What do “lemon” and “lime” have to do with fanfic? Originating in early 2000s anime fandom before spreading more widely, the ’Citrus Scale’ used different citrus fruits as a code to denote different levels of explicit content.
The Citrus Scale has seen use on a variety of fan platforms over the years, from an early mailing list of erotic anime fanfic to quiz site Quizilla - through to Tumblr when the scale was brought back to dodge the NSFW content ban.
Learn more about the origins and evolution of the Citrus Scale on Fanlore.
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Although he’s got endless tales from his wild youth, Infernus admits he’s not much of a writer. Fortunately, his new friend from the Ritual is so keenly interested in his life, he volunteers to ghostwrite for him. With a few embellishments.
In his twenty-month absence, Kelvin’s flat hasn’t changed a jot.
Something very much to be grateful for, when he’d only planned to be away for six of those. But when he’d died, the friends who’d watched his place hadn’t accepted that, and then much later than he had any right to he was found by that fortuitous little fishing boat. So things have been left undisturbed. First, in the expectation he’d be coming home any day, and after that, in memoriam.
Ever since his unlikely return, it’s only his desk that’s truly changed. The bed remains unused, the kitchen unstocked, but dozens of letters have sprung from his typewriter and there are still more answers to give.
But for the moment, he’s found a different occupation.
The call from the front lobby is the only thing that he’s willing to let pull him from his concentration, for it’s both expected and deeply entwined with his inspiration. He tells the receptionist to let the guest in, organizes his papers, and a few minutes later welcomes a bag-laden Infernus into his home.
“Thank you once again for this,” Kelvin says. “I greatly appreciate you getting these to me, Professor Dynamo and I’s research has ended up requiring far more back and forth than either of us expected. And he’s so hard to reach in person! I’m surprised you saw him before I did.”
“Busy as he is, he makes time for a guy who owes him a haberdashery trip,” Infernus says as he sets down the satchel. “Glad he thought to ask me. Was visiting The Dietrich uptown, your place is right on the way.”
“A friend of yours works there?”
“Yeah.” Infernus straightens, cracks his back, his long limbs reminding Kelvin of a pine tree bending in the wind. “Makes the best Manhattans outside ‘a Manhattan. You should swing by some time. The Dietrich’s a nice joint.”
“Certainly no nicer than Jezebel’s,” Kelvin assures.
“Don’t let us pull you into a rut, Kelv. Lotta great places ‘round New York.”
“Back when anything weaker than straight whiskey did something to me, I was in no danger of falling into a rut. Nowadays though, I am frequenting purely for the taste.” He beams. “And the company.”
“Heh,” Infernus says. “In that case, see you soon, alright brother?”
When he reaches for the aged and shineless door handle, Kelvin stops him with, “Before you go, I hoped I might show you something?”
Infernus blinks, watching as Kelvin returns to the desk, the centerpiece of his living room. As soon as he hands Infernus the draft of papers, a bout of déjà vu comes over him, and Kelvin is back in university handing in a paper that will determine the course of the rest of his life. Infernus reads. And reads. Kelvin tries not to fidget. Fails. After long past when he should have, he pulls out chairs for both of them. Infernus barely looks where he sits.
The fedora lifts up. “These are my stories.”
Kelvin swallows, trying to read something into Infernus’ inflection, offense or no.
“They are,” Kelvin says. “I truly could not stop thinking about them, I simply had to… get them on the page.” He leans closer, gesturing to his editorializations. “I know you are worried about protecting your old friends, I have taken care to obscure most personal details.”
“I can see that,” Infernus smirks. “Covered your tracks real well. That’s why you got the smooth-talkin’ Ixian called ‘Inferno’ as your leading man.”
“Ah,” Kelvin says, his relief quickly flushed away by embarrassment. “I have never ah… tried my hand at fictionalizing before. I found I was dreadfully inept at coming up with character names.”
“Workshop that one a bit.”
But despite that, Infernus is obviously pleased, glancing down at the loose pages and picking up where he left off.
“You said you don’t really do fiction?” he asks.
“No. Nor serialization for that matter,” Kelvin explains. “I have a knack for embellishing my own adventures, taking what exists and er… jazzing it up, but that’s all. I worried about striking a balance between anonymization and keeping to the heart of your stories.”
“Definitely don’t need to worry about that, this is good stuff.” Infernus waves the manuscript. “Way better than I woulda put it. Why start getting into crime stories now?”
“I’ve only now been inspired to do so.” With a cough, Kelvin quickly pivots, “And if my version is bowdlerized sufficiently to your tastes, I was wondering if I might have your permission to publish them? I have a connection at The Oracle that told me one of their Thursday serials is ending soon, and they’re looking to fill the slot. Some short, connected stories that — should the paper be satisfied with them — may be installed as a permanent program. With the Ritual over, I am in need of a new direction, and the one thing that’s truly given me direction was… this.”
“New start huh? Saw that,” Infernus teases. “Maybe workshop the pen name a bit too.”
“Sorry?”
Infernus holds up the first page. “Inferno and the Kings of Crime by Katill Leifson?”
“What do you mean by-? Oh.” Kelvin clears his throat. “Actually, you have that turned around. Kelvin is the pen name.” He manages to keep from stammering. “Kætill is… Kætill is me.”
“…Oh. Uh, sorry ice man…”
“It’s quite alright, I understand the confusion,” Kelvin says. “When I began writing for an international audience, I wanted to pick something that would be bold. Sophisticated! Something a true adventurer would have. Kelvin had a very good ring to it, and Kætill doesn’t exactly-” A minor catch overtakes him. “-Roll off an English-speaking tongue.”
“Don’t be hasty on that. Run it by me again?”
“Kætill Leifson,” Kelvin sounds out.
“Keh-till Leifson” Infernus repeats smoothly.
“Kæt-itl, in the back of the throat. Here.” Without thinking, he touches the side of Infernus’ neck, feeling the buzz of the retreating syllable.
The instant he realizes where he’s placed himself, he stiffens, though crucially does not allow his instinctual apology to have its way. The key here, he knows, is to play it off naturally.
“Anyway,” he says, sinking back into his chair. “The name is a bit old fashioned. Perhaps, also, I wished to distance myself from that which earned me so much teasing as a child.”
“You?” Infernus snickers. “Kinda hard to imagine you not being the most popular guy in any given room.”
Kelvin raises an eyebrow. “Really? It is hard to believe a short, chubby, ginger boy a little too interested in adventure stories would not earn the admiration of his peers?”
“I guess…” Though Infernus doesn’t sound entirely convinced.
“Oh, I was the victim of endless pranks,” Kelvin says. “Once, I had thought I’d endeared myself to group of other young boys, and we planned to sneak out at night to swim at the lake. Or at least, I planned to. Their plan was actually to steal my clothes and abandon me at the water, and I had to run home in the dark. In April!”
Kelvin laughs uproariously. Infernus only manages to look stricken.
“Your friends nearly killin’ you don’t really sounds like a ‘prank’…” Infernus ventures.
“There was no ice on the water,” Kelvin waves away. “I wasn’t actually in any danger of freezing. I suppose if it had been as cold as it should have been there would have been danger, but it was unseasonably warm that day.”
“You really know how to tell a story…” Infernus says. He blinks, staring at the papers before glancing to the wall clock, time having escaped him just as it has for Kelvin. “Crap.”
“Ah, right, seeing your friend-”
“Yeah, but hey.” Infernus drops a hand on Kelvin’s shoulder before he makes it out the door. “Look, you want my blessing you got it. On one condition.”
Okay. I was on my beloved AO3 and I saw something that made me do a double take. So, now I really want to know…
What is your AO3 user ID?
I’m an OG user 5 digits or less
Six figures baby!
I’m in the millions…
Remaining time: 1 day 23 hours
I’m so curious to see how long people have been on AO3! I know some people have been on there since beta/invite only, but I would love to see what the number is on tumblr!
Apparently some people still need to hear this so: using an 'ai checker' is still using ai. If you are feeding someone's fic to one of these checkers, you will still not be sure their fic is ai because they are not 100% accurate, but you can be 100% sure that you are using ai. For fic. Furthermore you are doing the work of an ai scraper for them. You are, personally, feeding the machine. There is no actual excuse for using an ai checker on fanfic as a hobby. YOU are the problem.
If you think a fic is ai, mute it and move on. That's it. That's all you do.
The fastest way to accomplish The Project is to cease being afraid of The Project. The Project cannot maim you. The Project cannot kill you. The Project is more afraid of you than you are of it. It is okay if The Project turns out differently from how it was in your head, and it is okay if it has flaws. You are capable of engaging with The Project.
there's this weird thing people fall into online a lot, where people assume that if the [perceived-to-be-inferior] version of [activity] is discouraged then people will, naturally, do [perceived-to-be-superior] version of [activity] instead. When really it's just as (or more) likely that if [perceived-to-be-inferior] version of [activity] is discouraged people just won't do it at all.
audiobook listeners are not necessarily people who would otherwise do a lot of traditional reading if audiobooks did not exist, many are people who simply would experience zero books. Booktok romance readers would not necessarily be reading the classics if booktok did not exist, many of them would simply not read. Fanfiction writers would not necessarily be novelists if fanfic wasn't an option, many would just be people who didn't write. You know?
theartofmadeline
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