I probably have a foot in each world when it comes to romance in media generally. I think it's very fun to write but whenever I read it, I get the sense - communicated by the hairs on my neck - that I am being observed. The shit people are saying online about this old man, and others, heroes of every conceivable description, is so out of pocket that it's lying on the actual ground. I'm the last person who is gonna be out here policing a kink, but I will admit to a little confusion about what kind of speech is kosher when describing even imaginary people. I feel like the rules keep changing in a kaleidoscopic shibboleth, a three dimensional hard-light cipher. I get more value out of trying to describe it than I do trying to solve it.
