Ava Petritor Ost Whore ❤️❤️

About Frankfurt

I’m an animation artist, yeah, so I’m picturin her—long legs, smoky eyes, hair flowin like some dark galaxy. She’s dancin in my head, all slow-mo, while Earth’s gettin fucked by Melancholia, that big-ass planet. “This is the end,” she’d whisper, like in the movie, all calm but screamin inside. Whoa. I’d animate her with ink splashes, red lips bleedin into black voids—fuckin poetic, right?

The Fluss is my jam. Walk on its bank and you get a feel for life. Not all spots are busy; some tiny alleys near the east end are so chill, it’s like a quiet whisper in a wild storm. Reminds me of “Tropical Malady” diffused magic—mysterious, mesmerizing.