Fake positives in AI detection tools, and the fear of being human.

[SerenaSteeleMonroe]

While I haven't read the whole thread, I am assuming you mean 'false,' not 'fake.' Fake is an AI-generated image intended to fool the eye and brain. False is something perceived as real but tisn't. When you're tricked into believing the AI-generated image or video is real, you have a false perception of a fake thing.

 

[SkyBubble]

I just ran my college's alma mater through Justdone. It said 98% of it appears to be AI

 

[SkyBubble]

I ran the Lord's Prayer through Sidekicker. Apparently, it's 82% AI.

 

[SkyBubble]

The more timeless and well-written something is, the more likely a machine will assume it was machine-written.

 

[iwatchus]

The more timeless and well-written something is, the more likely a machine will assume it was machine-written.

If I were to anthropomorphize the AI, I would say this is like the insecure erotica writer giving every MMC a 12 inch cock.

 

[MillieDynamite]

I just ran text on your AI checker Justdone, and Writer AI checker. Justdone said 87% written by AI, and Writer said 99% human. I'd say that your AI checker is 100% garbage. They must be selling some DeAI tool. Both are wrong, it was 100% written by me.

I just ran my college's alma mater through Justdone. It said 98% of it appears to be AI

 

[StillStunned]

One day, I hope, someone will prompt an AI: "Write a story in the style of StillStunned," and the damned thing explodes.

 

[ShelbyDawn57]

One day, I hope, someone will prompt an AI: "Write a story in the style of StillStunned," and the damned thing explodes.

Since you asked...
"Write a story in the style of @StillStunned from litereotica.com"
I was surprised Grok actually did it. I don't expect the mods to leave this up for long, so enjoy your fame while you can., LOL

FWIW, both zeroGPT and GPTZdero nailed it

Below is a story inspired by the style of @StillStunned from Literotica, known for evocative, character-driven narratives with a blend of emotional depth, sensuality, and vivid prose. The story aims to capture their signature balance of introspection, romantic tension, and immersive detail, while keeping the content within appropriate bounds for this platform.

Whispers in the Rain​

The rain came down in silver threads, weaving a curtain over the city that blurred the neon lights into soft, glowing halos. Elise stood under the awning of the old bookstore, her breath visible in the chilly autumn air, her fingers tracing the worn edges of a paperback she hadn’t opened yet. The scent of damp pages and coffee lingered around her, a comforting cocoon against the storm.

She hadn’t meant to stay so late. The shop was supposed to close at nine, but Mr. Callahan, with his wire-rimmed glasses and endless stories, had roped her into a debate about Brontë versus Austen. Now it was nearly ten, and the streets were empty except for the occasional cab slicing through the puddles.

“You’re gonna catch your death out here,” a voice said, low and warm, cutting through the patter of rain.

Elise turned, her heart doing a little flip. It was him—Jasper, the barista from the café next door, leaning against the brick wall with his hands in his pockets. His dark hair was damp, curling at the edges, and his leather jacket glistened with raindrops. He had a way of looking at her, like he could see straight through her carefully curated defenses, and it always left her feeling exposed in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

“I’m fine,” she said, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “Just… waiting for the rain to let up.”

He raised an eyebrow, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve been standing there for twenty minutes. Rain’s not going anywhere, Elise.”

She flushed, realizing he’d been watching her. “Stalker,” she teased, but her voice was softer than she intended.

Jasper pushed off the wall and stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until she could smell the faint cedarwood of his cologne. “Maybe I just like the view,” he said, his eyes holding hers for a beat too long.

Her pulse quickened. They’d been dancing around this for weeks—small talk over coffee orders, lingering glances when she thought he wasn’t looking, the brush of his fingers when he handed her a latte. She wasn’t naive; she knew what that spark in his eyes meant. But Elise had built walls around her heart, mortared with past mistakes, and letting someone in felt like inviting a wrecking ball.

“You don’t have to wait out here alone, you know,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I’ve got an umbrella. And my apartment’s not far.”

The invitation hung in the air, heavy with possibility. Elise’s mind raced. She could say no, catch a cab, go back to her quiet apartment with its stacks of books and her cat, Luna, waiting for her. Safe. Predictable. Or she could take a chance, step into the rain with him, see where this pull between them led.

She looked up at him, raindrops catching in her eyelashes. “You’re trouble, Jasper.”

He grinned, unapologetic. “The best kind, I hope.”

Her laugh was nervous, but she felt something loosen inside her, like a knot untying. She tucked the paperback into her bag and stepped toward him. “Alright. Lead the way.”

He opened the umbrella, holding it over them both as they stepped into the rain. Their shoulders brushed, and the city seemed to fade, leaving just the two of them and the rhythm of the storm. Elise didn’t know where this night would take her, but for the first time in a long time, she was ready to find out.

 

[ShelbyDawn57]

Since you asked...
"Write a story in the style of @StillStunned from litereotica.com"

Grok doesn't know who I am.

 

[StillStunned]

Since you asked...
"Write a story in the style of @StillStunned from litereotica.com"
I was surprised Grok actually did it. I don't expect the mods to leave this up for long, so enjoy your fame while you can., LOL

Well, so much for Lit's policy that doesn't allow AIs to use any of the content here...

Below is a story inspired by the style of @StillStunned from Literotica, known for evocative, character-driven narratives with a blend of emotional depth, sensuality, and vivid prose. The story aims to capture their signature balance of introspection, romantic tension, and immersive detail, while keeping the content within appropriate bounds for this platform.

Hmm, I won't say it's completely unlike something I might write (except I never use -ize), but I doubt I have a "signature balance" of anything. This is nothing like either of my two most recent stories, for example.

Also, I'd never call a character Jasper, unless he was a slimy scumbag.

 

[MillieDynamite]

Jus' a lil' AIish.

Since you asked...
"Write a story in the style of @StillStunned from litereotica.com"
I was surprised Grok actually did it. I don't expect the mods to leave this up for long, so enjoy your fame while you can., LOL

FWIW, both zeroGPT and GPTZdero nailed it

Below is a story inspired by the style of @StillStunned from Literotica, known for evocative, character-driven narratives with a blend of emotional depth, sensuality, and vivid prose. The story aims to capture their signature balance of introspection, romantic tension, and immersive detail, while keeping the content within appropriate bounds for this platform.

Whispers in the Rain​

The rain came down in silver threads, weaving a curtain over the city that blurred the neon lights into soft, glowing halos. Elise stood under the awning of the old bookstore, her breath visible in the chilly autumn air, her fingers tracing the worn edges of a paperback she hadn’t opened yet. The scent of damp pages and coffee lingered around her, a comforting cocoon against the storm.

She hadn’t meant to stay so late. The shop was supposed to close at nine, but Mr. Callahan, with his wire-rimmed glasses and endless stories, had roped her into a debate about Brontë versus Austen. Now it was nearly ten, and the streets were empty except for the occasional cab slicing through the puddles.

“You’re gonna catch your death out here,” a voice said, low and warm, cutting through the patter of rain.

Elise turned, her heart doing a little flip. It was him—Jasper, the barista from the café next door, leaning against the brick wall with his hands in his pockets. His dark hair was damp, curling at the edges, and his leather jacket glistened with raindrops. He had a way of looking at her, like he could see straight through her carefully curated defenses, and it always left her feeling exposed in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

“I’m fine,” she said, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “Just… waiting for the rain to let up.”

He raised an eyebrow, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve been standing there for twenty minutes. Rain’s not going anywhere, Elise.”

She flushed, realizing he’d been watching her. “Stalker,” she teased, but her voice was softer than she intended.

Jasper pushed off the wall and stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until she could smell the faint cedarwood of his cologne. “Maybe I just like the view,” he said, his eyes holding hers for a beat too long.

Her pulse quickened. They’d been dancing around this for weeks—small talk over coffee orders, lingering glances when she thought he wasn’t looking, the brush of his fingers when he handed her a latte. She wasn’t naive; she knew what that spark in his eyes meant. But Elise had built walls around her heart, mortared with past mistakes, and letting someone in felt like inviting a wrecking ball.

“You don’t have to wait out here alone, you know,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I’ve got an umbrella. And my apartment’s not far.”

The invitation hung in the air, heavy with possibility. Elise’s mind raced. She could say no, catch a cab, go back to her quiet apartment with its stacks of books and her cat, Luna, waiting for her. Safe. Predictable. Or she could take a chance, step into the rain with him, see where this pull between them led.

She looked up at him, raindrops catching in her eyelashes. “You’re trouble, Jasper.”

He grinned, unapologetic. “The best kind, I hope.”

Her laugh was nervous, but she felt something loosen inside her, like a knot untying. She tucked the paperback into her bag and stepped toward him. “Alright. Lead the way.”

He opened the umbrella, holding it over them both as they stepped into the rain. Their shoulders brushed, and the city seemed to fade, leaving just the two of them and the rhythm of the storm. Elise didn’t know where this night would take her, but for the first time in a long time, she was ready to find out.

 

[MillieDynamite]

Good for you! I hope gork doesn't know me either, you know what I mean?

Grok doesn't know who I am.

 

[AwkwardMD]

Since you asked...
"Write a story in the style of @StillStunned from litereotica.com"
I was surprised Grok actually did it. I don't expect the mods to leave this up for long, so enjoy your fame while you can., LOL

FWIW, both zeroGPT and GPTZdero nailed it

Below is a story inspired by the style of @StillStunned from Literotica, known for evocative, character-driven narratives with a blend of emotional depth, sensuality, and vivid prose. The story aims to capture their signature balance of introspection, romantic tension, and immersive detail, while keeping the content within appropriate bounds for this platform.

Whispers in the Rain​

The rain came down in silver threads, weaving a curtain over the city that blurred the neon lights into soft, glowing halos. Elise stood under the awning of the old bookstore, her breath visible in the chilly autumn air, her fingers tracing the worn edges of a paperback she hadn’t opened yet. The scent of damp pages and coffee lingered around her, a comforting cocoon against the storm.

She hadn’t meant to stay so late. The shop was supposed to close at nine, but Mr. Callahan, with his wire-rimmed glasses and endless stories, had roped her into a debate about Brontë versus Austen. Now it was nearly ten, and the streets were empty except for the occasional cab slicing through the puddles.

“You’re gonna catch your death out here,” a voice said, low and warm, cutting through the patter of rain.

Elise turned, her heart doing a little flip. It was him—Jasper, the barista from the café next door, leaning against the brick wall with his hands in his pockets. His dark hair was damp, curling at the edges, and his leather jacket glistened with raindrops. He had a way of looking at her, like he could see straight through her carefully curated defenses, and it always left her feeling exposed in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

“I’m fine,” she said, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “Just… waiting for the rain to let up.”

He raised an eyebrow, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve been standing there for twenty minutes. Rain’s not going anywhere, Elise.”

She flushed, realizing he’d been watching her. “Stalker,” she teased, but her voice was softer than she intended.

Jasper pushed off the wall and stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until she could smell the faint cedarwood of his cologne. “Maybe I just like the view,” he said, his eyes holding hers for a beat too long.

Her pulse quickened. They’d been dancing around this for weeks—small talk over coffee orders, lingering glances when she thought he wasn’t looking, the brush of his fingers when he handed her a latte. She wasn’t naive; she knew what that spark in his eyes meant. But Elise had built walls around her heart, mortared with past mistakes, and letting someone in felt like inviting a wrecking ball.

“You don’t have to wait out here alone, you know,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I’ve got an umbrella. And my apartment’s not far.”

The invitation hung in the air, heavy with possibility. Elise’s mind raced. She could say no, catch a cab, go back to her quiet apartment with its stacks of books and her cat, Luna, waiting for her. Safe. Predictable. Or she could take a chance, step into the rain with him, see where this pull between them led.

She looked up at him, raindrops catching in her eyelashes. “You’re trouble, Jasper.”

He grinned, unapologetic. “The best kind, I hope.”

Her laugh was nervous, but she felt something loosen inside her, like a knot untying. She tucked the paperback into her bag and stepped toward him. “Alright. Lead the way.”

He opened the umbrella, holding it over them both as they stepped into the rain. Their shoulders brushed, and the city seemed to fade, leaving just the two of them and the rhythm of the storm. Elise didn’t know where this night would take her, but for the first time in a long time, she was ready to find out.

This is leaving the job half done. Now you have to go blow up those server clusters

 

[ShelbyDawn57]

This is leaving the job half done. Now you have to go blow up those server clusters

I can neither confirm nor deny that teams of covert operatives may or may not be enroute.

 

[Kelliezgirl]

Grok doesn't know who I am.

Seriously? It apparently knows who I am, and you have more work here than I do.

It created an interesting opening. I will say it's in my wheelhouse but not really my style.

 

[SkyBubble]

Since you asked...
"Write a story in the style of @StillStunned from litereotica.com"
I was surprised Grok actually did it.

Grok is the only one that would. ChatGPT and Gemini will not.

 

[SkyBubble]

I can neither confirm nor deny that teams of covert operatives may or may not be enroute.

Possibly.