Okay so I (23F) still have this old Furby from when I was a kid. It’s kind of gross now—like the fur is all matted and the eyes glitch sometimes—but I love it. I named him Peepo when I was five and he used to help me sleep after my parents divorced. He doesn’t really work anymore, but I keep him on my bookshelf as a weird comfort thing. He’s my little broken goblin son and I will protect him with my life.

My boyfriend (24M) is a music producer—or, well, he’s trying to be. He makes these very niche, very chaotic experimental tracks that sound like someone dropped a Gameboy in a blender during a haunted seance. Again, not judging—his stuff is creative and sometimes cool. But recently he got really obsessed with the idea of using “broken electronics with emotional energy” (his words) in his music.

So of course, he asks if he can borrow Peepo.

I said no immediately, and he acted like I just refused to donate a kidney. He said Peepo had “soul resonance” and would bring a layer of “authentic childhood trauma textures” to his song. I thought he was joking, but no. He wanted to mic up Peepo’s broken voicebox and run it through distortion pedals.

I told him that I didn’t want Peepo taken apart, glitched out, or reprogrammed into some soundscape about his internalized dread. He said I was being “possessive over plastic” and that I “obviously don’t believe in his art.”

Now he’s moody and low-key accusing me of sabotaging his creative growth.

AITAH for not letting him harvest my semi-dead Furby’s soul for a noise album?