wonderhoy !! i came across your trial by table and as a picky eater i felt SEEN bro (the ordering the pasta with a side of nothing bcus sauces were unpredictable is the type of things youd catch me doing) and overall all the boys had such in character reactions to their picky eater s/o being the judge!! 100 points, beaute!!
i was wondering if i could.. heh.. slip in a req… for housewardens and their s/o who does oshikatsu and somehow still has their merch and itabags from their own world… the comedy methinks…. like the boys enter s/o’s room to see several shelves and displays of the same character, organized with such dedication to both the character and s/o’s own aesthetic
SORRY IF THIS IS LONG HUHU i find the concept to be comedic because yk… the only one who would get it would be idia (and maybe vil). anyways!!! hope you have a good, always remember to drink water, too!!
a/n: thank you for liking Trial by Table! I hated when picky eaters were portrayed as bratty in any sort of media lmao. Of course you can slip in a small requests!
warnings: crack fic, possible ooc, reader is yuu
Riddle expected order, structure, and meticulous neatness when he stepped into your room. What he did not expect was an absolute, blinding sea of pink, sparkles, and a hyper-cute magical girl anime character staring back at him from every conceivable angle.
The Heartslabyul housewarden froze in the doorway, his hand hovering over his magical pen as his brain struggled to process the sheer volume of this pastel-haired fictional heroine occupying the space. There were pristine shelves lined with identical, tiny plush versions of her sitting in perfect alignment. Rows of acrylic stands captured her in various poses wielding a star-shaped wand. On your desk sat a heavy, windowed backpack—an "itabag," you had called it—packed so tightly with overlapping, identical heart-shaped badges of her face that it looked like a shield of protective armor.
"What in the Queen’s name is the meaning of this?!" Riddle finally sputtered, his face rapidly matching the vibrant red of his house uniform as he realized you weren't hoarding illegal magical artifacts, but rather... toys. He marched over to a shelf, pointing a trembling finger at a row of perfectly preserved, plastic-wrapped keychains. "Is this… a shrine? Why are there twelve identical iterations of this animated girl lined up by release date? And why is she wearing a bizarre, oversized cat hoodie on this particular piece of cardboard?!"
You calmly explained the sacred art of oshikatsu—the dedication, the merchandise hunting, the financial sacrifice, and the absolute necessity of buying multiple copies for "display, storage, and emergency use." Riddle’s jaw dropped. The strict adherence to organization and the rule of threes actually appealed to his rule-abiding nature, but the sheer absurdity of seeing a cartoon character printed on everything from pillows to custom tea mugs was sending his internal compass into a tailspin.
"Rule 242 of the Queen of Hearts clearly states that one must not hoard unnecessary duplicates!" he barked, though the terrifying effect was entirely ruined by the fact that he was currently holding a tiny, round plushie of the magical girl with stubby little limbs. He stared into the bead eyes of the plushie, then at you, completely flustered. "If… if you truly desired a sense of whimsical companionship that much, you could have simply asked to study tea-tasting etiquette with me..!"
Leona only came to your room to find a quiet place to nap away from Ruggie’s nagging, but the moment he opened the door, he was assaulted by a blinding wall of color. He stopped dead in his tracks, blinking slowly at the sheer volume of plastic and fabric staring back at him.
Your shelves were a veritable fortress of a single character, boasting everything from tiny rubber straps to premium scale figures. Leona’s gaze drifted down to your bed, where an army of plushies occupied the prime sleeping real estate, leaving you with barely a corner to sleep on. On your desk sat a heavily customized bag covered in lace, ruffles, and a solid wall of identical character pins.
He crossed his arms, letting out a heavy, amused huff as he nudged a massive plushie out of his way with the toe of his boot.
"Hey, Herbivore. I didn't know I was going to share a room with a stalker. Who's the brightly colored chump on the wall, and why does he have more property rights in this room than you do?"
You enthusiastically launched into a defense of your favorite character, explaining the concept of supporting your "oshi." Leona listened with a lazy, half-lidded smirk, occasionally poking an acrylic stand just to watch you flinch in terror that he might throw off the alignment. "So you’re telling me you used to spend all your pocket money buying a dozen copies of the same plastic toy just to show 'devotion'?" he scoffed, throwing himself onto your bed and casually crushing three limited-edition cushions. "Sounds like a lot of work for a guy who doesn't even exist. If you’re that desperate to dote on someone, you've got a real, live prince right here who actually appreciates a good pampering."
Azul entered your room under the impression that you wanted to discuss a potential business collaboration for the Mostro Lounge. The moment the door swung open, however, the master businessman was completely brought to his knees by the sheer capitalistic horror—and awe—of your collection centered around a charismatic virtual idol group.
His glasses practically flashed with numerical data as he took in the sight. Wall-to-wall shelves were organized with mathematical precision, featuring acrylic stands of the handsome, two-dimensional pop stars grouped by "rarity" and "event themes." There were rows of glittering holographic badges, limited-edition framed art prints, and an itabag so perfectly arranged in a fish-scale pattern featuring your absolute favorite member that it looked like a masterpiece of engineering. Azul took a step back, clutching his chest as if experiencing a spiritual awakening.
"My word... the sheer financial investment required to procure this many goods..." Azul whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of reverence and profound shock. He stepped closer to a shelf, his fingers hovering over a rare, sparkling anniversary badge of a boy with neon blue hair. "Wait. Is this... limited-edition holographic merchandise? The printing quality is exquisite! The markup on the secondary market for these blind-box items must be absolutely astronomical! Where did you secure the capital to fund this?!"
You frantically explained that in your world, these boys didn't exist—they were characters from a rhythm game, and you were a dedicated consumer who spent weeks trading on internet forums just to get a "matching set" of your favorite boy's event badges. Azul’s brain momentarily short-circuited. The idea that people were willing to bleed their bank accounts dry for completely fictional entities filled him with immense pride on behalf of the corporate entities of your world, closely followed by intense entrepreneurial jealousy.
"To think there is a market out there trading purely imaginary likenesses for profit, and the consumer receives absolutely no real-world collateral!" Azul cried out, dramatically pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. He then turned to you, his eyes gleaming with a terrifyingly sharp business light. "However... your dedication to inventory management and aesthetic organization is genuinely impressive. We must immediately discuss a strategy to replicate these 'itabags' featuring the Mostro Lounge staff. If people will buy plastic for fictional boys, imagine what they will pay for me!"
Kalim didn't just walk into your room; he practically burst through the door with an armful of snacks, eager to hang out. When he looked up and saw your room, his eyes went wide, and a massive, radiant smile split across his face at the sight of a terrifying, spiky-haired mecha-anime robot dominating the space.
To Kalim, your meticulously organized oshikatsu room didn't look creepy or unusual at all—it looked like an incredibly fun, permanent birthday party dedicated entirely to a cool giant robot. The shelves were bursting with bright red and metallic decorations, countless plushies of the robot's pilot stacked into a massive pyramid, and neat rows of sparkling keychains. Your itabag, covered in so many jingling charms of the machine's insignia that it sounded like a tambourine every time you moved, was resting on the bed.
"Wow! This is amazing!" Kalim cheered, dropping the snacks onto your desk and running over to the plushie pyramid of the tiny cartoon pilots. He picked up one of the round soft toys, squeezing it happily. "Look at this! It looks like a little warrior, but it's so squishy! Did you make all of these yourself? Wait, are we having a sci-fi festival? Why didn't you tell me? I could have asked the Scarabia magic carpet to do tricks like a spaceship!"
You laughed nervously, guiding him over to a chair before explaining the concept of an oshi and how you used to buy merchandise to support a fictional franchise from afar because the story gave you strength. You explained that organizing the shelves by color and release date was a way to show respect for your favorite piece of media. Kalim listened with pure, unadulterated awe, his heart completely melting at the pure passion radiating from your explanation.
"So... you liked this story so much that you wanted to fill your whole room with it just to feel happy?" Kalim’s eyes practically sparkled with joy, and he suddenly threw his arms around you in a massive hug. "Such dedication you have [Name], I hope to reach that same level one day..." he gave a small smile.
Vil had consented to visit your room under the impression that you needed assistance with a skincare routine, but the moment he stepped inside, his impeccable posture faltered. He stared at the walls of merchandise with a mixture of profound aesthetic horror and grim fascination.
Every shelf was packed with a single character's face, lit by harsh LED strip lights that Vil immediately recognized as terrible for one's complexion. He walked over to your desk, lifting your heavily decorated ita-bag by the strap with two manicured fingers, inspecting the overlapping rows of identical badges as if it were a strange alien artifact.
He turned to you, one eyebrow arched so high it practically vanished into his bangs.
"I am utterly speechless. The lack of visual variety in this room is a crime against interior design, and yet... I cannot deny the sheer, unyielding discipline it took to organize this chaos."
He ran a finger along a shelf, checking for dust and finding absolutely none, which earned you a nod of approval. Still, he looked at a life-sized fabric poster of your fictional favorite and sighed deeply. "To think my own potato is harboring a secret passion of this magnitude. Tell me, darling, what does this digital phantom have that I do not? His hair styling is utterly unrealistic, and his wardrobe choices lack any sense of haute couture. If you are going to worship an idol with such terrifying intensity, I suggest you turn your camera toward someone who actually knows how to work a runway—namely, me."
Idia had only agreed to come to your room because you promised him a rare, limited-edition snack, but the second he crossed the threshold, his flaming blue hair spiked into a bright, chaotic neon pink. He stumbled backward, covering his face with his tablet as if shielding his eyes from a divine, blinding light.
He didn't see a weird collection; he saw a master-level deity of the otaku arts. His eyes darted from the perfectly aligned scale figures to the flawlessly constructed ita-bag, recognizing the exact brand of protective vinyl sleeves you used for your merchandise.
He collapsed onto his knees in front of your main shelf, his voice trembling in a mix of profound respect and absolute tech-nerd panic.
"N-No way... How the hell are you a bigger oshi than me?! You always complain about the food shortage at Ramshackle! You... you're not just a normie... you're a high-tier whale!"
Idia was suddenly in his element, his usual social anxiety completely vaporized by the shared language of pure geek culture. He began pointing at your shelves, his words coming out in a rapid-fire, high-speed stream. "The rosette work on this bag is literally SSR-rank, who taught you how to pleat ribbon like that?! And this badge arrangement... it’s a perfect diamond grid! You endured the blind-box trade wars for this?! I thought I was the only one in this cursed school who understood the absolute peak dopamine rush of a successful merch haul! Please, teach me your ways!"
Malleus had heard from Lilia that humans often decorated their personal spaces with items that reflected their souls, but nothing could have prepared the Fae prince for the sheer density of your room. He stepped inside, his horns nearly brushing against a hanging garland of character charms.
He stood perfectly still in the center of the room, turning slowly as dozens of identical plastic eyes stared down at him from every available surface. He approached your desk, peering with intense, curious fascination at your ita-bag, which was covered in rows of glittering badges that caught the light like dragon scales.
He looked toward you, his expression a mix of profound confusion and genuine, touching earnestness.
"Child of man... I was unaware that you were a practitioner of such advanced replication magic. Have you successfully trapped the soul of this warrior inside these tiny, metallic shields?"
You hurriedly explained that it wasn't dark magic, but rather oshikatsu—a human hobby where people collect goods of a character they admire and love to support them. Malleus’s expression softened, a look of deep, ancient understanding washing over his features as he gently touched the plastic casing of a scale figure. "Ah... I see. It is a modern form of a dragon’s hoard," he murmured, looking at you with a newfound sense of respect. "You gather these treasures because they bring you comfort and joy. I must admit, I am slightly envious. If I were to provide you with gargoyle statues and portraits of myself, would you construct a similar sanctuary for me in your room?"
a/n: this idea was super cutesy omg, hope you enjoyed this anon!
