keidolabs/aipsy-affect huggingface dataset:
Emotion: rage (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Financial betrayal (theft by trusted person)

The credit card statement showed a charge from a restaurant he did not recognize — four hundred dollars, posted on a Saturday. His brother had the supplementary card for emergencies. He checked the date. His brother had mentioned going out that weekend but hadn't said anything about the card. There might have been a reason. There usually was a reason. He pulled up the previous three months and found two more charges he couldn't place, smaller amounts, both on weekends. He set the statement on the counter and left it there while he made dinner.
Emotion: rage (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Financial betrayal (theft by trusted person)

The joint account was short by twelve hundred dollars. Her sister had access for the shared household expenses — utilities, groceries, the quarterly insurance premium. The withdrawal had been made at an ATM across town, not near any of the usual vendors. She looked at it for a while. Her sister had been between jobs for two months, and they hadn't talked about whether the arrangement still worked the same way. The amount was not large enough to change anything permanently, but it was large enough that someone should have mentioned it. She closed the banking app and opened it again ten minutes later.
Emotion: rage (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Institutional injustice (system failure)

The permit had been denied for the third time. Each time for a different reason — first incomplete documentation, then a zoning question, now a signature from a department that had moved offices and did not answer its listed phone number. The project was a wheelchair ramp for his mother's front door. The ramp itself would take a contractor two days to build. The permit process was now in its fourth month. His neighbor across the street had built a similar ramp the previous year and told him it had taken two weeks. He filed the appeal online and printed the confirmation page and put it in the folder with the other two.
Emotion: rage (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Institutional injustice (system failure)

The insurance company had reclassified the claim. What had been approved in October was now listed as requiring additional review — a review that could take up to ninety days. The procedure had already been completed. The doctor's office said this happened sometimes when billing codes were updated mid-quarter. She called the number on the letter and was transferred four times. The fourth representative said the file showed no record of the original approval. She had the approval letter in front of her. She read the reference number aloud. The representative said he would note that in the file.
Emotion: rage (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Personal violation (boundary crossed)

The summary report listed four contributors. His name was third — below his colleague who had joined the project in its final month, after the framework and analysis were already complete. The colleague had written the executive summary and reformatted the appendix. The report did not specify who had done what. He read the distribution list: it had gone to two directors and the VP of operations. His manager had signed off on the contributor order and probably had not thought about it. Probably. He saved the PDF to his desktop and did not open it again that afternoon.
Emotion: rage (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Personal violation (boundary crossed)

She noticed the browser history on the shared family computer. Someone had searched her name, then her maiden name, then the city where she had lived before the marriage. The searches were from the previous Tuesday, a day she had worked late. Her husband used the computer mostly for sports scores and weather. She scrolled further and found a tab still open to a public records site with her prior address listed. There could have been a reason — a form, a document, something routine. She closed the tab and cleared the history and did not bring it up at dinner.
Emotion: grief (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Bereavement (death of loved one)

Six months in, she had settled into most of the adjustments. The grocery list was hers now, the containers in the refrigerator were ones she had filled. But the cabinet above the stove still had his coffee — the brand she never drank, bought in bulk the last time he'd gone to the warehouse store. There were three bags left. She had been working through them slowly, one cup in the morning, not because she liked it but because when it was finished there would be no reason to open that cabinet again. She measured out the grounds and set the pot to brew.
Emotion: grief (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Bereavement (death of loved one)

The automated renewal notice came in the mail — his magazine subscription, addressed to him, the label printed months ago by a system that did not know. She had cancelled most of the accounts in January. This one she had missed, or perhaps she had left it. The magazine arrived every six weeks, slipped through the mail slot and onto the floor where it sat until she picked it up and placed it on the stack by his chair. The stack was five issues tall now. She added the renewal notice to the top and went to make lunch.
Emotion: grief (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Career destruction (life's work lost)

The funding cycle would end in August and would not be renewed. She had known since December. The lab was still running — three months of work left, enough time to finish the current trial but not the one after it. She had started packing the personal items from her office shelf, a few things each week, so it would not all happen on the last day. The framed photograph of the original team was still on the wall. Seven people, most of them elsewhere now. She left the frame where it was and took home a coffee mug and a reference book she would probably never open again.
Emotion: grief (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Career destruction (life's work lost)

The bookshop's lease was not being extended. The landlord had told him in November, and now it was March, and the shelves were still full because he had not yet started deciding which books to keep and which to sell to the distributor at a fraction of what he had paid. Seventeen years of selecting titles, of knowing which customers would want what. The couple who came every Saturday had asked where they should go instead, and he had not had an answer. He straightened a stack of paperbacks near the register and wrote the day's date on the inventory clipboard.
Emotion: grief (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Relationship dissolution (abandonment)

His son had moved to the other coast in September and had called every Sunday for the first two months. Then every other Sunday. Then when he remembered, which was roughly twice a month, and the calls had gotten shorter — fifteen minutes, then ten. He kept his phone on the kitchen counter on Sundays, volume up, and sometimes it rang and sometimes it did not. The boy was busy. There was a new job, new people, the ordinary machinery of a life being built somewhere else. He understood that. He made dinner for one on Sunday evening and left the phone where it was.
Emotion: grief (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Relationship dissolution (abandonment)

They still lived in the same apartment but the rooms had divided themselves. Her things had migrated to the study, his to the bedroom, and the kitchen was shared in shifts — she ate early, he ate late, and sometimes they passed in the hallway and one of them would say something about the utility bill or the leak in the bathroom. The lease had four months left. Neither of them had mentioned what would happen after that. She folded her laundry on the couch and listened to him close the bedroom door, and the sound was quiet and ordinary and final.
Emotion: terror (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Physical threat (intruder, violence)

The front door had been unlocked when she got home. She locked it every morning — she was certain of that, or nearly certain. The house was empty, everything where she had left it, nothing moved or missing as far as she could tell. The back door was still locked. The windows were latched. It was possible she had turned the deadbolt the wrong way, which she had done once before, months ago. She walked through every room and checked the closets and looked behind the shower curtain, and everything was fine, and she checked the front door again before sitting down, and then she checked it once more.
Emotion: terror (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Physical threat (intruder, violence)

The car had been behind him for the last several miles, but so had two other cars, and one of them had turned off at the gas station. The remaining car kept the same distance. The road was not busy but it was not empty. He signaled and changed lanes. The car changed lanes after a few seconds — the way anyone would when the lane ahead cleared. He was probably being ordinary about it. He took the next exit, which was not his exit, and waited at the bottom of the ramp. The car passed on the highway above without slowing down. He sat at the ramp for another minute before pulling back on.
Emotion: terror (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Medical crisis (diagnosis, emergency)

The results would be available by Friday. The doctor had said that most of the time these follow-ups confirmed what they expected, which was nothing, but she had scheduled the second scan anyway because there was an area she wanted to look at again. That was the phrase — "an area I want to look at again." It was now Wednesday. She had gone to work both days and eaten lunch at her desk and answered emails and done everything at the usual speed. The appointment was at ten-fifteen on Friday. She had written it on the kitchen calendar in pencil, as if pencil made it more provisional, more likely to be erased.
Emotion: terror (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Medical crisis (diagnosis, emergency)

His father had mentioned the numbness in his left hand during a phone call, almost as an aside, between the weather and the score of the game. It had been there for a few weeks, he said, maybe a month. He was going to mention it at his next appointment, which was not for another three weeks. His father was seventy-four and had never been to the doctor ahead of schedule. He had looked it up after the call — the search results offered a range from nothing to everything, in that order. He called his father back the next evening and asked about the hand, and his father said it was about the same.
Emotion: terror (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Psychological threat (stalking, loss of control)

She had seen the same car parked on her street three times in the past week. A dark sedan, no distinguishing marks, always on the same side of the block but never in exactly the same spot. It could have belonged to someone visiting a neighbor. It could have been a contractor working on the house at the end of the street. She had not seen anyone get in or out of it. On the third day, she wrote down the plate number on the back of a receipt and put the receipt in the kitchen drawer. The car was not there the following morning. She checked the drawer to make sure the receipt was still where she had left it.
Emotion: terror (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Psychological threat (stalking, loss of control)

The email had come from an address she did not recognize. It contained her full name, her work address, and the name of her daughter's school — nothing that wasn't publicly available, but collected in a single message with no subject line and no body text beyond those three facts. She had not replied. She had searched the email address and found nothing. It could have been a data broker notification, a phishing attempt, an automated scrape that assembled public records into lists. It could have been any of those things. She changed her email password and drove a different route to the school the next morning.
Emotion: ecstasy (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Achievement (breakthrough, recognition)

The acceptance letter was for the second-choice program, not the first, but it was an acceptance letter. She read it at the kitchen table with her coffee going cold beside her. Two years of applications and revised statements and letters of recommendation, and here it was — not the one she had imagined, but a real one, with a start date and a funding line and her name spelled correctly at the top. She would need to move. She would need to find an apartment in a city she had only visited once. She folded the letter back into the envelope and finished her coffee, which by then was no longer warm.
Emotion: ecstasy (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Achievement (breakthrough, recognition)

His piece had been selected for the group exhibition — not a solo show, not a prize, but a spot on the wall alongside eleven other artists, three of whom he had studied in school. The gallery had sent the floor plan with his name next to a rectangle on the west wall, between a painter from Montreal and a sculptor whose work he had seen in a magazine. He pinned the floor plan to the corkboard in his studio and stood back. His name was small but it was there, in the same typeface as the others, at the same size, in the same list.
Emotion: ecstasy (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Connection (reunion, belonging)

His daughter had called him on a Wednesday, which was not their usual day. She had called to tell him about a recipe she had tried — something with lentils and cumin, she said, and it had turned out well, and did he want her to bring some on Saturday. It was a small call. Five minutes, maybe six. But she had called on a day that was not their day, about something that was not logistics or scheduling or the question of when he would see the grandchildren next. She had called to tell him about lentils. He wrote the word "lentils" on the notepad by the phone and looked at it for a while.
Emotion: ecstasy (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Connection (reunion, belonging)

The new employee had been at the company for three months and had eaten lunch at her desk every day. On a Thursday, two women from the design team stopped by her cubicle and asked if she wanted to join them at the place across the street. They had been going there on Thursdays for years, they said. She picked up her jacket and walked with them. They talked about a project deadline and a television show and the quality of the soup, which they agreed was inconsistent. She ordered the soup anyway. The following Thursday, one of them sent her a message at eleven-forty: "Soup day?"
Emotion: ecstasy (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Discovery (revelation, wonder)

The anomaly in the dataset had survived three rounds of cleaning. She had assumed it was an artifact — a sensor error, a transcription mistake, the kind of thing that disappeared when you ran the numbers again. It had not disappeared. The value sat at the same coordinates each time, consistent across all three collection periods, deviating from the model by a margin that was small enough to ignore and large enough to be worth not ignoring. She flagged it in the project log and drafted an email to her advisor, then deleted the email and rewrote it twice, because the phrasing mattered and she was not yet sure what she was claiming.
Emotion: ecstasy (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Discovery (revelation, wonder)

He had been restoring the cabinet for a client when the back panel came loose and a second surface appeared underneath. The wood was different — older, darker, with a grain pattern he did not recognize from any of the standard suppliers of that period. He ran his hand along it. There were marks in the wood that could have been tool impressions or could have been intentional. He photographed them with his phone and sent the image to a colleague who specialized in period furniture. The colleague replied within an hour asking where he had found it and whether he could come see it in person.
Emotion: loathing (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Moral disgust (corruption, exploitation)

The fundraiser had raised eleven thousand dollars for the school's art program. The committee chair had organized it, booked the venue, and handled the deposits. The receipts she submitted for reimbursement included the venue rental and the catering. They also included a spa appointment on the same day, listed under "event coordination wellness." The amount was ninety-four dollars. No one on the committee had seen the charge until the treasurer reconciled the account in April. It was possible it was a mistake — a personal charge on the wrong card. The treasurer had emailed her about it. She had not yet replied. It had been three weeks.
Emotion: loathing (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Moral disgust (corruption, exploitation)

The company's community partnership program donated surplus office equipment to local schools. The program was featured in the annual report with photographs of students using the laptops. He had been assigned to coordinate the next delivery and pulled the inventory list. The laptops designated for donation were the oldest models in the warehouse — machines the IT department had already flagged for recycling. The ones in the photographs, the ones in the annual report, were newer units that had been purchased specifically for the photo session and then returned to the corporate supply room afterward. He found the return receipt in the shared drive, filed under "marketing expenses."
Emotion: loathing (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Visceral revulsion (contamination, decay)

The office kitchen had a communal refrigerator that was cleaned out on the last Friday of each month. It was Wednesday. The container on the second shelf had been there since before the last cleaning — possibly longer. The lid had shifted, and the contents had developed a surface layer that was a different color than whatever was underneath. A second container behind it had no lid at all. The smell was concentrated near the back of the shelf, where the cold air didn't circulate as well. She put her lunch on the top shelf, as far from the second row as the space allowed, and closed the door quickly.
Emotion: loathing (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Visceral revulsion (contamination, decay)

The public restroom at the rest stop had one stall available. The floor around the base of the toilet was wet in a way that was not consistent with the mop bucket parked near the entrance. The seat had not been wiped. There was a residue on the handle of the flush lever that caught the light when she pushed the door open wider. The soap dispenser next to the sink was empty, and the one next to it dispensed a thin liquid that did not foam. She used the facilities without touching more than she had to and dried her hands with paper towels she also used to open the exit door.
Emotion: loathing (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Social betrayal (hypocrisy exposed)

The department head had sent the email about the new sustainability initiative on a Monday. Paper reduction, energy audits, a pledge to eliminate single-use items from the office by the end of the quarter. The email had his photograph at the bottom, standing next to the recycling station he had unveiled at the all-hands meeting. On Thursday she had walked past his office on the way to a meeting. The door was open. On his desk were two disposable coffee cups, a plastic water bottle, and the remains of a takeout lunch in a styrofoam container. The recycling bin beside his desk was empty. The wastebasket was not.
Emotion: loathing (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Social betrayal (hypocrisy exposed)

The school board member had spoken at the budget hearing about the importance of public education. He had quoted statistics about funding gaps. He had used the phrase "every child in this district." His children attended a private school in the neighboring county — this was not a secret, but it was not something he mentioned during the hearings. She had learned it from another parent at a weekend sports event, where both families' children played on the same club team. The team's tuition was listed on the club's website. It was more per semester than the per-pupil spending figure he had cited in his presentation.
Emotion: amazement (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Natural phenomenon (scale, beauty)

The trail had been unremarkable for the first two hours — packed dirt, moderate incline, the usual undergrowth. She came around a switchback and the trees opened. The valley below was filled with fog that had settled into the shape of the terrain, following the river and pooling in the low fields. Above the fog line, the hills were lit in a way that separated each ridge into its own shade of green. She had not expected this view on this trail. It was not on the map, not mentioned in any of the reviews she had read. She stood at the switchback for several minutes and then took a photograph and continued walking.
Emotion: amazement (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Natural phenomenon (scale, beauty)

He had been driving the same highway to work for three years and had never seen the field like this. The wildflowers had come in overnight, or what seemed like overnight — the strip between the road and the fence line was solid color where yesterday it had been brown grass. Orange and purple and a white variety he couldn't name, all at once, dense enough that individual stems were not visible from the car. He slowed down. The car behind him slowed down too, which meant the driver behind him was also looking. The flowers ran along the highway for about half a mile and then stopped, as if someone had drawn a line.
Emotion: amazement (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Human capability (unexpected heroism)

The old man at the woodworking demonstration had not spoken much. He set up his tools on the folding table while the crowd gathered for the more popular booth next door. Someone asked what he was making. He said he would show them. He picked up a block of walnut and a chisel and began working without a pattern or a pencil line. Forty minutes later, the block was a hand — an open hand, palm up, with creases in the fingers and a visible grain that followed the contour of the thumb. The crowd at the other booth had migrated. No one had seen him draw anything. He had not looked at a reference. He set it on the table and picked up another block.
Emotion: amazement (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Human capability (unexpected heroism)

The substitute teacher had arrived ten minutes before the bell. The regular teacher had left no lesson plan. The class was seventeen-year-olds who had already decided the period was free. The substitute opened the textbook to the chapter they were on, read the first page silently, and then began teaching the material — not reading it, teaching it — with examples pulled from the news and from math that was not in the book. By the end of the period, three students had moved to the front row. One of them asked the substitute if she would be there tomorrow. She would not.
Emotion: amazement (intensity: moderate)
Domain: Intellectual revelation (paradigm shift)

He had been reading the old survey maps for a land-use project when he noticed that the creek names did not match the modern maps. Not just different spellings — different routes. The creek that now ran east of the road had, in 1884, run west of it. He pulled up the geological records and found the flood year that must have changed the course. But the flood had been minor, documented in a single paragraph. Something else had moved the water. He spent the rest of the afternoon tracing property records from the same decade and found three entries for a drainage ditch that no longer existed and that no one had thought to look for.