With Love, NOVALIE

Novalie’s shifting lil corner💋

[shiftwithnovalie]

✧ WELCOME TO MY DR SERIES ✧

Hi, loves. 🖤

If you’re here, welcome to the chaos, the magic, and the velvety madness that is my Desired Reality. This series is where I’ll be sharing pieces of my shifting journey—the love, the laughter, the drama, the Memphis Mafia antics, and above all… my life with him.

Yes, I shift.

Yes, it’s real to me.

No, I don’t need you to understand it—just respect it.

🪞✨ In my DR, I am Novalie Hadid—a Dominican-American actress with a bold career, a sharp tongue (especially when I say coño or diablo), and a life filled with deep love, chaos, and soul-bonding moments with Elvis Presley and other people.

But let me make this crystal clear:

This is my reality.

The Elvis or other people I write about is not a historical figure—he’s the version of Elvis and the people who lives in my DR, who I love, who I laugh with, and who I sometimes argue with while barefoot in the Graceland kitchen at 2am.

I am not claiming these are facts. I’m not rewriting history. I’m just writing my story.

⸻

🛑 DNI:

If you are anti-shifting, if you plan to mock, disrespect, or dismiss the shifting community—do not interact.

Go read something else. This space is sacred to me and others who shift. Any negative comments will be deleted, blocked, and saged with spiritual sass. 💅🏽

⸻

This is a space for romantics, dreamers, shifters, and those of us who live between timelines. I’ll be sharing stories—funny, spicy, heartbreaking, and absurd. From jealousy tantrums in Graceland to almost burning the house down with the Mafia boys—you’re gonna get it all.

So buckle up, baby. Light a candle. Pour a cafecito.

It’s gonna get real.

✧ TAGLIST ✧

💌 Want to be tagged in every post from my DR series? Just reply, reblog with “✨tag me✨”, or send me an ask/message!

🕯️ If your name isn’t showing up, make sure your Tumblr settings allow mentions.

✘ Anti-shifters, trolls, and bad vibes will be blocked faster than Elvis can throw a guitar at me for messing with his nose.

[shiftwithnovalie]

💋🎂JUNE 13, 1973 — MY 29TH BIRTHDAY💋🎂

I woke up on my 29th birthday in Graceland with zero clue what was going on. Like, absolutely no idea. Not even a whiff of a surprise, and that should’ve been the red flag. Nobody was looking me in the eye. Vernon was whistling gospel. Jerry said he had a dentist appointment. Elvis kissed me suspiciously fast before vanishing. Lisa kept giggling and running off with something glittery in her hands. I knew something was up—but I let it play out.

Elvis had been stressing the hell out for days. He wanted everything to be perfect. I’m talking borderline unhinged behavior: threatening to fire Charlie because the cake wasn’t “pink enough,” calling Dior’s New York office at 2AM, whispering “she deserves the stars” like he was writing Shakespeare. 💅

Turns out… he was.

By 7PM, Elvis had somehow convinced the entire house to throw me a full-blown surprise party in the Jungle Room. Flowers, candles, dim lighting, a live band, cake tall enough to need scaffolding. Everyone screamed “SURPRISE!” and I actually jumped. And then I saw Elvis standing there like a six-foot Christmas present, smiling with that soft look in his eyes like I was his whole world.

He said, “You were born to make this world prettier, baby. You made mine worth living.”

And I blacked out emotionally.

⸻

🎁 THE GIFT LIST (because let’s be real—I was SPOILED)

• A brand-new Cadillac Eldorado, cherry red, parked in the driveway like a damn movie moment. (He said, “You’re too pretty to walk.”)

• Two necklaces:

• A TCB one (“taking care of business”)

• A matching TCL one (“tender caring love”) because “you take care of me too, darlin’.”

• A whole set of Dior and Chanel perfumes — I’m talking all of them. Limited editions. Imported. Lisa Marie tried to steal the bottle caps.

• A baby pink dressing gown with my initials embroidered in gold (Vernon muttered “Lord have mercy” when I walked out in it).

• A framed photo of us on our first trip to Palm Springs, signed in his handwriting: “To my soul in silk — I found home in you.”

• A custom journal with gold-edged pages and a poem he wrote inside.

• A rhinestone mirror he said would “catch all your beauty and throw it back at the sun.”

• And get this — a tiny hand-drawn birthday card from Lisa, shaped like a heart, where she drew me with a crown and labeled it: Queen Nova, Ruler of Daddy’s Heart.

🌙 A Note Before You Go…

This is my DR, my Elvis, and our little chaotic corner of the multiverse. Don’t try to fact-check this insanity, just grab some popcorn and enjoy the madness. #WeAreNotOkayAndWeLoveIt

✧ TAGLIST ✧

@jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a

💌 Want to be tagged in every post from my DR series? Just reply, reblog with “✨tag me✨”, or send me an ask/message!

🕯️ If your name isn’t showing up, make sure your Tumblr settings allow mentions.

✘ Anti-shifters, trolls, and bad vibes will be blocked faster than Elvis can throw a guitar at me for messing with his nose.

[shiftwithnovalie]

✨November ‘73 — That time I was just trying to do my skincare routine and my man brought the Book of Revelations into my damn bathroom✨

I swear, being married to Elvis Presley in 1973 is like living in a Graceland-shaped church sometimes.

So picture this—

We were at the Palm Springs house. I’d just taken a long shower, got my silk robe on, the kind he stole from me ’cause he said it “smelled like heaven.” I’m standing in the mirror, doing my skincare routine. Full 9 steps, baby. I had the cocoa butter, the witch hazel, even used that ice-cold jade roller he bought me in L.A.

I’m halfway through patting moisturizer into my face when I hear that velvet-soft voice say—

“You know what’s wild, baby? Your life path number is 7. That’s the number of the seeker. The truth-finder. The prophet.”

I turn around…

And this man—this man—is sitting on the floor of the bathroom, in his black robe, barefoot, eyes wide like he just had a vision in the desert. Holding his Bible in one hand and his tattered numerology notebook in the other. He’s got his TCB chain on, of course, like he’s about to bless the room with holy water and rhythm & blues.

He starts reading from Revelations while I’m trying to pluck my eyebrows.

Like—

Sir. SIR.

He goes:

“See, I was prayin’ last night, and I saw this number ‘33’ floatin’ in my mind. That’s Jesus’ number. And you were there, honey. You were there in the vision, in white, like an angel.”

I’m standing there with tweezers in one hand and rosewater in the other like:

“Baby, I’m just tryna not break out before your Vegas show.”

But then he gets real quiet. Looks at me with those big stormy eyes. And he says—

“You know I see God in you, right?”

And y’all I just…

I melted. I’m not even gonna lie. My knees buckled. I damn near dropped my toner bottle. That man knows exactly what he’s doing.

Then he kissed the top of my shoulder, right where the robe slipped down, and whispered—

“The Lord gave you to me for a reason. And I ain’t ever gonna stop thanking Him.”

Meanwhile I’m just standing there with aloe vera under my eyes like 🧍🏽‍♀️

So yeah, I finished my skincare routine while my man sat on the floor of our pink-tiled bathroom, talkin’ about Ezekiel’s wheel, Egyptian numerology, and how the stars spelled out my name in the heavens.

The man couldn’t be normal for one second.

But I love him. I really do.

(And yes, I still locked the bathroom next time 🧍🏽‍♀️)

🌙 A Note Before You Go…

This is my DR, my Elvis, and our little chaotic corner of the multiverse. Don’t try to fact-check this insanity, just grab some popcorn and enjoy the madness. #WeAreNotOkayAndWeLoveIt

✧ TAGLIST ✧

@jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a

💌 Want to be tagged in every post from my DR series? Just reply, reblog with “✨tag me✨”, or send me an ask/message!

🕯️ If your name isn’t showing up, make sure your Tumblr settings allow mentions.

✘ Anti-shifters, trolls, and bad vibes will be blocked faster than Elvis can throw a guitar at me for messing with his nose.

[shiftwithnovalie]

📻 ✨🌼JUNE, 1976— THE PICNIC DAY🌼✨📻

🌼✨

you ever have one of those days where god just kissed the air you breathe? because that’s what today felt like.

we had a little picnic out front — me, elvis, lisa, and the twins. the kind of day that wasn’t planned, it just happened. sunshine, lemonade, soft grass under your thighs, and that man looking at me like i invented the stars.

i had daisies in my hair (he put them there, duh) and that yellow floral dress he loves. you know the one. the one that makes him forget what year it is. 🙄

he was sitting behind me on the quilt like some overgrown golden retriever, kissing my shoulder every ten seconds and reading out loud from the memphis newspaper like it was scripture. except, halfway through, he switched to quoting the Book of Revelation like a preacher on fire and somehow connected it to numerology and the strawberry I was about to eat. 💀

and i let him. because even when he’s being a dramatic, spiritual weirdo, he’s my dramatic, spiritual weirdo. 🥲

lisa kept asking me how old i was when i first kissed her daddy and if she could marry someone with big hair too (i said yes). meanwhile, the twins were trying to feed each other lemonade with their eyes closed, like some kind of toddler trust exercise. 🙃

it was loud. and messy. and sticky with juice and love and sunscreen and grass.

and i’ve never felt more like i belonged.

he called me “his flower,”

and when the sun started to go down,

he picked me up bridal style just because

and whispered in my ear,

“i’m gonna remember this day when i’m 90, honey, and if i forget it, you better remind me in heaven.” 😭😭😭

Lisa picked wildflowers and tucked them behind my ear like I was a garden goddess. Then she told me I smelled like strawberries and honey butter. I almost cried. She doesn’t know it, but her words land like little spells — healing things in me I didn’t even know were still sore.

The twins were a riot. Love tried to feed the ants, Jesse tried to eat a flower. Elvis just looked at me like, “We made these? We made them?”

Yeah, baby. We did.

He couldn’t keep his hands off me all day. Not in a needy way — just gentle touches, little squeezes, kisses on the shoulder, that voice low in my ear going, “You happy, Pearl? You really happy?”

And I was. So much I felt my bones humming.

He called me “his sunshine girl.”

Then made me sit in his lap and fed me pieces of strawberry like I was royalty.

Lisa giggled and whispered something to the twins. Next thing I know, they’re all sneaking behind me with a flower crown, giggling like they’re pulling off a high-level mission.

I let them crown me their picnic queen. Elvis said he was just the lucky fool who got to serve under her reign.

Dramático.

And when I leaned into him, surrounded by the children, their laughter, the smell of fresh-cut grass and lemonade, he pressed a kiss to my shoulder and said,

“You ever leave me, I’ll come find you in every lifetime until you come back.”

I didn’t answer. Just smiled, slow and wide, and laid my hand over his.

He already has me — in this life and every one after.

✨💛🌼🌻

We ended the afternoon lying back, full and warm, Lisa curled up between us, Jesse snoring like a grown man, and Love singing some nonsense song about the sun.

🌙 A Note Before You Go…

This is my DR, my Elvis, and our little chaotic corner of the multiverse. Don’t try to fact-check this insanity, just grab some popcorn and enjoy the madness. #WeAreNotOkayAndWeLoveIt

✧ TAGLIST ✧

@jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a @iloveelvisss

💌 Want to be tagged in every post from my DR series? Just reply, reblog with “✨tag me✨”, or send me an ask/message!

🕯️ If your name isn’t showing up, make sure your Tumblr settings allow mentions.

✘ Anti-shifters, trolls, and bad vibes will be blocked faster than Elvis can throw a guitar at me for messing with his nose.

[shiftwithnovalie]

📎💌YALL WANNA ASK ABOUT MY DR?

Hey baby angels 🥺💋

Sooo I’ve been thinking (which is dangerous, I know) and I wanna open up the ✨ask box✨ for a cute lil Q&A about my DR — y’all always message me screaming about Elvis, the Memphis Mafia, Lisa being my emotional support gremlin, or how I haven’t strangled somebody yet (🧍🏽‍♀️)— so let’s make it official.

Send me any questions you have about:

💌 My relationship with Elvis

🌸 Being a stepmom to Lisa + the twins

👑 Life in Graceland (yes, the jungle room is still cursed)

💋 The drama, the fights, the makeup kisses

🍓 My favorite memories, little domestic things, or even my outfits (y’all know I stay serving)

🧿 Or ANYTHING about the wild spiritual Elvis era (yes, he read the Bible to me in the bathroom again while I was putting on toner)

You can be serious or messy. I don’t care. Ask if he’s possessive. Ask if we ever fight about numerology. Ask how many sunglasses Red’s stolen this week. Go wild. 😭

I’ll answer in a proper post once I collect enough questions.

Tag it with #AskNova or just drop it in my inbox 💋

Love you babes. Stay velvety 💄

—Nova

A Note Before You Go…

This is my DR, my Elvis, and our little chaotic corner of the multiverse. Don’t try to fact-check this insanity, just grab some popcorn and enjoy the madness. #WeAreNotOkayAndWeLoveIt

✧ TAGLIST ✧

@jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a @elvispresleysdearestfangirl @iloveelvisss

💌 Want to be tagged in every post from my DR series? Just reply, reblog with “✨tag me✨”, or send me an ask/message!

🕯️ If your name isn’t showing up, make sure your Tumblr settings allow mentions.

✘ Anti-shifters, trolls, and bad vibes will be blocked faster than Elvis can throw a guitar at me for messing with his nose.

[shiftwithnovalie]

📎💌YALL WANNA ASK ABOUT MY DR?

Hey baby angels 🥺💋

Sooo I’ve been thinking (which is dangerous, I know) and I wanna open up the ✨ask box✨ for a cute lil Q&A about my DR — y’all always message me screaming about Elvis, the Memphis Mafia, Lisa being my emotional support gremlin, or how I haven’t strangled somebody yet (🧍🏽‍♀️)— so let’s make it official.

Send me any questions you have about:

💌 My relationship with Elvis

🌸 Being a stepmom to Lisa + the twins

👑 Life in Graceland (yes, the jungle room is still cursed)

💋 The drama, the fights, the makeup kisses

🍓 My favorite memories, little domestic things, or even my outfits (y’all know I stay serving)

🧿 Or ANYTHING about the wild spiritual Elvis era (yes, he read the Bible to me in the bathroom again while I was putting on toner)

You can be serious or messy. I don’t care. Ask if he’s possessive. Ask if we ever fight about numerology. Ask how many sunglasses Red’s stolen this week. Go wild. 😭

I’ll answer in a proper post once I collect enough questions.

Tag it with #AskNova or just drop it in my inbox 💋

Love you babes. Stay velvety 💄

—Nova

A Note Before You Go…

This is my DR, my Elvis, and our little chaotic corner of the multiverse. Don’t try to fact-check this insanity, just grab some popcorn and enjoy the madness. #WeAreNotOkayAndWeLoveIt

✧ TAGLIST ✧

@jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a @elvispresleysdearestfangirl @iloveelvisss

💌 Want to be tagged in every post from my DR series? Just reply, reblog with “✨tag me✨”, or send me an ask/message!

🕯️ If your name isn’t showing up, make sure your Tumblr settings allow mentions.

✘ Anti-shifters, trolls, and bad vibes will be blocked faster than Elvis can throw a guitar at me for messing with his nose.

[shiftwithnovalie]

📻 ✨🌼JUNE, 1976— THE PICNIC DAY🌼✨📻

🌼✨

you ever have one of those days where god just kissed the air you breathe? because that’s what today felt like.

we had a little picnic out front — me, elvis, lisa, and the twins. the kind of day that wasn’t planned, it just happened. sunshine, lemonade, soft grass under your thighs, and that man looking at me like i invented the stars.

i had daisies in my hair (he put them there, duh) and that yellow floral dress he loves. you know the one. the one that makes him forget what year it is. 🙄

he was sitting behind me on the quilt like some overgrown golden retriever, kissing my shoulder every ten seconds and reading out loud from the memphis newspaper like it was scripture. except, halfway through, he switched to quoting the Book of Revelation like a preacher on fire and somehow connected it to numerology and the strawberry I was about to eat. 💀

and i let him. because even when he’s being a dramatic, spiritual weirdo, he’s my dramatic, spiritual weirdo. 🥲

lisa kept asking me how old i was when i first kissed her daddy and if she could marry someone with big hair too (i said yes). meanwhile, the twins were trying to feed each other lemonade with their eyes closed, like some kind of toddler trust exercise. 🙃

it was loud. and messy. and sticky with juice and love and sunscreen and grass.

and i’ve never felt more like i belonged.

he called me “his flower,”

and when the sun started to go down,

he picked me up bridal style just because

and whispered in my ear,

“i’m gonna remember this day when i’m 90, honey, and if i forget it, you better remind me in heaven.” 😭😭😭

Lisa picked wildflowers and tucked them behind my ear like I was a garden goddess. Then she told me I smelled like strawberries and honey butter. I almost cried. She doesn’t know it, but her words land like little spells — healing things in me I didn’t even know were still sore.

The twins were a riot. Love tried to feed the ants, Jesse tried to eat a flower. Elvis just looked at me like, “We made these? We made them?”

Yeah, baby. We did.

He couldn’t keep his hands off me all day. Not in a needy way — just gentle touches, little squeezes, kisses on the shoulder, that voice low in my ear going, “You happy, Pearl? You really happy?”

And I was. So much I felt my bones humming.

He called me “his sunshine girl.”

Then made me sit in his lap and fed me pieces of strawberry like I was royalty.

Lisa giggled and whispered something to the twins. Next thing I know, they’re all sneaking behind me with a flower crown, giggling like they’re pulling off a high-level mission.

I let them crown me their picnic queen. Elvis said he was just the lucky fool who got to serve under her reign.

Dramático.

And when I leaned into him, surrounded by the children, their laughter, the smell of fresh-cut grass and lemonade, he pressed a kiss to my shoulder and said,

“You ever leave me, I’ll come find you in every lifetime until you come back.”

I didn’t answer. Just smiled, slow and wide, and laid my hand over his.

He already has me — in this life and every one after.

✨💛🌼🌻

We ended the afternoon lying back, full and warm, Lisa curled up between us, Jesse snoring like a grown man, and Love singing some nonsense song about the sun.

🌙 A Note Before You Go…

This is my DR, my Elvis, and our little chaotic corner of the multiverse. Don’t try to fact-check this insanity, just grab some popcorn and enjoy the madness. #WeAreNotOkayAndWeLoveIt

✧ TAGLIST ✧

@jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a @iloveelvisss

💌 Want to be tagged in every post from my DR series? Just reply, reblog with “✨tag me✨”, or send me an ask/message!

🕯️ If your name isn’t showing up, make sure your Tumblr settings allow mentions.

✘ Anti-shifters, trolls, and bad vibes will be blocked faster than Elvis can throw a guitar at me for messing with his nose.

[shiftwithnovalie]

✨November ‘73 — That time I was just trying to do my skincare routine and my man brought the Book of Revelations into my damn bathroom✨

I swear, being married to Elvis Presley in 1973 is like living in a Graceland-shaped church sometimes.

So picture this—

We were at the Palm Springs house. I’d just taken a long shower, got my silk robe on, the kind he stole from me ’cause he said it “smelled like heaven.” I’m standing in the mirror, doing my skincare routine. Full 9 steps, baby. I had the cocoa butter, the witch hazel, even used that ice-cold jade roller he bought me in L.A.

I’m halfway through patting moisturizer into my face when I hear that velvet-soft voice say—

“You know what’s wild, baby? Your life path number is 7. That’s the number of the seeker. The truth-finder. The prophet.”

I turn around…

And this man—this man—is sitting on the floor of the bathroom, in his black robe, barefoot, eyes wide like he just had a vision in the desert. Holding his Bible in one hand and his tattered numerology notebook in the other. He’s got his TCB chain on, of course, like he’s about to bless the room with holy water and rhythm & blues.

He starts reading from Revelations while I’m trying to pluck my eyebrows.

Like—

Sir. SIR.

He goes:

“See, I was prayin’ last night, and I saw this number ‘33’ floatin’ in my mind. That’s Jesus’ number. And you were there, honey. You were there in the vision, in white, like an angel.”

I’m standing there with tweezers in one hand and rosewater in the other like:

“Baby, I’m just tryna not break out before your Vegas show.”

But then he gets real quiet. Looks at me with those big stormy eyes. And he says—

“You know I see God in you, right?”

And y’all I just…

I melted. I’m not even gonna lie. My knees buckled. I damn near dropped my toner bottle. That man knows exactly what he’s doing.

Then he kissed the top of my shoulder, right where the robe slipped down, and whispered—

“The Lord gave you to me for a reason. And I ain’t ever gonna stop thanking Him.”

Meanwhile I’m just standing there with aloe vera under my eyes like 🧍🏽‍♀️

So yeah, I finished my skincare routine while my man sat on the floor of our pink-tiled bathroom, talkin’ about Ezekiel’s wheel, Egyptian numerology, and how the stars spelled out my name in the heavens.

The man couldn’t be normal for one second.

But I love him. I really do.

(And yes, I still locked the bathroom next time 🧍🏽‍♀️)

🌙 A Note Before You Go…

This is my DR, my Elvis, and our little chaotic corner of the multiverse. Don’t try to fact-check this insanity, just grab some popcorn and enjoy the madness. #WeAreNotOkayAndWeLoveIt

✧ TAGLIST ✧

@jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a

💌 Want to be tagged in every post from my DR series? Just reply, reblog with “✨tag me✨”, or send me an ask/message!

🕯️ If your name isn’t showing up, make sure your Tumblr settings allow mentions.

✘ Anti-shifters, trolls, and bad vibes will be blocked faster than Elvis can throw a guitar at me for messing with his nose.

[shiftwithnovalie]

💋🎂JUNE 13, 1973 — MY 29TH BIRTHDAY💋🎂

I woke up on my 29th birthday in Graceland with zero clue what was going on. Like, absolutely no idea. Not even a whiff of a surprise, and that should’ve been the red flag. Nobody was looking me in the eye. Vernon was whistling gospel. Jerry said he had a dentist appointment. Elvis kissed me suspiciously fast before vanishing. Lisa kept giggling and running off with something glittery in her hands. I knew something was up—but I let it play out.

Elvis had been stressing the hell out for days. He wanted everything to be perfect. I’m talking borderline unhinged behavior: threatening to fire Charlie because the cake wasn’t “pink enough,” calling Dior’s New York office at 2AM, whispering “she deserves the stars” like he was writing Shakespeare. 💅

Turns out… he was.

By 7PM, Elvis had somehow convinced the entire house to throw me a full-blown surprise party in the Jungle Room. Flowers, candles, dim lighting, a live band, cake tall enough to need scaffolding. Everyone screamed “SURPRISE!” and I actually jumped. And then I saw Elvis standing there like a six-foot Christmas present, smiling with that soft look in his eyes like I was his whole world.

He said, “You were born to make this world prettier, baby. You made mine worth living.”

And I blacked out emotionally.

⸻

🎁 THE GIFT LIST (because let’s be real—I was SPOILED)

• A brand-new Cadillac Eldorado, cherry red, parked in the driveway like a damn movie moment. (He said, “You’re too pretty to walk.”)

• Two necklaces:

• A TCB one (“taking care of business”)

• A matching TCL one (“tender caring love”) because “you take care of me too, darlin’.”

• A whole set of Dior and Chanel perfumes — I’m talking all of them. Limited editions. Imported. Lisa Marie tried to steal the bottle caps.

• A baby pink dressing gown with my initials embroidered in gold (Vernon muttered “Lord have mercy” when I walked out in it).

• A framed photo of us on our first trip to Palm Springs, signed in his handwriting: “To my soul in silk — I found home in you.”

• A custom journal with gold-edged pages and a poem he wrote inside.

• A rhinestone mirror he said would “catch all your beauty and throw it back at the sun.”

• And get this — a tiny hand-drawn birthday card from Lisa, shaped like a heart, where she drew me with a crown and labeled it: Queen Nova, Ruler of Daddy’s Heart.

🌙 A Note Before You Go…

This is my DR, my Elvis, and our little chaotic corner of the multiverse. Don’t try to fact-check this insanity, just grab some popcorn and enjoy the madness. #WeAreNotOkayAndWeLoveIt

✧ TAGLIST ✧

@jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a

💌 Want to be tagged in every post from my DR series? Just reply, reblog with “✨tag me✨”, or send me an ask/message!

🕯️ If your name isn’t showing up, make sure your Tumblr settings allow mentions.

✘ Anti-shifters, trolls, and bad vibes will be blocked faster than Elvis can throw a guitar at me for messing with his nose.

[shiftwithnovalie]

🎭 The Time We Faked Elvis’s Assassination Attempt (Yes, Really) 🎭

Okay so pause everything and listen because I am STILL laughing like a damn hyena just thinking about it. This happened during one of those long-ass stretches at Graceland when boredom hits and everyone starts acting like they’re in a live-action cartoon. 🫠

It all started because Charlie made a dumb comment one night like, “What if someone tried to shoot you? What would we even do?” and instead of saying something normal like “That’s not funny, man”, Elvis—being ELVIS—went dead serious silent and then said, “Y’know what’d be funny? If we faked it.”

💀💀💀💀

Now, a normal person would’ve shut that down. But you know who was sitting cross-legged on the carpet with popcorn in hand, already scheming?? ME. Of course, me. Because I’m chaotic like that. And so was Elvis. So we cooked up the most INSANE plan.

Operation: Shot the King.

The chosen ones (the only ones in on it):

— Me

— Elvis

— Charlie

— Jerry

— Sonny

— Red

That was IT. Everybody else? Oblivious. Innocent. Doomed.

Here’s how it went down:

We staged it for a chill Friday night hangout in the Jungle Room. Everyone was there—playing pool, eating ribs, being loud, usual vibes. I gave the secret signal (me yelling “Oh my GOD I forgot the tamales in the oven!!” which… I didn’t even make tamales 💀), and Elvis disappeared for a minute.

Red throws open the back door, yells “OH HELL, GUN!” and suddenly—

BANG.

SCREAM.

ELVIS FALLS TO THE FLOOR.

DRAMATIC COLLAPSE.

CLUTCHING HIS CHEST.

ACTING HIS WHOLE LIFE OUT. 🩸🎭

Y’all.

The room went SILENT for half a second and then:

— Joe runs across the room screaming “ELVIS?! JESUS CHRIST NO—”

— One of the cousins FAINTED. Fully. Fell like a sack of potatoes.

— Billy STUMBLED BACKWARDS into a lamp and knocked it over.

— Larry grabbed a Bible (WHERE did it even come from??) and started praying in tongues. FULL. TONGUES. “SHANDALARANDABASA KANDALABABA!!!”

I was holding it together until someone screamed, “CALL THE PRESIDENT!!”

THAT’S when I LOST IT. I started cackling like a drunk witch and dropped to my knees. Red was wheezing. Charlie fell onto the couch. Jerry had to hold onto a plant to keep from collapsing from laughter.

And Elvis?? Still on the ground, moaning dramatically like some tragic diva. He opened one eye and went, “How’s my death lookin’, baby?”

😭😭😭😭

When everyone realized it was a PRANK—a full Broadway-level prank—they didn’t even know what to do. Half were laughing. Half were about to beat our asses.

Joe threatened to throw Elvis in the pool. Billy said he was gonna pee himself. Larry took his Bible and walked out muttering “I rebuke all of y’all.”

And Elvis? That little gremlin? He stood up, grinning like the devil, fixed his hair, and said:

“Now THAT’S entertainment.”

🌙 A Note Before You Go…

This is my DR, my Elvis, and our little chaotic corner of the multiverse. Don’t try to fact-check this insanity, just grab some popcorn and enjoy the madness. #WeAreNotOkayAndWeLoveIt

✧ TAGLIST ✧

@jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a

💌 Want to be tagged in every post from my DR series? Just reply, reblog with “✨tag me✨”, or send me an ask/message!

🕯️ If your name isn’t showing up, make sure your Tumblr settings allow mentions.

✘ Anti-shifters, trolls, and bad vibes will be blocked faster than Elvis can throw a guitar at me for messing with his nose.

[shiftwithnovalie]

🎭 The Time We Faked Elvis’s Assassination Attempt (Yes, Really) 🎭

Okay so pause everything and listen because I am STILL laughing like a damn hyena just thinking about it. This happened during one of those long-ass stretches at Graceland when boredom hits and everyone starts acting like they’re in a live-action cartoon. 🫠

It all started because Charlie made a dumb comment one night like, “What if someone tried to shoot you? What would we even do?” and instead of saying something normal like “That’s not funny, man”, Elvis—being ELVIS—went dead serious silent and then said, “Y’know what’d be funny? If we faked it.”

💀💀💀💀

Now, a normal person would’ve shut that down. But you know who was sitting cross-legged on the carpet with popcorn in hand, already scheming?? ME. Of course, me. Because I’m chaotic like that. And so was Elvis. So we cooked up the most INSANE plan.

Operation: Shot the King.

The chosen ones (the only ones in on it):

— Me

— Elvis

— Charlie

— Jerry

— Sonny

— Red

That was IT. Everybody else? Oblivious. Innocent. Doomed.

Here’s how it went down:

We staged it for a chill Friday night hangout in the Jungle Room. Everyone was there—playing pool, eating ribs, being loud, usual vibes. I gave the secret signal (me yelling “Oh my GOD I forgot the tamales in the oven!!” which… I didn’t even make tamales 💀), and Elvis disappeared for a minute.

Red throws open the back door, yells “OH HELL, GUN!” and suddenly—

BANG.

SCREAM.

ELVIS FALLS TO THE FLOOR.

DRAMATIC COLLAPSE.

CLUTCHING HIS CHEST.

ACTING HIS WHOLE LIFE OUT. 🩸🎭

Y’all.

The room went SILENT for half a second and then:

— Joe runs across the room screaming “ELVIS?! JESUS CHRIST NO—”

— One of the cousins FAINTED. Fully. Fell like a sack of potatoes.

— Billy STUMBLED BACKWARDS into a lamp and knocked it over.

— Larry grabbed a Bible (WHERE did it even come from??) and started praying in tongues. FULL. TONGUES. “SHANDALARANDABASA KANDALABABA!!!”

I was holding it together until someone screamed, “CALL THE PRESIDENT!!”

THAT’S when I LOST IT. I started cackling like a drunk witch and dropped to my knees. Red was wheezing. Charlie fell onto the couch. Jerry had to hold onto a plant to keep from collapsing from laughter.

And Elvis?? Still on the ground, moaning dramatically like some tragic diva. He opened one eye and went, “How’s my death lookin’, baby?”

😭😭😭😭

When everyone realized it was a PRANK—a full Broadway-level prank—they didn’t even know what to do. Half were laughing. Half were about to beat our asses.

Joe threatened to throw Elvis in the pool. Billy said he was gonna pee himself. Larry took his Bible and walked out muttering “I rebuke all of y’all.”

And Elvis? That little gremlin? He stood up, grinning like the devil, fixed his hair, and said:

“Now THAT’S entertainment.”

🌙 A Note Before You Go…

This is my DR, my Elvis, and our little chaotic corner of the multiverse. Don’t try to fact-check this insanity, just grab some popcorn and enjoy the madness. #WeAreNotOkayAndWeLoveIt

✧ TAGLIST ✧

@jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a

💌 Want to be tagged in every post from my DR series? Just reply, reblog with “✨tag me✨”, or send me an ask/message!

🕯️ If your name isn’t showing up, make sure your Tumblr settings allow mentions.

✘ Anti-shifters, trolls, and bad vibes will be blocked faster than Elvis can throw a guitar at me for messing with his nose.

[shiftwithnovalie]

📍Waikiki, 1971 — “Rudolph, Your Ass!”

So listen… Hawaii, 1971. Supposed to be a peaceful little vacation, right? You’d think I’d be on a beach with a coconut drink in my hand and a flower in my hair. WRONG.

Instead, I was hiding behind a hotel minibar like I was in Mission: Impossible because Elvis was coming for me.

Let me back up.

So we’re staying at this beautiful hotel right off the beach, me, E, and the whole mafia circus. It’s one of those hot afternoons, we’re all a little sunburnt, high on shave ice and poor decisions. I’m in the suite with Jerry and Sonny, and they start whispering like teenagers with firecrackers. Plotting some dumb prank on Elvis—classic. And of course, instead of stopping them, I joined them. Because I am a menace with pretty hair and bad ideas.

Now if you know anything about Elvis, you know that man’s nose is sensitive. Like—he will sneeze if a butterfly flaps its wings in Japan. So what did I do? I marched right up to him while he was tuning his guitar all peaceful like… and rubbed his nose. Fast. Hard.

And baby when I say he jumped—CHILD. His whole body jolted like I hit the reset button on his soul. His nose turned red, like cherry red. I said “Aw, Rudolph 🥺🫶🏽” thinking I was cute.

This man—this man who sings gospel to babies and feeds raccoons with bare hands—threw his guitar at me.

I ran.

He was yelling, “RUDOLPH YOUR ASS WHEN I GET YA!”

Jerry was wheezing. Sonny literally fell off the couch. I was sprinting barefoot through the suite like a Dominican Olympic sprinter yelling, “¡COÑO! ELVIS, STOP!”

He was so mad, and his nose looked like it was about to file a lawsuit. We eventually made up later that night with ice cream and foot rubs (for him, not me—justice is a lie). He said he forgave me but I still sleep with one eye open near string instruments.

✧ TAGLIST ✧

@jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a

💌 Want to be tagged in every post from my DR series? Just reply, reblog with “✨tag me✨”, or send me an ask/message!

🕯️ If your name isn’t showing up, make sure your Tumblr settings allow mentions.

✘ Anti-shifters, trolls, and bad vibes will be blocked faster than Elvis can throw a guitar at me for messing with his nose.

[shiftwithnovalie]

📍Waikiki, 1971 — “Rudolph, Your Ass!”

So listen… Hawaii, 1971. Supposed to be a peaceful little vacation, right? You’d think I’d be on a beach with a coconut drink in my hand and a flower in my hair. WRONG.

Instead, I was hiding behind a hotel minibar like I was in Mission: Impossible because Elvis was coming for me.

Let me back up.

So we’re staying at this beautiful hotel right off the beach, me, E, and the whole mafia circus. It’s one of those hot afternoons, we’re all a little sunburnt, high on shave ice and poor decisions. I’m in the suite with Jerry and Sonny, and they start whispering like teenagers with firecrackers. Plotting some dumb prank on Elvis—classic. And of course, instead of stopping them, I joined them. Because I am a menace with pretty hair and bad ideas.

Now if you know anything about Elvis, you know that man’s nose is sensitive. Like—he will sneeze if a butterfly flaps its wings in Japan. So what did I do? I marched right up to him while he was tuning his guitar all peaceful like… and rubbed his nose. Fast. Hard.

And baby when I say he jumped—CHILD. His whole body jolted like I hit the reset button on his soul. His nose turned red, like cherry red. I said “Aw, Rudolph 🥺🫶🏽” thinking I was cute.

This man—this man who sings gospel to babies and feeds raccoons with bare hands—threw his guitar at me.

I ran.

He was yelling, “RUDOLPH YOUR ASS WHEN I GET YA!”

Jerry was wheezing. Sonny literally fell off the couch. I was sprinting barefoot through the suite like a Dominican Olympic sprinter yelling, “¡COÑO! ELVIS, STOP!”

He was so mad, and his nose looked like it was about to file a lawsuit. We eventually made up later that night with ice cream and foot rubs (for him, not me—justice is a lie). He said he forgave me but I still sleep with one eye open near string instruments.

✧ TAGLIST ✧

@jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a

💌 Want to be tagged in every post from my DR series? Just reply, reblog with “✨tag me✨”, or send me an ask/message!

🕯️ If your name isn’t showing up, make sure your Tumblr settings allow mentions.

✘ Anti-shifters, trolls, and bad vibes will be blocked faster than Elvis can throw a guitar at me for messing with his nose.

[elvisbdoll]

Whispers of Graceland

“they tell me you're a king, yet you were merely a man, A tupelo boy with a dream clutched in your hand.

You sang with passion, let music flow wild,

But secretly deep whitin your heart you remained a child

the flashy lights burned bright the multitudes bellowed Your name, and with all the success, loneliness haunted you like a shadow's frame.

You Provided them with Your laughter, voice, years, but who held you near when silence approached?

Graceland still echoes the Sound of your song, footsteps of spirits, the home You knew.

A boy, a legend, a man cut in fire,

Who lived through the music, and died in the fire.

and yet, we remember, we still understand—

You were never Elvis by himself You were a man.”

A/N:

Just a little poem I wrote, thinking of him.

Today, he was more present in my thoughts than anything else.

I made this while listening to Danny Boy.

I can’t begin to express how much I love him.

Some might think it’s foolish, but that man brought tenfold joy into my life.

His songs, his voice—

they mean everything to me.

Anyone who ever had the chance to be near him…

to hear him sing, to hear his laughter,

to listen as he told stories—

to witness the playful soul he was—

they should know just how lucky they were.

Tags 🏷️: @jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a @gyratingpresley @kxnnxy @iloveelvisss @buglass @rjmartin11 @atleastpleasetelephone