly, he stood behind her, carefully placing his hands on her shoulders. He slid down her arms, fingers tickling her exposed skin as he trailed down to meet her own, languidly pressing his palms against the back of her hands. He meant it with the best of intentions, honestly, just wanting to assist his wife the only way he could.
“Are you to move my hands for me?” (Y/N) turned her head, trying to get a good view of Benedict’s face.
“Considering you have the talent, my darling,” he whispered in her other ear, she had guessed the wrong side, “I assumed you could show me how to do it properly.”
A shiver ran up her spine—his voice so close in her ear only making her heart race. She tried her best to compose herself, knowing full well with the way he was pressed up against her back he could feel her heart pounding.
“I cannot exactly teach you properly if I cannot use my own hands freely, darling,” (Y/N) said slyly, trying to pry his hands off of her own. “But you may watch if you feel so ill-prepared to fill and cover a pie.”
“But I’d like to help…” Benedict mumbled, replacing his now empty hands back on her shoulders. He peered over her side, watching carefully as she continued to roll the dough out. “And I know,” he leaned into her ear again, “you would graciously accept my help.”
He pressed up against her back, firmly and with purpose. She knew he would genuinely help if she asked him of it, her husband was kind enough to put his… needs aside to assist her in anything she would ask. But, there was something in the air, she thought, other than the sickeningly sweet smell of sugar of course. Something about the way her husband lovingly wrapped his arms around her own as she rolled out the dough, how he leaned over her shoulder, the faint smell of his sweat filling her senses—he had spent the entire afternoon out in the sun, after all.
If he was keen on seducing her, it was working. Something in her gut—and her intimate knowledge of how Benedict’s brain worked—knew that that was exactly what he was after. It was the same thing he had been after the minute they both awoke that morning, an insatiable man he was, that Mr. Bridgerton.
She had found that since they had wed, it was on average at least twice a day they were to find themselves tangled in the throes of passion, unable to be parted from one another for too terribly long. Benedict had shared with her—on their wedding night no less—that he had wanted to bed her since the moment they had met. Not exactly a fairytale romance, but she assured him the feeling was entirely mutual, making good on her word nearly every day since.
“Benedict,” she mewled, keen on playing along with his games, “I think they’re ready for the oven.”
“Mhm,” Benedict mumbled into her neck, his nose practically boring into her skin. With shaky hands she pinched the edges of her crust and proceeded to push her husband away with her behind, allowing free rein to place the pies in to the already broiling oven.
In the instant she shut the small oven, Benedict had found his way behind her once more, now pressing more intently against her backside—evidence of his want entirely hard to miss. “Someone’s eager.”
“I have been thinking about you all afternoon,” Benedict nearly whined, pulling his wife up straight, his eyes on hers, “I nearly spent myself into the river imagining how I had you this morning, it was entirely too much for me to handle.”
“I look a mess, Benedict,” (Y/N) said, her voice nearly a whisper. She held up her hands, which had been covered in pie filling, “I need to wash up.”
His hand gripped her wrist tightly, bringing her fingers to his lips. Gently, oh-so-gently he kissed the tip of her pointer finger, bringing the digit past his lips and sucking the sugar clean off. Benedict’s tongue swirled around lazily, insuring he cleaned every last bit off of her finger before he moved to the next one and the one after that. It was hard to keep her composure, watching her husband practically devour her hand so readily and willingly, she nearly melted into the floor.
“I don’t think,” Benedict pressed a kiss to her palm, licking a stripe across it, “you need to worry about the mess, my love.”
“No,” she sighed, “I don’t think I do.”
With a gentle tug, Benedict pulled her into his arms, his hands traveling down to her waist in a fluid motion. Like a choreographed dance, the two met in a passionate embrace with their lips clashing together in a demanding force. It was no surprise that they had gotten rather good at that, kissing and all, but nearly every time they interacted in such a way, she could literally feel her breath being sucked right out of her body, possession of the best kind.
She all put jumped onto the countertop, legs spread wide to accommodate his form between them. Benedict’s hands pushed her skirt up quickly, not a care for how the fabric may lay on the dirty counter—his only concern was to please his wife in the best way he knew how. (Y/N) didn’t even register what he had set out to do until his lips were feverishly sucking on her inner thighs.
“Benedict,” she mewled, fingers bunching her skirt up to her hip. “You’re insatiable.”
“Only for you my love,” he kissed her thigh, “only for you.”
“Couldn’t get enough from,” she gasped loudly, her free hand gripping Benedict’s shoulder, “this morning?” Somehow she managed to finish her thought—by the grace of all that is good—as he pressed his thumb rather urgently against her core, thankfully still covered with her undergarments. If she had them off at this point, she surely would’ve melted onto the floor.
His fingers latched onto the hem of her britches, successfully sliding them down her legs—all but hanging off her left ankle. “Never can have enough of you, darling,” Benedict smiled up at his wife, “and it seems… you feel the same?”
She knew her body was giving Benedict all the conformation he needed, having been nearly this aroused since he generously offered to assist with the pies, why, she was practically dripping onto the counter.
“Now, we don’t want to make another mess, do we?” Benedict teased lightly, his breath hot against her. Her hips rolled cautiously, yearning for his touch. Like a bolt of lightning, his tongue made (Y/N) jump at the contact, wasting no time for a gentle start—no—he was desperate for this, desperate for her. With precise circles, Benedict’s tongue ravished her clit, pausing his movements every now and then to give it a generous suckle.
“Fuck,” (Y/N) moaned, fingers now latching onto Benedict’s slightly sweaty curls, urging him farther into her heat. “Oh my God, Benedict.”
“My my,” Benedict clicked as he licked his lips, “what a dirty mouth my wife has, using such language.”
“I’m rather,” she hissed, feeling a slender finger press into her as he continued his attack on her clit, “well read, I would like to think.”
Benedict hummed contently, agreeing so graciously with her. His finger curled just right, tickling the spot she desperately hoped he would reach, gasping for air when he finally found it. With that enthusiastic response, it egged Benedict on to add another finger, continuing the semi-rapid pace he had set.
Her head shot back in pleasure, he was so good at that. It was a similar scenario as she found herself in this morning, though, instead of the sticky counter of their kitchen, she was writhing in their rather plush bed with her husband pinning her hips down best he could. He swore up and down that he loved nothing more than to pleasure his wife like this, to be eating her in such a way as if his life depended on it. With how often he was found between her thighs on a given basis, she would have to agree wholeheartedly. But because she was so focused on the memories of the morning, she hardly registered her husband removing himself from her in the present.
“Darling,” Benedict rose from the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “as much as I would love to continue...” His gaze dropped between the two of them, glancing ever-so-slightly at the bulge that had been sticking out of his trousers.
She pulled him in by his shirt, pressing her lips feverishly against his own. “Don’t want to wait,” she said between breaths, “need you now.”
“Patient as a saint,” Benedict sang, dropping his trousers completely, he had forgone any sort of undergarments. (Y/N) smirked at the sight, his cock standing at full attention. “Ah, it was terribly too hot today, I couldn’t be bothered with anything more than my trousers.”
“No?” She teased, pressing another kiss onto him.
“No,” he agreed, melting back into the kiss. He made quick work to readjust her skirts and apron, an easier access of sorts. Benedict was sure they looked like quite a sight, him with his pants around his ankles, his wife with her skirts and apron hiked up and her essence dripping onto the counter, but he couldn’t find himself to care, not even for a moment.
He pressed himself into her slowly, the fervor from before long forgotten. As much as he swore up and down that eating his wife out was his most absolute favorite thing about the marital experience, the feeling of sheathing himself into her tight cunt was one unlike any other. On their wedding night, he could’ve sworn he saw stars, nearly spilling into her within the first few strokes. Thankfully—with much practice and patience—he was able to last much, much longer for her, to pleasure her in the best way.
She wriggled her hips, silently begging Benedict to move—to do something, anything. What sort of a husband would he be if he left her waiting?
He started slowly, of course, pressing in fully and nearly pulling himself out all of the way—an airy moan escaped (Y/N)’s lips. Benedict tried to keep the pace as leisurely as he could, opting to enjoy and savor the feeling of his beloved in this moment, but a nagging thought procured in his mind—the Crabtree’s could enter at any moment, the sweet aroma was too intoxicating to ignore, they’d expect to find the baked treats but instead find the Bridgertons absolutely fucking like rabbits on the counter top.
It wouldn’t be the first time they had gotten caught, nor would it be the last. Benedict had quite the penchant for taking his beloved wherever and whenever he quite pleased—also whenever she pleased, of course, he could never say no to her.
The idea of getting caught spurred Benedict on, enticing him to go faster—not to hurry the precious moment before someone saw, but because it turned him on so terribly, to have someone see just how much he loved his wife.
“Benedict,” (Y/N) mewled, her arms circling around his neck, holding onto him as if her life depended on it. The tops of her breasts were moving with every thrust of his hips, confined to the fabric of her bodice, they had very little elsewhere to go.
“Look at you, love,” he ground out, “taking me so well.”
“Fuck me, Benedict,” her legs wrapped around his hips, ankles locking quickly, “just like that.”
He thrust into her harder, the speed was erratic. Benedict knew he was close, he had been on the precipice of cumming since he dove his tongue into her folds, the intoxicating nectar nearly tipping him over the edge. He needed to last, to insure (Y/N) would get her satisfaction before he did—in an ideal world, of course—his hand naturally gravitated to her swollen clit, fingers making quick and practiced circles on the bud.
“I-I’m close, Benedict,” she moaned, pushing her forehead against his chest. She felt it, the tightening of her core, fluttering with each thrust of his cock, threatening to tip right over the edge. It almost became too much to bear.
“Me too, my love,” he said helplessly, “I need you to unhook me or I’ll—”
“No.”
“No?”
“I want you to finish inside me, Benedict,” she pulled her head up, to meet her eyes with his own, “I need you to cum inside me.”
Before he could even take a breath to argue, her legs pulled him in tighter—he couldn’t escape even if he wanted to, and he simply didn’t want to. She knew the implications of her ask of him and with the determined look in her eyes, he reckoned that she had no hesitation in the want.
“You want me to cum inside you? Fill you up to the brim,” his hips slammed against hers, “until you can’t take any more?”
“Yes,” she moaned, “please, Benedict, please fill me.”
His fingers circled her clit faster, the motions becoming erratic along with his thrusts—he was almost there, so painfully close to his release and—
“Cum inside me, Benedict.”
That was all he needed to come undone. With a few final thrusts, he spilled himself into her, the warmth filling her entirely. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before—this being the first time he had ever finished inside—the simple act alone pushed her over the edge, nearly screaming his name as she came.
Slowly, oh-so-slowly he stopped his motions, stilling in her completely. He took the moment to look at her, to fully take in his wife. She looked completely fucked out—hairs sticking to her forehead, a sheen of sweat glowing across her skin, he loved seeing her like this, knowing he himself has been the only one to do this to her, to make her look such a way. Benedict didn’t dare to pull himself from her, not just yet.
“I know,” (Y/N) sighed lightly, “we have not been married all that long but…”
“My love,” Benedict’s hand met her jaw with the utmost care, “you must not explain yourself to me, there is no need. I also wish what you wish for, so there is nothing to be sorry about.” She giggled, the bell-like sound ringing in his ears. “What is it?” He grinned, pinching her cheek lightly.
“It’s just,” she pulled her lips in a tight line, trying not to laugh, “I had a rather funny thought.”
“Well, do share, I’m dying to know what could be so funny at a time like this,” Benedict lazily pushed his hips once more, a soft reminder to her exactly of what they had just done.
“You, assisting me with my baking,” her lips curled, “and here we have a chance of our own little… bun.”
He couldn’t help but snicker.
“Yes,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, “I agree, that’s quite amusing my love.” With reluctance, he finally pulled himself from her, watching as his seed began to dribble out. What a mess they had made. A mess they made together.
“Though,” (Y/N) said, fixing her skirt—as if decency was much of a matter, “I do think I’d need your assistance again, to insure that our efforts are not in vain.”
“Darling, with how much we both seemingly enjoyed ourselves, I don’t think that you have to worry about my assistance in the matter,” he said, pushing a clump of sweaty hairs out of her face, “for I am more than willing to assist you, always.”
“With a promise like that, I reckon we’ll have this cottage filled to the brim with Bridgertons,” she laughed, “running around, greying us beyond comprehension.”
“A promising future, indeed,” he leaned in to meet his lips with hers one last time before Benedict inevitably had to assist in the clean up of their… baking efforts.
“Do you think they’ll like the pies?” (Y/N) asked mindlessly, glancing back at the oven.
“Our children? Love, it’s too soon to know if you are with child yet, so I don’t think—”
“The Crabtree’s, Benedict,” she scolded softly, playfully patting his chest, finding it endearing he was already thinking ahead, “the pies are their anniversary gift.”
“Oh, of course, that is in no doubt,” he said sweetly, “anything you make is to be the very best, but anything that we make together? Why, I think it’s simply unfair to the other pies out there, to have competition such as that.”
“Are you still talking about the pies?” (Y/N) quirked her brow.
“Of course not,” Benedict scoffed, “you know just as well as I that our children are to be the best of the best, they’ll put any other child—any other Bridgerton to shame.”
“You may be right,” she hummed.
“I know I’m right.”
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A DUBIOUSLY ACCURATE HISTORY OF STILWATER (& STEELPORT)
So if it’s not obvious by the obnoxiously long post I’ve made talking about the musical history of Stilwater, I’m fascinated by the worldbuilding of Saints Row. And in my quest of learning more about the setting of the series, I’ve pieced together my own headcanons on the general history of the city…and its cousin, Steelport. I’ve spent the last several days going over canonical histories of both cities, primarily Stilwater as it was my original goal, and put together my own ideas of how I think the cities developed prior to the start of the games in 2006. Some of this is based on actual canon evidence, other stuff is just my own conclusions.
CANON TIMELINE
1783
Knight Plaza is founded, predating the founding of Stilwater itself
1787
Pennsylvania becomes a state
Unspecified year in the 1800s
Stilwater founded
1827
Steelport founded
1837
Michigan becomes a state
1940
Stilwater builds a new sewer system
Post-1940: An earthquake strikes Stilwater
1947
Sunset Park is built in Steelport
1970s
Vice Kings VS Los Carnales. Assumedly mid-to-late 70s into early 80s
1977: Stilwater is voted the most family-friendly city
MAPPING THINGS OUT
So it’s never exactly stated where Stilwater and Steelport are located comparatively. We know they’re in the Rust Belt, and Stilwater is expressly stated to be in Michigan. I’m inclined to say the cities are fairly close to each other (Stilwater in Michigan while Steelport is probably closer to Pennsylvania), probably several hours by car, if only because of similarities in industry, aesthetics, and even a few moments in-game. It can be fairly easily implied that the cities are within several hours driving distance of each other (my guesstimate is 7-8 hours away by car); especially given that in the beginning of SRTT they are able to land in Steelport so quickly despite assumedly not even being in the plane for more than an hour before they blow it up.
TIMING THINGS OUT
The Stilwater Church is a gothic style church, assumedly a product of the gothic revival in the mid-1800s. Given that Steelport was founded in 1827, I’d say Stilwater was founded around this time as well, potentially ~1830. It was an unused territory for several years and did not get further development until after Michigan’s statehood was granted in 1837.
I believe, given the architecture of Old Stilwater and the architecture of older buildings in Steelport, that both cities had a huge economic boom starting in the 1920s and had a period of growth and expansion. I’d say things were looking up for Stilwater going into the 1940s and 50s, but the earthquake sent the city into a really bad place economically. Worth noting that Steelport did not seem to be affected by the earthquake or tremors, which allowed it to continue to prosper while Stilwater tried to pick up its broken pieces.
Let’s go back a little into the 1800s, after Stilwater’s founding. I believe some time in the late 1830s/early 1840s, private railways were laid nearby to Stilwater, but the area itself would not get connected to the mainland of Michigan by rails until around the 1850s. Initially it was being used as a place for manufacturing, but wealthy people with railroad money saw the potential for a resort area. We’ll get into that in a moment.
Stilwater clearly had some manufacturing business as evidenced by the factories and boatyards, but I don’t think it ever reached the level of industry as Steelport did. Steelport also had the advantage of being founded a few years earlier. We know canonically that Stilwater has a steel factory and an oil refinery. I believe the steel factory is a minimill specifically, given its small size and the junkyard nearby; this means it uses scrap metal in its steel production. I’d date the mill around the 1890s but with several updates through the years until it was ultimately shut down. The oil refinery was probably built around the 1950s or 60s given its look, though it still appears to be somewhat operational? You can still see plumes coming out of the towers.
I know the Carnales own it, but I don't think they're necessarily refining oil or even using it as a cover for something; I think they’re getting profits from it and protecting it. From what I can tell the oil refinery may be the only factory still in actual operation, as the steel mill is just being used for the Carnales’ arms dealing.
So where does that leave Old Stilwater’s actual primary industry? If it’s not steel factories like Steelport, and the oil refinery didn’t come into being until around the mid-20th century, what did the city do? All throughout Stilwater there’s old, decommissioned railway tracks.
Parts of them were obviously meant for more general transportation of products, as evidenced by the tracks near the factories, but others follow the slightly newer, raised tracks of the transit system. This implies that at one point, Stilwater had a need for moving people into and out of the city. Given that the tracks also led to a nice hotel at one point (the hotel underground in SR2), there was clearly a market for people getting around to some sort of entertainment and/or hospitality.
Which leads me to my theory/headcanon/whatever that Stilwater, starting in the late 1800s and into the early 20th century, had a nice trolley park and was known mostly for its entertainment. This became its primary source of revenue.
For starters, all throughout SR2, there is talk about returning Stilwater to former glory, and tourism is obviously its most booming industry at that point in the series, so this seems to imply that it was known for tourism at one point. Stilwater itself has such a heavy emphasis on pleasure in the first two games, so it feels as if that’s always been a part of itself. Even just the fact that a record label was able to start and flourish there says that there is an entertainment scene in Stilwater and it’s a core part of its identity. Not to mention it being voted a family-friendly city in the late 70s, a point where it looked as if it might’ve started to recover from its post-earthquake troubles, further implies that there was a family-friendly image it kinda had. I think the idea of it being a trolley park in the late 1800s and into the 1900s makes a lot of sense. Stilwater itself is quite picturesque, and trolley parks began because of the rise in popularity of picnics. Families and friends went out to the nice waterside area of Stilwater, and suddenly there’s a need for more direct lines into and out of the area; next thing you know there’s new entertainment being constructed so more and more people want to come in. This all follows a pretty clear line in terms of what’s in Stilwater.
Trolley parks went out of fashion with the rise of amusement parks in the 1920s, and though Stilwater doesn’t have an amusement park, I believe Stilwater went in the direction of building venues for things like cabaret, bars, and brothels. It ended up leaning more heavily on adult entertainment, which makes sense given how it looks at the start of the series. Stilwater became synonymous with pleasure, even if it was starting to shy away from the more all-ages entertainment it had in the 19th century.
So by the 1930s, 40s, and 50s, Stilwater was an extremely popular destination. It had great entertainment, beautiful hotels, and easy access to sex, drugs, and alcohol. All of this caught the attention of the Carnales, probably around the late 40s, and by the 1950s they began to have a hand in many of the institutions of Stilwater.
One thing that caught my attention was a radio ad in SR1 in which Hughes says that his parents moved to Stilwater 50 years ago (so around 1956) and that, at the time, Stilwater was still a lively place. If we’re to assume the earthquake was the beginning of the end of Stilwater, we can easily guess that the earthquake either happened later that same year, or a year afterwards. With that in mind, around 1956-57, a huge earthquake hits Stilwater, razing most of the city. The place is in shambles, both physically and economically. That said, the Carnales are still expecting things like payments for their business, but now many people are unable to comply, having lost their means of income. In turn, the Carnales became a much larger, even more intimidating presence in Stilwater all throughout the rest of the 50s and 60s.
Presumably at some point in the 1960s, a cult begins to form. People were seeking guidance and safety in the wake of such a huge natural disaster, and thus Philosotology began to take form. It stays relatively in the background for most of its life, but throughout the 60s, 70s, and 80s more and more people join, especially those in places of power. I won’t get too into the development of Philosotology, as this is about the more general history of Stilwater, but I would be remiss to not mention it. The point being, by the 80s and 90s, they’re running things from behind the scenes, to the point they’re just a staple of Stilwater come modern day.
As we move through the 20th century, the progression of the canon story takes form. In the 70s, Julius Little and Benjamin King—sick of the Carnales presence in Stilwater—decide to take back the city. So throughout the 70s, the Vice Kings and the Carnales fight, with the Vice Kings ultimately coming out on top. In the late 70s and early 80s, it seems as if Stilwater might return to former glory, as the birth of Kingdom Come Records helped revitalize the arts and music scene of the city.
However, the economy of Stilwater does not recover. Generations of Stilwaterians have been hurt by decades of poverty, of negligence by those in power, and it is not the thriving coastal city it was in the early-to-mid 20th century. Obviously, these factors (and many more) contribute to how the events of the first game begin.
A QUICK TANGENT ABOUT STEELPORT
So where does Steelport fit into all of this? I mentioned it at the start, so surely I must have something to say.
Steelport was founded in 1827 in Pennsylvania. It was an industrial city, full of steel factories, and it stayed that way for many years. The city steadily grew over several decades, and around the turn of the century, a large number of people from Europe moved to Steelport for work. And it was around this time that the organized crime syndicates of Europe were beginning to take hold in Steelport.
Fast forward to the 1970s. Phillipe Loren, a high-ranking member of the Syndicate in Belgium, had ties to several of the gangs that were now in Steelport, so he goes to the city himself to see if it’s worth a US expansion. Seemingly pleased, Loren uses his status to begin doing more work with the gangs in Steelport. By the late 80s, Loren had become head of the Syndicate.
It was also around this time in the 70s that I believe Steelport began to essentially fill the hole that was left after Stilwater was destroyed by the earthquake. There was a need for places like hotels, brothels, and casinos in this area of the Rust Belt—and Steelport, being flush with cash, was able to fill that demand. In Steelport’s later years, it became more of an icon of sin and pleasure, perhaps even more than Stilwater was. It was bigger and flashier. But despite its hedonistic charm, Steelport was not exactly heading in a great direction by the 90s.
Similarly to Stilwater, it fell on hard times economically, with many areas falling into disrepair. Many of these areas are still like this even into the modern day as poverty is still a very large issue within Steelport, though as usual is not a topic of concern for those in charge. Thus, the Syndicate very easily continues to spread its control. By the 2000s, Loren and the Syndicate are running the city.
Getting a little ahead of my timeline, but worth talking about real quick: in 2011, Loren gets into contact with Maero about arms deals and potential expansion into Stilwater. At this point, Loren was already in bed with Ultor so to speak, but this was his first contact with one of the other gangs. Obviously this deal is hurt by the Saints, but that will only come back to bite them in a few years.
CONCLUSION
I wanted to write some grand conclusion about all this, but to be honest my eyes are starting to glaze over from hours of running around in the first two games, reading documents on my computer, and scribbling four pages of written notes. I read some official Michigan documents on the history of the railway system in the state. I’ve never even been. What am I going to do with this knowledge now.
Stilwater is interesting and was worth a deep dive into the potential history of the area. I used to be the teaching assistant for a class on worldbuilding in college, so this type of shit is just super fascinating to me. And Stilwater has so many bits of scattered information that I really wanted to try to piece everything together in a mostly coherent way. It’s just a setting I really love for some personal reasons, and I just thought I’d give writing its history a shot. Perhaps in some ways like a love letter to the fictional city, or maybe just as a way to fill my long weekend. Who knows.
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