Punish Me

New BB art! Outfit inspired partially by Kyo (Dir en Grey) from the Uroko music video. 2 color alts and one black & white version. There is a hidden message in this art that reveals a song from BB's "playlist". Here is some more BB story/lore:

The world saw BB as a wide-eyed wallflower. All quiet courtesy and downcast eyes. Her foster parents, stiff-backed humans with lips that pursed at the mere mention of her kind, would have nodded approvingly at her restraint. Polite. Reserved. A model of decorum. However, beneath that porcelain exterior, a storm churned. Despite their efforts, BB was still a demon. Her fiery blood a pulsing truth she guarded as fiercely as the drumsticks and Slayer albums she hid beneath the loose floorboard in her bedroom.

Metal was her rebellion, her sanctuary. The shrieking guitars and thunderous drums spoke to the chaos she buried deep, the part of her that ached to be free. Drumming was her release, a sacred violence where she could unleash the fire in her veins without shattering the fragile truce of her human home. She’d slip away to a rented room with a borrowed drum kit, a battered altar where she poured out her rage, her joy, her everything. Each beat was a defiance of the fear she sensed in her foster parents’ sidelong glances, the unspoken dread that her demon nature might one day erupt. They never said it aloud, but she felt it. Their fear was a cold, prickling weight she had simply accepted as "life".

BB had learned to swallow her anger, to dull her edges, to be the good girl who knew her place. Then death came knocking. A violent specter that grazed her soul in a moment she’d never speak of, not even to herself. It wasn’t the screams that changed her, not even the blood. It was the clarity, sharp as a blade: she could not die having lived so small, so grey, so caged. Fear had always been her leash, but now a greater terror, the thought of a life unlived, gnawed at her heart. She saw it, stark and undeniable: the fault in sacrificing her own joy to cradle the contentment of those around her.

Her audition for Hell-Hole was on a whim, a spark that caught before she could snuff it out. She’d seen the flyer tacked all over town, its jagged font screaming for a drummer to join the underground metal band. Her heart jumped, half with longing, half with dread. She wasn’t ready. Not for the stage, not for the scrutiny, not for the risk of her parents discovering her secret. But the alternative, another day of silence, of living in third person, was unbearable. So she went, her drumsticks tucked into her purse like contraband, her pulse a war drum in her chest.

She didn’t tell them. Not a word to the humans who raised her, whose fear of her demon blood mirrored her own. They believed she was diligently buried in college studies, oblivious that she’d thrown her lot in with Hell-Hole, a band destined to erupt as the most controversial metal act in decades.

You can find more in the 'Art Archive' dropbox ('Pinups & Line-arts' folder) now!

(to access the dropbox check my page's top pinned post)