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out-with-the-boys · 11 hours

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The Dance- Chapter 08

Homelander x Supe OC

Notes: 18+ This chapter contains themes of and references to deep, personal losses, which may be distressing to some readers. Please take care while reading.

Each chapter will have individual content warnings as they apply to avoid spoilers. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Previous Chapter.

The Oklahoma sky sagged under the weight of storm clouds, the muted grays like a shroud, as if the world itself mourned with her. The air, thick with humidity and unshed tears, clung to Morgan's skin as rows of cars lined the narrow road leading to the church—a procession of quiet grief.

Her father had planned every detail down to the letter, leaving little for her family to arrange in the three days since his passing. But already, it felt like a lifetime without him.

Outside the church, Morgan lingered, unwilling to step through the doors and face the casket. She greeted family and friends, enduring hugs that squeezed her still-tender ribs, grounding her in the pain. It was all she could feel now—pain, and the dull weight of exhaustion. At the very least, it helped her stay grounded.

Having her siblings close helped too. Sammy had been an absolute angel, taking charge of all the preparations. There wasn’t a single detail missed, and it allowed their mother time to grieve in the ways she needed.

Lucas and his family arrived a day after she had, and they had also been instrumental in pulling things together. Her big brother, an army vet himself, had made sure all the necessary arrangements were made for their father to receive a proper military sendoff. Her sister-in-law Celeste, and her niece Elise even found ways to stay busy.

In contrast, Morgan felt like she had been in the way of everything. She still wasn’t fully recovered from the building collapse in Harlem, and nobody would let her lift a finger. All she was really good for was sitting with her mother and consoling her.

Hell, even Charlie had heard the news and made his way to Pawhuska to help out. At that moment, he was inside the chapel, ushering people into seats. As much as she wanted to be angry at him for choosing now of all times to act like they were family, she just couldn’t bring herself to feel anything more than numb.

Before long, the chapel was just about full. Fewer and fewer people were walking up to greet Morgan, and it was almost time for the service to begin. For just the briefest moment, Morgan considered just walking down the road as far as her legs would carry her. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye for good.

As the thought crossed her mind,the air shifted. She felt it before she saw him. That familiar intensity.

Morgan’s breath hitched in her chest as Homelander descended from the overcast sky, his silhouette slicing through the gray. His eyes scanned the sparse church lawn, briefly pausing on each cluster of mourners before locking onto hers. She felt the weight of his presence, a familiar intensity that both unsettled and anchored her.

He looked out of place, garishly wrapped in red, white, and blue amid the sea of black and army dress blues, a living reminder that her life was anything but ordinary. Morgan’s instincts screamed to shield her mind, to fortify against his unspoken scrutiny, but the fatigue dulled her defenses. Even now, at her father’s funeral, she could feel his gaze trying to unearth something hidden, something she wasn’t ready to share.

“What are you doing here?” Morgan’s voice wavered between suspicion and exhaustion, her gaze flickering between him and the open church doors. She braced herself for his reply, the part of him that always had an angle.

“Well, there’s not much going on back at the tower, and I figured you could use the support.” He shrugged, the casualness of the gesture masking the curiosity bubbling just beneath.

Morgan clenched her jaw, swallowing a retort. She knew he was here to prod, searching for a way in, as if he could decode her grief like a puzzle. She longed to push him away, to sever the connection before he peeled back yet another layer of her guarded life. But instead, she just nodded, the silence between them filled with all the words she refused to say.

“Thanks…” she murmured, swallowing her frustration. “We should probably head inside then. I think the service is about to begin.”

Homelander nodded, his gaze lingering on her as a question sat on the tip of his tongue. Morgan didn’t even wait for the thought in his mind to finish forming before heaving a soft sigh. Even at her father’s funeral, everything had to be about putting on a show.

“We’ll make room on the front pew.” she muttered, gently taking him by the crook of his elbow. She hadn’t expected the casual contact to make him flinch the way he did, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it.

It was impossible to ignore the shocked looks from family, people who had known her since she was a child, staring in disbelief at the larger-than-life figure by her side. The weight of Homelander’s presence pressed against her as they made their way to the front pew, and Morgan could feel the eyes on them, every whisper like a needle prick on her skin. All she could do was count the steps to the front of the chapel and ignore the murmurs– both mental and verbal.

Her mother barely spared Homelander a glance as they settled in, her grip on Morgan’s hand tightening, a lifeline in the relentless tide of grief. As the pastor’s voice droned on about life, loss, and legacy, Morgan’s mind wandered, pulled back to a summer evening long ago. She could still see her father at the grill, laughing as he flipped burgers, smoke curling into the twilight.

‘You’re the strongest of us all, you know that?’ he’d said, ruffling her hair in that way she’d pretended to hate. ‘I’m proud of you kiddo.’

Now, those words felt like a cruel joke. Her father, the man who’d seemed invincible, was reduced to a polished casket and a few fleeting memories that felt too fragile to hold onto. It was enough to make her feel like she was going to fall apart. Morgan squeezed her mother’s hand, trying to anchor herself to the present, but every breath felt heavier, weighed down by the impossible finality of goodbye.

The dreary afternoon pressed on as the church service concluded and the congregation moved along to the cemetery. Naturally a few of the other attendees asked for selfies or handshakes between venues, but for the most part, it remained a solemn affair. Somewhat surprised, but absolutely relieved, Morgan couldn’t help but notice that Homelander was on his absolute best behavior– save a pointed glance or two at Charlie on occasion.

Everything moved along as planned, and everyone played their roles perfectly.

It wasn’t until the graveside service ended, and the small crowd began to disperse, that Morgan felt the real pressure again. The dull ache in her ribs had returned, matched only by the pounding behind her eyes. It was time for life to carry on from here.

"We’re still planning on you for dinner, right?" Sammy asked softly, squeezing Morgan’s arm. "Work doesn’t need you right away, do they?"

Morgan opened her mouth to answer, but before she could get out a single word, Homelander’s voice cut through.

"I wouldn’t worry about things over at Vought. They’ve got things covered.” he said with a dismissive wave. “Nobody’s going to miss us for another evening.”

His choice of the word ‘us’ hadn’t slipped past anyone’s notice.

Before Morgan could stop it, her mother’s southern hospitality came out in full force.

“If that’s the case, you’ll have to join us for supper.” she said, her voice still full of warmth and welcome, despite how worn she was from grieving.

“Oh, well, I don’t want to impose.” Homelander said smoothly, with an affectation of deference.

“Nonsense, there’s always room for friends at our table.” her mother insisted.

She glanced at Homelander, who was playing his part to perfection, nodding graciously with that polished charm. It was strange to watch him here, in this simple, rural setting, amidst people who would never understand the gravity of his presence. But it wasn’t the first time she’d seen him don the mask. Even now, she could sense the undercurrent of his thoughts—discomfort, curiosity, a tinge of superiority—and that slight need for control.

“Well then,” Sammy said, her voice bright despite the somberness of the day. “It’s settled. Momma’s got a roast in the oven, and I’m sure we can whip up a few extra sides.”

Morgan smiled weakly, though her mind was already racing ahead to dinner. The idea of sitting around the table, sharing a meal in the wake of her father’s death, with Homelander of all people, seemed like a waking nightmare. There were bound to be questions—subtle ones from her family, not-so-subtle ones from him.

As they made their way back toward the cars, Morgan noticed Charlie lingering near the entrance of the cemetery. His eyes caught hers for a moment. She thought about the pointed looks Homelander had given him during the service, and a knot tightened in her chest. This dinner had the potential to unravel more than just her nerves.

“You sure about this?” she asked quietly, leaning toward Homelander as they neared her rental car. “Dinner with my family?”

He smirked, tilting his head just slightly as he regarded her. “The ‘Todds?’ I hadn’t realized until now that you kept Charlie’s last name. I wonder if they’ll have any insight into that.”

Inhaling deeply, she held a retort in her chest until she could feel it burn behind her sternum. There it was. His investigation was off to a great start.

Morgan didn’t answer him. Instead, she turned her attention to the rental car, her hand lingering on the door handle as she steeled herself for the evening ahead. The ride to her mother’s house was mercifully short but felt like it stretched on forever.

He had opted to follow her from the skies, rather than sit in the car with her, which was a welcome decision on her part. She had time to listen quietly to the questions stewing in his head overhead, giving her a chance to prepare responses. Of course, she also had to anticipate her family and their usual candor about things.

It had been a long time since she had even dared think about compelling anyone she knew with her powers. The idea was awfully tempting.

As she pulled into the long gravel driveway of her childhood home, Morgan's stomach knotted. The old farmhouse sat comfortably on the land, surrounded by fields that stretched out to meet the horizon, an enduring reminder of simpler times. But there was nothing simple about tonight.

She could already see Sammy through the kitchen window, setting the table, and her mother fussing over something on the stove. The warmth and normalcy of it all felt worlds away from the life she’d been living. Yet here she was, dragging Homelander into the heart of it, knowing full well the disruption he was bound to cause.

“Here we are,” she muttered, more to herself than him, as she shut the car door and he landed just beside her.

“Charming,” he said, his voice neutral but the undertone unmistakable.

Inside, the house was a flurry of soft voices and clinking dishes. Her mother, ever the gracious hostess, greeted them at the door, giving Homelander a warm smile despite the grief etched into her features.

Inside, the house buzzed with soft voices and the familiar clink of dishes, a muted symphony of everyday life carrying on despite the gaping absence. Her mother greeted them at the door, her smile strained but genuine, the lines of grief etched deeply into her face.

“We’ve just about got everything ready,” she said, the warmth of her hospitality not yet dimmed by sorrow. “Y’all make yourselves at home.”

Homelander stepped inside, eyes roaming over the framed family photos on the walls—Morgan’s graduation picture, her father in his dress blues, a collage of the life she’d once known. She could feel his judgment seeping into every corner of the room, his disdain masked by polite interest. For a split second, she caught the flicker of something raw beneath his cool exterior, a flash of envy that quickly vanished. Morgan wondered if he saw what she did: a simpler life, untouched by the toxic complexities of power and control.

“Aunt Morgan, c’mere!” Elise called, waving Morgan over from the dining table, where she sat hunched over her phone. “I need you to settle something between me and Tucker.”

It was a welcome distraction. Morgan knew all too well that Elise had been glued to her phone whenever she wasn’t helping with the funeral preparations, lost in a world of teenage crushes and trivial debates.

“You tell him I’m not fielding any more questions about ‘who would beat who in a fight,’” Morgan called back, her voice light as she forced a crooked grin.

“No, this is a good one, I swear!” Tucker’s voice crackled through the phone’s speaker. “Starlight versus Stormfront! They both have electricity-based powers, right? So who would win?”

“Starlight, obviously,” Elise snorted, rolling her eyes. “Stormfront is basically a walking powerbank for her abilities.”

Morgan chuckled at their playful argument, but unease simmered beneath the laughter as she approached the table. The debate might have been innocent fun for them, but for Morgan, it was an uncomfortable reminder of the twisted reality she lived in. Her eyes flicked to Homelander, hovering near the kitchen doorway, his expression carefully neutral. She could feel his attention, not on the kids but on her—always watching, always calculating.

“As I keep saying, The Seven are a united front,” Morgan said, leveling a look at Homelander that dared him to challenge her. “There’s no reason for any of us to fight each other. Our job is to help people, not engage in gladiatorial combat.”

Elise giggled, but Tucker’s disappointed groan buzzed faintly from the phone. Homelander, however, didn’t miss his cue.

“Oh, come on now, that’s not the answer they’re looking for, Psyren,” he chimed in, his tone playful but edged with something sharper. “And that’s not entirely true, either. Your aunt, young lady, is notorious for causing trouble at Seven Tower.”

Elise’s eyes widened with interest, drawn to Homelander’s charisma like a moth to flame. Even Morgan’s sharpest glares couldn’t break the spell he cast over a room.

“Oh my god, is that who I think it is?” Tucker’s voice crackled with disbelief.

“Yeah,” Elise said, puffing up with pride. “I forgot to tell you—we’re having Homelander over for dinner.” She basked in the moment before adding, “Anyway, Nana’s gonna get on my case if I don’t wash up. I’ll call you later!”

Morgan watched Elise disappear down the hallway, leaving a silence that felt like a drawn breath, waiting to be released. The dining room seemed to shrink around them, every unspoken thought amplifying the tension between Morgan and Homelander. He thrived in moments like these—teetering on the edge of confrontation, prodding at Morgan’s composure just to see how far he could push.

“Now, what’s this I hear about Morgan causing trouble all the way out there in New York?” Her mother’s voice cut through, a mix of curiosity and maternal concern as she shuffled into the room, balancing a roasting pan.

Morgan sprang up, her pulse quickening. “Mom, let me help with that,” she said quickly, desperate to redirect the conversation away from Homelander’s bait.

“Oh, sit back down.” She waved her off with a weary smile, setting the pan down on the table. “I’ve got it.”

Morgan sank back into her chair, feeling the heat of Homelander’s stare, his grin widening as he watched her squirm. She clenched her hands under the table, her nails digging into her palms—a futile attempt to ground herself.

“See? Exactly what I’m talking about, Mrs. Todd—” Homelander started, his tone smug.

“Honey, call me Janelle,” her mother interrupted, with the practiced ease of a southern hostess, despite the grief still etched into her features.

Morgan felt her jaw tighten, resisting the urge to snap back at him. He was enjoying this too much—turning her own family’s warmth into a platform for his petty games.

“Janelle,” Homelander continued smoothly, leaning back with an air of false humility, “your daughter just doesn’t know when to quit. She throws herself into her work like she’s trying to make the rest of us look bad. I mean, really, you should see it.”

Morgan’s cheeks flushed, anger and embarrassment mixing into a familiar, suffocating heat. “Just trying to do my job.”

“Oh, come on now,” he teased, the challenge unmistakable in his voice. “You’re being modest. You’ve always been an overachiever, haven’t you?”

Morgan’s mind flashed back to her father’s words, the constant push to excel, to be more than ordinary. It was a mantra she’d lived by, but here, in Homelander’s mouth, it felt twisted, weaponized against her. She shot him a sharp look, but the intensity of his gaze held her captive. Every word felt like a test, and Morgan could sense the satisfaction he took in keeping her on edge.

“Overachiever doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Lucas’s voice broke the tension, his chuckle warm as he entered with a bowl of mashed potatoes. “You should see her old room upstairs. It’s a shrine to every academic achievement she’s ever made.”

Morgan forced a tight smile, but her heart pounded. The past that Lucas so fondly recalled felt distant and hollow now, overshadowed by the relentless expectations that had followed her into adulthood. And Homelander, seated comfortably in her family’s home, was a constant reminder of the cost of those achievements.

“You know, that just makes me think about how lucky we are to have her in The Seven.” Homelander said, his voice smooth, leaning back as if he had been seated comfortably at this table dozens of times before. “I mean, imagine if you’d stayed locked up in R&D all this time. What a waste that would’ve been, right?”

Morgan tensed, recognizing the calculated glint in his eyes. He was baiting her, nudging the conversation toward uncomfortable truths.

“It’s not exactly a waste when you’re doing work that matters,” Morgan replied, trying to keep her tone even. “Not everything is about being in the spotlight.”

Homelander’s smile widened, almost predatory in its subtlety. “Oh, I know you were doing important work, but let’s be real. You don’t belong in a lab coat—you belong out there, making a difference where everyone can see it. People need heroes they can look up to, not just scientists behind the scenes.”

Morgan felt the familiar prickle of resentment crawling up her spine. She knew what he was implying, even if her family didn’t. To Homelander, supes were meant to be deified. To him, anybody with powers was in a class above the rest, meant to be put on display. Anybody he considered less-than, was meant to worship them.

“Now you know how I feel about folks behind the scenes, Morgan,” Sammy chimed in, her voice light but carrying that familiar, theatrical lilt. She strode into the dining room with a pitcher of ice water, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “I mean, I love what I do now, but let’s be honest—no one ever remembers the stagehands or directors. They’re the backbone of every production, but it’s the actors who get the standing ovations. It’s the faces in front of the crowd that make the real impact.”

Sammy’s words stung more than Morgan wanted to admit. Her sister’s world was so different, but the parallels were painfully clear. Morgan had spent years in the lab, behind the scenes, crafting the kind of safety nets that supes rarely acknowledged. Yet here was Sammy, echoing Homelander’s sentiment without even realizing it, as if it were the most natural truth in the world.

“It’s not always about the spotlight, Sam,” Morgan said, her voice tight as she tried to keep her irritation in check. “Some of us are just trying to do our part without making it a performance.”

Sammy shrugged, her expression softening. “I’m just saying, you’ve got the kind of talent that deserves to be seen. It’s a shame to hide it away.”

Homelander seized the moment, his gaze flickering toward Morgan. “You know, the thing about your baby sister,” he said, addressing Sammy and the rest of the table, “is that she’s a bit of a rarity. Most of us had to be molded and shaped into what we are. But Morgan? She’s something else entirely.”

Morgan’s heart skipped a beat. She could sense where this was going and braced herself for the inevitable. He was hinting at her origins, teasing the truth that had been unearthed—her powers didn’t seem to stem from Compound V, and that made her different. A liability, an unknown.

“Well, I can definitely say she’s special in my book,” her mother said warmly, giving Morgan’s knee an affectionate pat. “But it’s not just about what she can do. It’s the way she’s always carried herself—with determination and a good heart. I’d say that’s the real superpower that Noah and I were able to help nurture into something truly great.”

Homelander’s expression tightened momentarily, the faintest crack in his polished demeanor. For a brief second, Morgan caught the flicker of something darker—resentment, perhaps, or the sting of a truth he could never fully grasp. He recovered quickly, masking his irritation with a tight-lipped smile.

“Absolutely,” he said, leaning back in his chair as if conceding a minor point. “It’s a rare combination—nature and nurture coming together like that. Makes her one-of-a-kind.” His voice softened, but Morgan didn’t miss the way his words lingered, a quiet acknowledgment of a uniqueness that eluded him.

Morgan forced a smile, nodding along as if the conversation hadn’t just brushed dangerously close to exposing everything she wasn’t ready to face. Her mother’s reassurance was like a lifeline, pulling her back from the precarious edge Homelander had pushed her toward.

“It’s always been about more than just powers,” Morgan added, trying to steer the conversation away from the unsettling territory. “Dad always said it’s what you do with what you’re given that counts.”

Her mother nodded, her gaze softening with pride. “And you’ve done so much, Morgan. You’ve made us proud just by being yourself, whether it’s in a lab, on the front lines, or at the dinner table. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise.”

Homelander, sensing the subtle shift in the room, finally backed off, his expression cooling. “Well, I think we can all agree on that,” he said, raising his glass in a mock toast. “To Morgan—making a difference, no matter where she is.”

The tension in the room eased slightly, though Morgan could still feel the residual sting of his earlier comments. She raised her own glass, more out of habit than celebration, meeting Homelander’s gaze with a silent promise: she wouldn’t let him dictate who she was, no matter how hard he tried.

“To family,” Morgan echoed, her voice steadying as the words settled in the air. She clinked her glass gently against her mother’s and then Homelander’s, anchoring herself in the simple, irrefutable truth of who she was—beyond the powers, the expectations, and the relentless scrutiny. For tonight, at least, that would have to be enough.

Song: Not About Angels by Birdy

Author’s notes:

Hey everyone, thanks for reading this chapter! I really enjoyed writing this scene. Morgan’s family plays a critical role in grounding her and it was important to have a scene where Homelander gets to see that up close and personal. This chapter is a turning point for Morgan as she continues to grapple with her identity and her place in The Seven.

Thanks so much for reading and for your continued support! Your feedback means the world, and I’m looking forward to hearing what you think of this chapter. Stay tuned! There’s a lot more to come!

#homelander #homelander fanfiction #homelander fic #homelander x oc #content warnings without spoiling shit is hard #let me know if i should be less vague

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littlefeather-wolf · 8 months

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Black Dog (Osage, Manka-Chonka, ca. 1780–1848) was a Chief of the Hunkah band of the Osage Indians that lived in an area around present Baxter Springs, Kansas. In the fall of 1803, the band moved to the village of Pasuga (Big Cedar), present day Claremore, Oklahoma. His towering height was around seven feet tall, his weight some 300 pounds, and he was blind in the left eye ... He took his band on hunts as far away as Santa Fe, then part of Mexico, possibly earning the designation Manka-Chonka in battles with the Comanche. He is credited with engineering a trail known as the Black Dog Trail east of present Baxter Springs, Kansas to the Great Salt Plains in present Alfalfa County, Oklahoma ... On a visit to Fort Gibson in 1834, George Catlin painted Black Dog's picture, giving his name as "Tchong-tas-sab-bee, Black Dog, Second Chief" ... Black Dog is known to have had at least one son, also called Black Dog (1827–1910), who became an Osage chief in 1870, Pictures 2 & 3 Black Dog's only son ...

(20101.9, Frank F. Finney Sr. Collection, OHS).

BLACK DOG (ca. 1780–1848) ... The Osage chief Black Dog was born circa 1780 near St. Louis, Missouri. His village, Pasuga (or Big Cedar), was located at present Claremore, Oklahoma. His original name, Zhin-gawa-ca (or Shinka-Wah-Sa), meant Dark Eagle or Sacred Little One ... He possibly earned the designation Manka-Chonka, or Black Dog, against the Comanche ... At a Fort Gibson meeting during March 1833, he was called Shonkah-Sabe, or Black Horse ... An Osage trail in Kansas and Oklahoma was known as the Black Dog Trail. Engineered by Black Dog, it extended from east of present Baxter Springs, Kansas, to the Great Salt Plains in Alfalfa County, Oklahoma ... Under his leadership a substantial proportion of the Osage hunted west to the Salt Plains and the upper Arkansas River ... It was not uncommon for members of his band to raid, hunt, and trade as far away as Mexico and Santa Fe ...

Portraits (picture 1) of Black Dog were painted by artists George Catlin in 1834 and John Mix Stanley in 1843 ...

Blind in his left eye, he stood around seven feet tall and weighed an estimated three hundred pounds. His only son, also called Black Dog, was born in 1827 and died in 1910. Black Dog was a contemporary of and shared power with chiefs Claremore and Pawhuska. His political control perhaps extended over a third of the tribe. He was on generally friendly terms with U.S. authorities and occasionally ordered his braves to hunt and scout for American troops ...

Black Dog died at the present site of Claremore, Oklahoma, on March 24, 1848.

#osage #native american #littlefeather wolf

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jeanhm · 9 months

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#Pawhuska #First Boy Scouts USA

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whitepolaris · 4 months

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Elmer McCurdy, the Outlaw Who Wouldn't Give Up

Gather 'round my children, and I'll tell a tale of woe About a famous cowboy outlaw who lived a hundred years ago . . . A hundred hears have come and gone since he spoke his final words. I'm not afraid to die and leave behind this rotten world. So go and pull the lever hangman, now my race on Earth is run. And he thought his life was ended but it had only just begun. -Brian Dewan, The Cowboy Outlaw

Imagine this: It's 1973 and Steve Austin, a fictional astronaut, is a man barely alive. Now it's 1911: Elmer J. McCurdy, an outlaw-very, very dead! Who would have thought these two show biz personalities would ever meet up?

In 1976, while Lee Majors played the role of astronaut Steve Austin on television's Six Million Dollar Man, the show's film crew found the mummified body of outlaw Elmer McCurdy as they were setting up for a shoot.

The crew was filming in Long Beach, California, at a funhouse called Laugh in the Dark. The place contained the regular spook-show decor, including wax figures, ghosts, and fake skeletons. While setting up at the location, the producer noticed a neon orange wax figure hanging from a makeshift gallows and asked one of the crew to take it down. He didn't like the way it looked in the scene.

The stagehand grabbed at the wax dummy's left arm, only to have it come off, revealing a human bone sticking out from its shoulder. Medical examiners and forensic investigators determined that the wax figure was actually a mummified body-and that it had been show by a .32 caliber bullet manufactured between 1830 and 1920. Upon further examination, investigators found in the mummy's mouth a 1924 penny and a ticket from the Museum of Crime in Los Angeles. The ticket helped police identify the body as that of outlaw Emler McCurdy, and the many roads he had taken in life-and afterward-that had led him to that Long Beach funhouse.

McCurdy had joined a few outlaw gangs and killed a few people, then he planned on robbing a Missouri Pacific train that supposedly was carrying a safe containing more than $1,000. On October 6, 1911, he robbed the train in Oklahoma, but when he opened the safe, he discovered it was the wrong train. Only $46 was inside. But he did manage to find a shipment of whiskey instead.

Heading to the Oklahoma farmlands a few days later, drunk and tired, McCurdy stopped at a farmhouse and fell asleep in the hayloft. A three-man posse that was tracking the outlaw trapped McCurdy and began firing. After an hour, a farmhand was asked to go inside the barn and tell McCurdy to surrender. The outlaw refused, telling the farmhand, "They can go to the devil." The barn was shot up, and McCurdy was discovered dead soon afterward.

His body was taken to a funeral home In Pawhuska, Oklahoma, but he was never identified, and no one claimed the corpse. The undertaker embalmed him with arsenic, (a does seven hundred times greater than we used in Egyptian mummies) and came up with a very entrepreneurial idea: Since the deceased looked very well preserved, and very stiff all dressed up in his last gun fightin' suit, he named the corpse "The Bandit That Wouldn't Give Up," and for a nickel, he would let the citizens of Pawhuska view it. The nickels were dropped into the mummy's mouth, later to be retrieved by the undertaker.

The mummy was on view for more than five years, and the undertaker refused many offers from carnivals and sideshows for his bandit corpse to use in their traveling freak shows. The nickel-swallowing mummy became a regular attraction for the funeral home in Pawhuska.

One day two men showed up at the funeral home claiming to be cousins of the mummy, and the undertaker had no choice but to give up the stiff to his next of kin for a proper burial. The two men turned out to be sideshow promoters who traveled around Texas, using McCurdy as, you guessed it, The Bandit That Wouldn't Give Up.

After Texas, the McCurdy mummy traveled around the country, often showing up at amusement parks, lying around in an open coffin in an L.A. wax museum, and-believe it or not-being used as a prop in low-budget films. He was known sometimes as "The Thousand Year Old Man." After a while, his body was coated with wax to help preserve it during his many road trips. His greatest tour was in the 1930s with Louis S. Sonney, a sheriff who acquired McCurdy for his traveling Wild West show.

Elmer was shuffled as collateral from one sideshow to another and eventually faded into obscurity. No one knows exactly how Elmer ended up at the defunct Laugh in the Dark funhouse in Long Beach, but when he was identified as McCurdy, medical examiners used a little-known method called "medical superimposition." Known photos of McCurdy were overlaid with x-rays of the mummy's face. From this they made a positive ID.

McCurdy was given a proper funeral in Summit View Cemetery in Guthrie, Oklahoma, in 1977 and was buried in the same cemetery as such notorious figures as Wild Bill Doolin (of the Doolin-Dalton Gang) and Tom Capers, in Oklahoma's only Boot Hill (a.k.a gunslinger cemetery). The town residents gave old Elmer the full treatment: a parade ride to the cemetery in Wild West gear.

With his California show-biz days now behind him, McCurdy was certain to never again be a "ramblin' man:" The Oklahoma state coroner ordered two cubic yards of cement to be poured into McCurdy's grave.

#type read #weird oklahoma

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meret118 · 9 months

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Among the winners was Lily Gladstone for “Best Performance by a Female Actor in a Motion Picture – Drama” category. Her portrayal of Mollie Burkhart in the film Killers of the Flower Moon drew rave reviews from critics and movie-goers alike.Gladstone, who was born and raised on the Blackfeet Indian Reservation in Montana, is the first Indigenous winner in the category.She began her acceptance speech in the Blackfeet language, before giving thank yous for people in Hollywood and Pawhuska.

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myhauntedsalem · 1 year

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The Traveling Mummy of Elmer McCurdy

While filming a scene for the Six Million Dollar Man at The Pike Amusement Zone in Long Beach, California, a crew member broke the arm off what he thought was a mannequin. On taking a closer look, he could see bone within the broken appendage.

What he had accidentally discovered was the lost remains of a long-time sideshow attraction, the mummified remains of Oklahoma outlaw Elmer McCurdy.

Elmer’s body was a long way from home. Quite the seasoned traveler, McCurdy’s body had seen a lot more of the country in death than it did in life.

Elmer McCurdy was born on New Year’s Day in Washington, Maine, 1880, to a teenage mother who gave the infant Elmer to her brother and wife to raise. Not a whole lot is known about his early life up till the point where he spent three years in the U.S. Army.

During his time in the army, McCurdy took up a liking of nitroglycerine, a highly unstable explosive liquid. After his time in the army, and whilst looking for work, drifting about the states, McCurdy utilized his knowledge with the explosive to see his way into a gang of bank and train robbers.

It was then McCurdy put his nitroglycerine knowledge to good use, blowing up safes in order to access the money inside. Well, that was the idea anyway.

His first attempt to blow up a safe on a train went miserably wrong. McCurdy placed too much nitroglycerine at the safes door, and not only blew it off its hinges, but also blew a hole in the side of the train and splashed the now partially liquefied silver coins about the carriage. The gang attempted to scrape the silver off of the floor and walls but only managed to collect a little.

Suffice to say, McCurdy needed to seek out a new gang in order to ply his explosive knowledge.

After being arrested for holding tools used for burglary, and subsequently being released under a verdict of not guilty, McCurdy met a man by the name of Walter Jarrett. Jarrett gave McCurdy the tough outlaw name Missouri McCurdy, and the two spent a time blowing safes and money up together, in a number of bungled burglaries.

But soon McCurdy heard of a money train, which had a carriage containing a safe with thousands of Dollars inside it, a veritable fortune back in those days. The gang went to Okesa, Oklahoma in order to rob the train, but once again McCurdy bungled the deal. This time he did not blow up the money, but had rather got the wrong train. Instead of a money train carrying thousands of dollars, the gang robbed a passenger train and made away with $46 and a few bottles of whiskey.

After the robbery, McCurdy made his way to a farm owned by a man named Dave Sears to lay low for a few days, a large $2000 rewards was set for those who could bring him in, and a armed posse was on his trail. On October 6th 1911, Sears transported a very drunk McCurdy to another farm, but a Sheriff and his Deputies learned that McCurdy had been to Sears farm and soon set to questioning him.

Sears gave in and pointed Sheriff Freas to the location McCurdy was now resting. He also warned the sheriff that he had given McCurdy a shotgun, but also more whiskey, so if acting soon, the sheriff should be able to get him while he was drunk.

At about 7am on the 6th of October the sheriff and his two deputies surrounded a hayshed where McCurdy was sleeping. Sheriff Freas then yelled at McCurdy to give himself up, but the response was a streak of curses and an hour long stand-off.

Then McCurdy fired several shots at the sheriff and his men, and it was on!

The gun fight was so intense and prolonged that neighbor’s turned up to watch the battle. The hour long exchange of fire continued until shots heard coming from the hay shed ceased. A young boy was sent in to check on McCurdy. Not seeing anything the Pawhuska chief of police entered the shed and ascended the ladder to the loft, lead by the stock of his rifle, adorned with his hat.

No shots were fired or any other response was had. McCurdy was dead, with a rifle bullet in his chest. One of the deputy’s bullets had hit home, killing the outlaw. McCurdy’s last words were reported as being “You will never take me alive!”

McCurdy’s body was taken to a funeral home in Pawhuska, Oklahoma, but no one claimed him. The embalmer preserved the body, then allowed visitors to see the spectacle of the Missouri McCurdy for a nickel a piece. Every visitor would place their nickel in McCurdy’s mouth, and at the end of the day the undertaker would take the collection.

For nearly five years McCurdy’s dead body provided another source of income for the funeral home, until one day a man claiming to be McCurdy’s brother showed up to give his brother a proper burial. The funeral home released McCurdy into the man’s care, and within a fortnight, the Great Patterson Shows carnival had a new exhibit.

Many people flocked to see the body of the Outlaw who would not give up, and soon he was making much more money then he ever had when he was alive.

For over 60 years McCurdy’s body was traded and sold, from carnival operator to carnival operator and curiosity museums. Once he was even used to pay a default on a loan to a bank!

As the years passed, his body suffered the wear and tear of being such a sought after attraction, until after a time, it was forgotten that it was a body at all. Soon he found himself in tacky displays, finally to be painted bright red and hanged naked from the rafters of the Laff in the Dark fun house at the new Pike Amusement Park.

During the filming of an episode of The Six Million Dollar Man, the director didn’t like the dummy hanging from the rafters. A crewman cut it down, and in the process, broke the arm, causing the rediscovery of Elmer McCurdy.

In 1976 he was examined by forensic anthropologists, who discovered the gunshot wound, the make, model and year of a bullet jacket lodged in his hip, and were able to confirm the bodies identity.

On April 22, 1977, Elmer McCurdy, outlaw and safe cracker was finally given a proper burial in Summit View Cemetery, Oklahoma. Several cubic yards of concrete were poured over his coffin so McCurdy will never be interrupted from his well earned and final rest.

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