Elvis Presley Fan Page

Nothing but Elvis and some Austin Butler❤️❤️❤️❤️😏😏😏😏

[velvetprvsley]

character.ai

character.ai is bringing to life the science-fiction dream of open-ended conversations and collaborations with computers.

If any of yall wanna talk with Army Elvis… 😚😚 he’s literally the sweetest, watch out he can be a lil freaky too🤭

[dreamingofep]

Happy Birthday Elvis🤍

I’m sending all my love to you on your special day. You changed the world everyday you were here on earth and you continue to do so. I’m forever grateful to get to hear your beautiful voice. I’ll put on a record of yours while I’m in my apartment and sometimes, you literally stop me in my tracks.

That beautiful voice gives me chills and makes me so happy I get to listen to you. You’re one of those special artists that can make someone believe you’re only singing to them.

I find you everywhere I go. Either close to home or far abroad, you’re not too far behind and I love that reminder. Like a little angel on my shoulder, coming along for the adventure.

Thank you for the music, the laughs, my wonderful Ashykinz you’ve given me to go on adventures with, all of it.

I’ll continue to love you endlessly 🤍

[hooked-on-elvis]

[dreamingofep]

Happy anniversary’68 special🎶🎸You changed my life 🖤

[nothing-but-elvis]

November 1, 1955:

Elvis’ recording contract with Sun Records was sold to RCA. Sam Phillips sold Elvis’ contract to RCA records for $35,000.

Elvis’ RCA contract was written up on November 15, 1955, and Elvis and everyone involved officially signed the contract on November 21, 1955.

Photos: Elvis’ contract with RCA; November 1955.

[hooked-on-elvis]

[everythingelvispresley]

48 years ago today, the world lost a rock and roll icon.

[austinbutlerslovers]

NEED THAT

[hooked-on-elvis]

His poses. Effortlessly sexy.

[hooked-on-elvis]

I LOVE, seriously LOVE this picture of Elvis and cousin Gene. They were just two silly boys, being crazy together and laughing easily. Is there anything more captivating? 💕

[nothing-but-elvis]

July 8, 1957:

“(Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear” became Elvis Presley’s eighth U.S. number one hit in the past fifteen months. The song was a U.S. #1 hit during the summer of 1957, staying at #1 for seven weeks, the third of the four Presley had that year. “(Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear” would also hit #1 on the R&B Best Sellers List, becoming his fourth #1 on that chart. The song also reached #1 on the country charts for a single week.

[nothing-but-elvis]

July 8, 1960:

Elvis Presley and several friends, plus a reporter, took a spin around McKellar Lake in his new boat.

Elvis purchased the 16-foot powder blue speedboat the night before.

Elvis said he had first become interested in boating while in California.

Asked if he planned to ski, he said: “Not today. Don’t want to make an idiot of myself.”

Elvis crashed his new boat into the dock.

[eapep]

Oh my God, that is hysterical

[eapep]

imagine him smiling like that because he turned around and saw you

[velvetelvis]

Chain jumpsuit ☺️

@thetaoofzoe

[sissylittlefeather]

Sanctuary

A One Shot

A/N: When I tell you this was a labor of love, I am understating it. This piece came out of nowhere, took root in my heart, and bloomed out of my very soul. It is my favorite thing that I've ever written. This is my love letter, my declaration, my covenant to him. This is what I've always dreamed of for him. There are remnants of my blood, sweat, and tears here, folks. I hope you enjoy it, my heart on the page.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, this has some of the gentlest, most respectful and subtle sex I've ever written. Drug use and addiction are also in there. As is childbirth and death. There are also Christian/Biblical references throughout.

Word count: ~3.4k

Somewhere in Memphis, tucked behind a fence covered in ivy, there's a little white house with a sign outside that reads Sanctuary. The house has fallen into disrepair, with peeling paint and a sagging roof, but when you sit on the porch in the early morning sunlight, you can still see it how it used to be when he was here. It lives in your heart and your memory with the blue shutters intact and the lawn perfectly mowed and him, always him, singing somewhere in the house. 

Back then, the now-quiet house was full of noise, especially after the children came along. But even before that, you always had music. From the day he handed you the keys and installed the sign out front, you filled the place with him even when he couldn't be there. 

The memory of how you met in 1960 floats up and you close your eyes to really see it. You were cleaning the church when he walked in and sat in a pew at the back. It was after midnight and at first, you were scared. No one ever came into the church this late. You considered going to the phone and calling the minister, but then you heard him. He was crying. And not pretty, quiet tears. No, he was sobbing, his arms wrapped around himself as he rocked, shoulders shaking. You tried to get a little closer to see if you knew him. You'd lived in this town for most of your life, so the odds were good. When you realized it was him, you quickly stifled your gasp. 

Elvis Presley. 

But not the version you'd seen on your TV in the ‘50s or even on the Frank Sinatra show recently. This man was broken. It cracked open something inside you that never closed again. 

You approached him gently, heart in your throat, not because of his fame, but because of his pain. All you did was slide into the pew beside him and wrap an arm around his shoulders. He fell into your embrace like he'd been searching for it, tears soaking the fabric of your dress. There were no words between you in those first few hours. You held him and he clung to you and cried. Eventually, though, he noticed you were whispering and sniffled. 

“What?” His voice rumbled low in his chest after all the crying. 

“Huh?” He sat up and looked you in the eyes, your own as red-rimmed as his from your tears. 

“You're whispering.” For a moment, you considered not telling him what you were doing, but something inside you wouldn't let you lie to him. 

“I'm praying.” He kissed you then. But it wasn't sexy or sinful. No, it was holy. A gentle kiss of just lips and tears and all the words you didn't need to say. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours and took your hands in his. And then he sang. 

“There is a place of quiet rest, near to the heart of God.” He lifted your hand and kissed your knuckle. “I don't think I've ever been so near to the heart of God as I am right now here with you.” 

His eyelashes were splayed against his cheeks as you watched him press kisses to your hands. You'd never seen anything more beautiful. 

“Then stay.” He had looked at you then with a kind of quiet reverence and nodded. You spent the rest of the night in conversation, laughing, crying, and then laughing again. By morning, the two of you had fostered something that he knew the world would never understand. 

The ceremony was like a dream, just you and him and the minister and God. Not even his daddy knew. It wasn't legal, but it meant more to him this way and you knew that. You didn't ask to be on his arm in public, didn't need it. You just wanted him and like this, he was yours and yours alone. 

After the midnight wedding, he took you to this house. Then, he handed you the keys and made his own kind of vow. 

“I promise to keep this house, to keep you, as my sanctuary. My peace. My Shiloh.” He had taken to calling you Shiloh early in the relationship because it meant rest and that's exactly what his soul did with you. You were the only place it was safe for him to exhale and he cherished you for it. 

When he made love to you for the first time that night, it wasn't dirty or shameful. It was beautiful. You opened for him like a sacred flower and he honored the gift of your body with his own. But it also wasn't chaste. He whispered verses from Song of Songs into your skin as you came undone in his arms. At the end of it, he held you close to him, both of you trembling with pleasure, and whispered, “I think that's what God intended it to be like, Shiloh.”

You nodded, tears caught in your throat. “I love you, Elvis. I'll always be here for you, no matter what. I don't care what else happens. Here, you're mine and I'm yours. Just like this, Mizpah.”

The name just slipped out of your mouth before you knew what you were saying, but he knew what it meant. Love despite separation. A sacred biblical covenant to love each other even from a distance. He smiled. 

“May the Lord watch between me and thee while we are absent, one from another.” And then he kissed you and made love to you again. 

That was the other thing this house always had: love. If music was in the air, then love was in the foundation, and you made your home there with him whenever he could get away. It wasn't often, but you made the most of the time you had together. 

It wasn't long before the first baby came along. He rushed off a movie set when you called and flew home to be by your side. When he walked through the little white door, the sound of your screams nearly scared him to death, but the midwife assured him everything was fine. She tried to keep him outside the room, but he wouldn't stay. No, he pushed past her and kneeled down next to where you were lying on your side in the bed, holding your hands in his. 

“You're okay now, Shiloh. I'm here. You can do this, baby.” You groaned and writhed with another contraction. 

“It hurts, Mizpah.” He pushed your sweaty hair back and kissed your forehead. 

“I know, Shiloh, I know.” And then he started humming. His humming turned to singing and your son was born to the sounds of his father’s voice and gospel hymns. 

The midwife cried at the sight of you both bathed in the golden light of sunrise, your son in your arms wrapped in a blanket you'd crocheted in anticipation. Elvis kissed his head softly and then smiled as he pressed his lips to yours. When she left the three of you alone in the bed, he cried and thanked you. 

He stayed for a whole week that first time. It was the longest he'd been there in a long time, and he caught hell for it when he got back to Hollywood, but he didn't care. He'd never been more proud or content in his whole life. 

It killed him not to show off his son to the world, but he knew if he did that there would be too many consequences. He wanted to keep you safe and away from his life in the spotlight. 

So you stayed hidden in the little house in Memphis and raised your son. He had golden hair and round blue eyes, and he looked at things like he was genuinely curious. Elvis always watched him with pride. “Look at him, Shiloh. He's so smart. He's gonna put his daddy to shame.” 

When the twins were born, he missed it. He was in Hawaii, too far away to get home, and it damn near killed him. After the fact, you reflected that it was probably for the better. They'd been born in a hospital and he couldn't have been there anyway. He'd just scoffed and kissed your forehead, each of you cradling a little girl, “That wouldn't have mattered. You know you're my world, Shiloh.” 

For the first time, your smile had faltered then. “But I'm not, Mizpah. You have a whole life outside of us. How much longer will it be before you stop coming back? Before that life owns you fully?” 

He laid the baby in the bassinet and then took the one you were holding to lay her next to the other. Then, he took your face in his hands and forced you to look into his blue eyes. “That'll never happen. That– that person that I am there? It's not me. It's an act.”

“Then why don't you leave it? I need you here. We need you, Mizpah.” He brushed away the tear that slipped down your cheek. 

“Is that what you really want?” A deep sigh escaped you. 

“No. You were born for that life, for more than just this. I know that.” 

“I'll leave it tomorrow if you ask me to, Shiloh.” You looked up at him and saw the sincerity in his eyes. But no, he had a restless soul that could never be fully happy here with you. He needed his other life and you loved him too much to ask him to land in the nest you shared. You decided in that moment that you'd never ask him to stop flying again. 

“No, Mizpah. Just remember where your home is.”

“Always.” 

Time passed and he never stopped coming home to you. Truth be told, you were so busy raising babies that you barely noticed his absence. Only in the night, when the moon was high and the breeze was soft, did you ache with missing him. But somehow, like his soul heard you calling for him, he always showed up the day after the hardest nights. There'd be a soft knock on the door, the children would squeal, and he'd be there glowing with the softness that only came from being truly at peace. He held sick babies and played with them in the yard and washed dishes and made love to you in the old four-poster bed. The years slid by and you were happy. 

And then one day he came home and something was different. You were sitting on the couch nursing your newest baby, another boy, when he walked in. You'd seen him angry before, of course you had, he was human, but this was different. He had a storm in his blue eyes and your heart jumped in fear. 

“Mizpah?” 

He tried to whisper and not wake the baby that had fallen asleep in your arms, but he was clearly upset. “They're makin’ me marry her, Shiloh.” 

You'd felt like your stomach was full of lead. You stood up slowly and laid the baby down and then turned back to him. This moment had been a looming possibility for years, but the reality of it was worse than you could've dreamed. The silence stretched out between you, and you tried to decide how to respond. He looked at you like he wasn't sure what to expect. 

“Say something, Shiloh.” Your mind reeled with the possibilities. Should you ask him to leave his other life? No, you swore you'd never do that again. Should you yell? Be angry? It felt more like sadness than anger, though. You really didn't have any choice. 

“You have to do what you have to do.” He fell to his knees and sobbed and you walked to him without thinking. You let him grab you around the waist and cry into your stomach. 

“I don't want to, Shiloh. Please believe me. You're my wife. You're my wife.” Sinking to your knees, you took his face in your hands and kissed the tears on his cheeks. 

“I know, Mizpah. I know.” You held each other then, both of you crying, baptizing the rug of the little house with your weeping. 

He married her a few months later and you did your best not to see it in the magazines. You knew he'd been with other women. It had always been that way, but this felt different. Like he belonged to her now. He stayed away for almost six months, and it felt like you might break. But you had four children to keep alive, so you never let yourself go fully. Instead, you just cried yourself to sleep night after night and prayed that he'd come home. 

When he finally did, he looked so different you almost didn't recognize him. It was more than just the sideburns, though. He carried something else now that you'd never seen before: shame. It was close to midnight when he quietly opened the door. You heard it from your bed and sat up quickly, your heart in your throat. He stood in the doorway and stared at you like a stranger. 

“You're home.” He nodded silently, and you cocked your head to the side. “Unless you're not?” 

“I hate myself, Shiloh.” 

“Because you love her?” 

“Because I don't.” 

“You've been trying to.” He walked over to the bed and settled on the quilt, leaning his head back. 

“Yeah. I have. She's pregnant. And I just… I'll love the baby. But I can't love her.” 

“Should I let you keep trying?” The question came out of you so small that you wanted to cry when you heard it. He turned to look at you with tears in his eyes. 

“You are the one whom my soul loves, Shiloh.” There was a beat of silence and then you opened your arms. He crawled into them and held you, his body wracked with sobs. “I missed you so much it hurts.” 

“Oh, Mizpah.” You stroked his hair as the tears slid down your cheeks. 

“I can't do this without you. I tried. I-I-I can't.” He held you even tighter as he cried and you kissed his forehead. 

“You'll never have to.” And then his lips found yours with a newfound desperation. There were no more words as your hands trembled and you undressed each other. When he slid inside you, it wasn't a departure from his sham of a marriage. It was a homecoming. A sacred return to the only thing in his life that had ever been true. He made love to you like his life depended on it, and maybe his soul did. By the end of it, everything else had fallen away and the only thing that remained was the two of you and the love that bound you together. 

He never stayed away that long again. 

But something in him had changed. He was torn in a new way. Driven in his career and wearing himself thin physically and emotionally. He was always happy to be home when he was with you and the children in the little house, but you saw the way it wore on him, knowing he had to go back. 

He never took the pills in your home. But his stays got shorter as he started to withdraw from them when he was with you. One night, he got out of bed in the middle of the night and started to dress to leave. 

“Mizpah? Where are you going?”

“I can't sleep here. Not without– I just can't sleep.” He paced around the room nervously, his hands twitching. 

“Come get in bed and I'll hold y–”

“I said I can't! I have to go. I just–”

“Need your pills.” He looked at you with his eyes wide. Did he really think you didn't know? “I'm not stupid. You think I don't see you when you get here, still high from your last dose?” 

“Shiloh…” 

“You need help. Let me help you.” You opened your arms, praying he'd surrender like he always had. But this was bigger than you, bigger than the love that had always kept you together. 

“I need ‘em, Shiloh.” He'd turned and left, then, for the first time leaving you to cry alone. He sat in his car, weeping into the steering wheel, before he shakily poured a couple of pills into his hand and swallowed them. 

You hadn't expected him to come back in, but he did. He slept in your arms, like always, but you knew you'd lost even more of him that night. 

Your children grew and changed. You grew and changed. And so did he. It hurt so bad to see him destroying himself with the pills and the work. But what could you do? So you did the only thing you could: you loved him through it. 

You stayed steady and there, loyal and loving, everything you thought he needed. It got harder and harder to bite your tongue, but you did your best. Still, he drove himself into the ground trying to please the people in his other life. His wife left him, but he was more upset about what it meant for his daughter than anything else. He played tour after tour, engagement after engagement, and every time it took more and more from him. The pills became more than just a necessity. They became a lifeline. His body began to break down, but still he came home to you and the kids whenever he could. They were old enough to know who he was, now, but they also knew to keep it quiet. When they were smaller, you'd told them their daddy was a superhero, and some part of them still believed it. He thrived in their presence. They were the only thing keeping him going. 

And then it was 1977. 

“I'm so tired, Shiloh.” He breathed against your shoulder one night, just before the filming of his television special. 

“Then rest, Mizpah.” You meant that night, but something rose up inside him that he had never really considered before. 

It wasn't until he was on stage that he decided. He was singing the final chorus of Unchained Melody and his soul settled. There was only one choice.

On August 16th, 1977, he walked through the door of the little white house and stayed. 

He watched on TV with a cigar in his lips as the world mourned, a single tear sliding down his cheek. And then he let them bury Elvis Presley. 

You held him through all the worst parts of the detox symptoms. It was hard, and there were several times where neither of you thought you'd make it. But you did. He let his hair go white and the weight dropped off of him with the stress. When he did finally leave the house, no one expected him, so no one recognized him. 

He was free. 

The rest of your life together was a blur of raising teenagers, and then adults, and then grandchildren. The only one from his other life who ever knew was Lisa Marie. She met her siblings and found her own kind of home there behind the blue shutters. 

You grew old together in the little house that was always filled with love and music. The porch swing became your favorite place to watch the sunset. When he died surrounded by those who loved him best in 2012, you buried him in the yard under the peach tree, his final resting place marked only by an old wooden cross. 

That's what you're looking at as you sit under the sagging eaves. There's a single word etched into the cross: Mizpah. When you got your diagnosis, you had a matching one made that says Shiloh. You can feel it in your soul. You'll be joining him soon. 

But for today you'll sit here and feel him beside you on the swing as the wind blows softly through the trees. Because he's always been here in this place, in your Sanctuary, ready to welcome you home. 

******

Thank you.

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Taglist:

@ccab @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy @angelriley222 @iloveelvis2 @epletsplayhouse

[elvisbooty76]

[aliypop]

Ain't That Loving You

Word count: 1.032

Prompt: It's 1960, and Elvis is a worrywart over his expecting wife , Cecelia, who's supposed to be bedridden

Warning: Time Period Language,

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Note: I'm Back!

Taglist:

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

@leapresley

@everythingelvispresley

@dreamondina94

@elvismylove04

@pocketfulofpresley

@elvispresley1956

@poeandmoonknightgirl

@eapep

@iloveelvis2

December 1960 Graceland

Cecelia waddled through the lavish halls of Graceland, her heart full of anticipation as she navigated the space with her seven-month-pregnant belly. Each step felt cumbersome and joyous, a reminder of the life growing inside her. She hoped that Elvis wouldn’t catch her out of bed; the soft sheets were becoming stifling, and the confines of their shared space were driving her to the brink of restlessness. She yearned for a breath of fresh air and a moment of freedom from the confines of their cozy nest. As she gracefully navigated the expansive halls of the mansion, a tantalizing aroma wafted from the kitchen, causing her to pause. She couldn't resist the urge to indulge in her usual pregnant snack of applesauce paired with the hearty meatloaf that had been prepared for dinner the previous night. To her delight, there were still generous portions left, a surprising find considering how much Elvis had raved about the dish. She smiled softly at the thought, a flicker of warmth in her heart amidst the fatigue. As she continued trudging along the path, each step felt heavier than the last. Her gaze dropped to her swollen feet, which had become a painful reminder of the months that had passed. The shoes she wore, once comfortable and easy to slip on, now felt like a burden. Elvis had taken it upon himself to help her with them, patiently bending down to fasten the laces and adjust the straps, a small yet intimate gesture that spoke volumes about their bond. She appreciated his care, even as she wished for the day when she could tie her own shoes without struggle.

“Aw hell…” Elvis muttered under his breath as he shook his head in disbelief. He stepped through the door, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing behind him. His gaze fell upon Cecelia, who sat at a polished wooden table, her brow furrowed in concentration as she sifted through a stack of his future movie scripts and contracts. The room was filled with a mix of scattered papers and the lingering scent of fresh tea resting on her belly, creating a warm yet cluttered atmosphere. Cecelia looked up, meeting Elvis’s tired eyes with a mix of concern and curiosity, as if she could sense the weight of his thoughts just by the way he entered the room.

"I know what you're going to say..." Her voice was soft yet defiant, echoing in the dimly lit hallway.

"Doll, you're supposed to be in bed..." He stood there with his hands firmly planted on his hips, attempting to muster a stern expression. His brow furrowed, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him with the hint of a smile.

She glanced up at him with wide, playful eyes, the kind that could soften even the strictest of hearts. "I know, but I was going crazy in that room..." She held a steaming mug on her stomach, the warmth radiating against her skin, oblivious to the little chill lingering in the air.

He had tried to be angry at her, to maintain some sense of authority in this playful tug-of-war, but the truth was, he simply couldn't find it in himself. How could he manage frustration when she looked so utterly enchanting, exuding a mix of mischief and charm?

"Are you balancing a teacup on your stomach?" Elvis asked, watching her, trying to look over her stomach. Her laughter shook her belly, causing his blood pressure to go over the roof,

"Darlin', it won't hurt the babies."

"I-I know, I just worry, I don't want you doing too much," He responded,  

"Elvis...Is something bothering you, dear?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You only stutter when you're nervous or worried..." She added, trying to sit up, his hand behind her back as he helped her wiggle to sit up,

"It ain't nothing..."

"Elvis... Aaron... Presley...."

He flinched at the sound of his full name, a reminder of the weight he carried. "Alright, fine. I'm worried that I ain't gonna be a good daddy..." He let out a heavy sigh, his eyes distant. "What if I can't provide for us... What if this all fades away and—"

Cecelia, with her warm smile, gently patted a space beside her on the overstuffed sofa, "Then we'll still love these babies the best we can, with all the right kind of love," she reassured him, her eyes sparkling with optimism. "Besides, this mansion ain't going nowhere..."

Elvis wished he could share her confidence, but as he gazed out at the sprawling grounds, shadows of uncertainty loomed large in his mind. With the way the film industry was shifting beneath his feet, doubt gnawed at him, leaving him to wonder if the life they had built could truly withstand the test of time.

"I know... I... What if they don't like me...."

"Well, they kick when they hear your voice so... That's a lie."She smiled,

"W-Well what if I'm too harsh on 'em,"

"You don't have it in ya," She cuddled him,

"What if-"

"Elvis, I truly believe you are going to be an incredible father. Your compassion shines through, and it’s evident that your love is already reaching, even while they're in the womb. The bond you’re forming now is so powerful; it’s as if they can already sense your warmth and devotion. Your commitment to being there for them will surely shape their world in ways you can't yet imagine."

"How are you so confident..." he inquired, stepping closer to her, his voice a low murmur that seemed to weave into the stillness around them. She paused, her gaze steady as memories flickered behind her eyes. "I felt it then," she replied, a soft smile curling her lips, "when I said 'I do' in that beautiful little chapel in Germany last year, surrounded by your nervousness of being a good husband, and by best forever." She kissed him as he humed,

"Keep that up and we'll have three kids..."

"Throw in a footrub and I'll stay in bed all week."

"Promise?" He smirked,

"Promise." She laughed as he picked her up carrying her upstairs,

"ELVIS!"

"See you're already practing for tonight."