This is such a fascinating example of the kind of doujin that twerks delightfully upon that much-belabored and amusingly nonexistent line between canon and fanon, because it has the fucking confidence to snatch up those threads of eroticism and fantasy that coil and shimmer down the edges of the text and boil them in 4-page cauldron of intensification, heating up archetypes and burning away the shells of context to let an electric flavor simmer to the fore. The artist has truly cooked with this one, and set my brain a-boiling alongside, for though my first reaction was a fusty and indulgent "surely not!" at the prospect of Anon being so imperiously competent and Soyo so radically meek, the beauty of a prospect is that it moves the heart before the mind, and tugs the body along like a creative collar.
Because why can't Anon be a dommy old top-dog? She has her fantasies of control, her hunger for a pack that yips to her every whim, her eerie knowledge, especially when Soyo's involved, of just where to bite and choke to reduce her to a panting, whimpering mess, that ancient instinct of the great wolf breaching in times of great inspiration the pert fur of our shrill pink Pomeranian. Is she not a proficient enough player of the doggirl game to bitchmax a monster build that balances the benefits of the Annoying Bitch and the Manipulative Bitch to become the Magnificent Bitch, the Doctor of Dykeonomics? And why can't Soyo hungrily embrace the clasp of service and belonging around her neck, yearning as she has for some reassuring brand of control, some absolute ownership that orients her shrinking soul in a world empty between clouds and concrete? Has she not ceded Anon power over herself at the highest, and begged at an ex-bandmate's feet for submission at the lowest, the more pathetic for every resistance, the more damned for every acceptance, Miss Kneejerk Supreme? They could, they might, they must- oh yes, they should, and if they did, how happy we'd be, how gorgeously entertained!
Such is the brilliance of the unapologetically horny fanwork and the delicious deal it offers- toss away for a spell, dear reader, you notions of correctness, your tiresome line of cause and effect, and your contraction to contracting plausibility and all its wearisome wiles. Discard the drudge of that apish matching-game, that eternal rubbernecking around for the ghost of some lauded canon by reference to which you may measure the legitimacy of an inheritor. What use have we for pulling swords from stones- sink one in a heart, press the blade into its beat, and feel the clench of a jittering pulse rock upon the iron thrust of an idea, and you shall find satisfactions in the wilds far sweeter than any at the court of the righteous king. Be a heretic. Be a pervert. Be an embarrassment. Find polyvocity through single-mindedness, community through obsession, completion through kink. Have the courage to be lost, to be adrift in the snowstorm of interpretations and the waves of subjectivity, and choose for your guide that first and thirstiest of voices through the storm and into an eye. Is that not the very message, the spectacular soul of cult classic lesbian drama BanG Dream: It's MyGO!!!!!? I laud the artist for grasping it, and for seizing my imagination as well.
.jpg?1606117669)
