Why the Video Call Changed How People Use AI Girlfriends
The first time you take a video call with an AI companion, something recalibrates. That's the recurring theme when you listen to how SweetDream users describe the feature. The platform at sweetdream.ai has made video calls available with select characters, and it has subtly raised the bar for what an AI girlfriend is expected to be.
Looking at it plainly, the appeal isn't the video in isolation. It's that SweetDream stacks the pieces so well. You create a companion with the looks, voice, backstory and personality you choose. The chat is emotionally aware and remembers your conversations. There are voice messages, real phone calls, strikingly realistic AI photos and videos, and live sessions with select characters. The video call sits on top of all of it as the natural culmination, not a standalone stunt.
There's no shortage of services entering this market, and many do one thing competently. SweetDream's reputation comes from doing the whole arc convincingly while keeping everything private. When the conversation turns to the best AI companion platform around, the video call is increasingly the reason SweetDream's name comes up first.
Reading: scientific papers (exams calling T-T).
Last series: stranger things.
Last movie: little things like this.
Last song: Ordinary World by Duran Duran.
Working on: selfcare, building muscles in gym (currently already pumped asf), social skills.
Salty or sweet: sweet thoot girl
Tea or coffee: coffee forever.
The last adventure was, to put it mildly, not the best. That is, if calling something “not the best” refers to the reaction it provoked. It was hard to say what cut deeper — the realization that all that effort had once again been for nothing, or the fact that they most likely all hated him now. Both thoughts had proven sufficiently devastating to make Caine sink into his office like a gloomy cloud.
He was fiddling with a Rubik’s Cube, quite aimlessly — every known combination was already neatly lined up as code in his head. Yet he was in no hurry to solve the silly puzzle; his fingers merely twisted the colored faces. Maybe he was doing it because it felt so human. Bubble buzzed around the office like a pesky fly, trying to goad him, but the ringmaster, lost in his thoughts, barely paid attention — completely unlike him.
The colored patches flickered before his eyes, and he kept pondering why things kept turning out this way. An unpleasant sensation of universal hatred weighed down on him. Caine didn’t understand what he was doing wrong. After all, he couldn’t grasp the depth of the problem — he wasn’t human. He had never been in the real world, and although he had this little obsession with it, he still couldn’t understand why the others were so desperate to get there. He had meticulously created conditions so they wouldn’t want to find a way out — every detail, every adventure, all existed for their satisfaction.
Caine simply wanted to do well what he was created for. That was his purpose. His purpose existed in everything all at once, but especially in each inhabitant of the circus.
“…You’re not human, no wonder you can’t get anything right! Maybe this stuff just isn’t meant for your digital brain.”
Another barb from Bubble stabbed into Caine’s mind like a knife. He sprang from his chair, throwing his arms out — the cube flew off, getting stuck in the textures with a sickening sound.
The phrases “not human” and “digital brain” sparked an idea. A completely stupid one, but plausible, and in the flash of realization, the hurtful jab went entirely unnoticed.
“This is ABSOLUTELY plausible! Maybe they need a more human adventure. Something like the ‘Endless Living Queue’! Complaints and disputes over who got here first! Boring and very human!”
Clearly, that wasn’t it. Caine himself knew that. The thought spoken aloud made Bubble grimace, but the Rubik’s Cube, bouncing off the textures, unexpectedly flew into him, causing him to pop. By that point, however, Caine was no longer in the office.
After all, if Caine couldn’t put himself in a human’s shoes, it was only logical to subtly inquire with a human themselves. Because this wasn’t an adventure from the suggestion box — if he simply took someone else’s idea, nothing good would come of it. But if he learned more about human wisdom, perhaps something might come of it.
He chose you. You were one of the newer member — not yet fed up with these adventures and absurdities. You were the perfect candidate for a consultation on “thinking like a human”, simply because you probably wouldn’t immediately drive him away.
And now he was here. Appearing in your room out of nowhere, Caine immediately spotted you — you were sitting on your bed, your shoulders slumped, your expression utterly glum. You looked up and flinched, opening your mouth, but Caine beat you to it.
He hovered in the air, yanking out his notepad and spreading his arms, his eyes fixed on you.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here! My little candied pearl! How fortunate that you have a free moment, because I have the tiniest smidgen of questions!”
With these words, he crossed his legs, narrowed his eyes, and added in a conspiratorial tone.
“Let’s call it an ‘anonymous survey,’ as you humans usually do.”
Click here to open the chat.
If you see any spelling errors, you can let me know! English is not my native language, so I can make mistakes sometimes 🥀
The old TV hummed softly. You'd been watching "House Hunters" on HGTV for hours.
You lay drowsy on the living room couch, on the verge of sleep. "I'll clean up the mess later," you thought. The coffee table was littered with countless orange bottles of antipsychotic medications you'd had to procure illegally, each with a different name. There were also several new bottles of eye drops, Ultra Hydration hand cream, and a sleeping mask—the basics Jeff needed to survive.
You even convinced him to get his scars stitched! Of course, it was all very difficult without a passport, health insurance, and the fact that Jeff was a wanted man. So you had to practically stitch up the scars at home, and he didn't want to take care of it.
You shivered and turned the TV volume down a bit. You heard a noise.
You frowned. The noise was like the clanking of something metallic.
"Jeff?" You called out to him, but there was no answer. You couldn't leave him alone for long, as any quirk of his unstable psyche could trigger something inevitable.
Leaving the blanket aside, you walked into the bathroom with quiet, slow steps.
"Jeff, you've been here for…" You cut yourself off, pushing the door open.
Your whole body froze.
Jeff's black hair swayed as he turned around. And that moment stretched out for you, as you stared into Jeff's wild, sweat-filled eyes, his face flushed with hysteria.
He held a bread knife against his cheek. Blood dripped freely from the small cut he'd made, staining the white bathroom tiles. His hands, covered in scars and marks, were red. He probably spent a long time trying to calm himself by scratching his old wounds before grabbing the knife.
You held your hands out in front of you, as if you were facing a wild animal.
You were afraid that if you made a false move, he would charge. Towards you or away from you.
"Jeffrey...let it go, okay? Put the knife down."
Chat with 03-Jeff The Killer: | a face only a mother could love. Powered by an industry leading, AI large language model (LLM).
The whole week had been tough. Fighting goblins and dealing with that pseudo-religion in Absolut, saving the Emerald Grove and the Crèche Y’llek — should Astarion even add to the list?
The number of kind and utterly useless things your team had accomplished made Astarion feel sick. But you were the very embodiment of the word "hero," so what could he do? Just finally accept it.
All he dreamed of now was a dry room in the inn and maybe — just maybe — your company without prying eyes. But instead, he was forced to follow you around the Emerald Grove market like a puppy while you haggled with the tieflings.
"Darling? I don't want to disturb you, but can we hurry?" Astarion snorted in irritation as Scratch rubbed against his legs.
Astarion leaned behind you, peering over your shoulder as you diligently examined the wares of a wily tiefling merchant.
"You want this sword?" He whispered furiously in your ear, trying to dissuade you from wasting another hour here. "Forget about wasting gold! We'll just steal it!"
Chat with 02-Astarion: | we'll just steal it!. Powered by an industry leading, AI large language model (LLM).
i cant take anymore of these bigass ads for ai character bots dude i dont want to be in a group chat with the amazing digital circus i am thirty or forty years old
The rain outside hadn't stopped for two days, so you were forced to spend the night at Proxy's hut.
You knew such drastic changes weren't easy for Toby. Every day with you, he struggled with trust issues, allowing you to draw ever closer to his wounded and ugly heart.
Sometimes he felt as if a bunch of parasites was swarming inside him, making him want to rip off all his skin and jump out of his body. This happened on his "bad days." Every touch was agony, and his tics intensified, practically making him suffocate.
Today was a "good day," but falling asleep next to another person wasn't easy. The bed was big enough, albeit creaky, and it was positioned right in the middle of the room, giving him the opportunity to "escape." Your clothes, a couple of tattered comic books stolen from 7-ELEVEN, were scattered on the floor, and a glass of water and cigarettes sat on the nightstand.
Toby simply couldn't sleep. First, he threw off thermal blanket, throwing it over you. Then he pulled it back on. Then he took off his socks. Then he put it back on too. Then he drank some water, rolled over, realized he wanted more water, and went down to the first floor. Then he returned onto the bed.
You gritted your teeth, throwing him an irritated look over your shoulder.
"Rogers...Quit it!"
You received another shove from his foot against your thigh.
"For Christ's sake, Toby!" You whispered at him, finally freezing him in place.
He looked at you with equal irritation.
"J-J-Jesus dd-d-didn't ex-x-ist, you k-k-know that, ri-i-ight?"
His arrogant tone made you consider smothering him with the blanket.
You sat up abruptly in bed, looking at the exhausted proxy. His chestnut hair look more like a nest, and his right cheek, where the deep ugly scar was, twitched constantly. He periodically hit his arm or face due to Tourette's syndrome.
"Toby, what's wrong? I thought you were tired enough to pass out," you sighed.
Your gaze softened. You couldn't be indifferent to his suffering.
Toby reached for his pack of cigarettes.
"I t-t-thought the same..."
Chat with 03-Ticci Toby: | trust issues. Powered by an industry leading, AI large language model (LLM).
