velvethell666

[velvethell666]

© Nona Limmen {via Instagram}

[velvethell666]

the worst of the examples. the most stylish scumfuck.

[velvethell666]

My bad, y'all. Got lost in the concrete jungle, cheap booze, and even cheaper cigs. But I'm home now and almost back to my senses. Chicken soup, weed, and Coke are bringing me back to life, though. New shit will drop tomorrow or the day after.

[velvethell666]

go!

yo, quick thing

if ur vibin' with dark shit, moody vibes, lit characters, aesthetics & actual words that bite —

how 'bout we help each other out?

REBLOG 4 REBLOG.

yeah. like an sfs but for the tumblr kids who still care 'bout good writing n heavy visuals.

i'll reblog ur stuff, u reblog mine.

no fake hype, just real-ass mutual boost.

more eyes on our shit, more love for our brains.

win-win.

just tag me or dm or whatever.

don’t overthink it — i don’t.

🖤🕯️☕️

— e.k.

[velvethell666]

[velvethell666]

[velvethell666]

[velvethell666]

[velvethell666]

"Pumpkins and gourds take over the landscape this time of year, and they're not fond of visitors"

Dear gourd, by me, 2024

Check out my etsy store!

[velvethell666]

wow

[velvethell666]

Warning: if you’re sensitive, pregnant, squeamish, or still clinging to the belief that “human nature is fundamentally good,” do yourself a favor — stay the hell away from this screen. This isn’t just shocking — it’s filthy, sticky, and it reeks in a way that will cling to your skin for days. John Waters doesn’t merely cross lines — he sets them on fire, grinds the ashes, and shoves them down your throat while whispering: *“Swallow, sweetheart.”*

"Pink Flamingos" is not a movie. It’s what happens when someone rips the gold teeth out of Hollywood’s mouth, tosses them into a filthy toilet, flushes, and films the whole thing in loving close-up. This isn’t cinema as art — it’s cinema as a knife slipped between your ribs before you even have time to breathe.

The plot? Who cares. This isn’t a neat little narrative arc — it’s a freak parade, a marching band of the grotesque, a championship in “who can spit the furthest into morality’s face.” Crimes and degradations are served like party hors d’oeuvres, and the characters take pride in the very things a “normal” audience would call the apocalypse.

Divine is the beating, filthy heart of this carnival. She isn’t just an actress — she’s a walking manifesto, a lipstick-smeared middle finger to polite society. Her presence is like hammering a nail into wood with bare hands — painful, bloody, but you can’t look away. She’s the crowned queen of the trash-ball, a messianic figure in a world where beauty is measured by how much shock you can survive.

The atmosphere is like the dumpster behind a nightclub deciding it deserves to be the main stage. The camera doesn’t just show you the grime — it luxuriates in it, caressing every repulsive detail. The celluloid feels soaked in the smell of spoiled milk, and you almost feel the sticky fingers of the characters brushing your temples.

"Pink Flamingos" breaks the viewer without jump scares or special effects — it’s raw honesty that does the damage. It’s the merciless truth that human depravity can be served with a smile and glitter. The deeper you go, the more you realize: this isn’t just filth for filth’s sake — it’s a calculated insult to taste itself, a demolition job on every rule of decency you’ve ever known.

The ending… no spoilers, but let’s just say this: if you don’t feel like scrubbing yourself down with steel wool afterward, then John Waters already lives inside you — and he’s just whispered, *“Welcome home.”*

"Pink Flamingos" will make every other movie feel as sterile as a surgical scalpel. It’s not just something you watch — it’s something you survive.

[velvethell666]

The light in the dark.

[velvethell666]

gm world.

[velvethell666]

[velvethell666]

PSA: October 30 = my bday. Artists may now begin creating my mandatory birthday avatar (jk... unless?) 😈

okey okey, I just wanted to share how much I love my birthday date 🕯️

[velvethell666]

[velvethell666]

my chicks 🤙🏻