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A/N: Hoo boy, what's this horrible mess of a thing I've made? I started this on a whim and then it turned into whatever you wanna call this sort of thing. If you'll stick with me, it'll get less gross and more emotional later. But, a warning. I've never written something like this before, and definitely never imagined that I would even try to. If you're looking for fluffiness, look elsewhere. This fic is about terrifyingly complex emotions and a probably unhealthy relationship. Also, I don't know what I'm doing, so there's that.

Warning: This fic contains vore, slash, emotional distress, physical injury, mentions of rape, lots and lots of crying, and is generally for a mature audience. Read at your own discretion.

If you aren't at least 16, you should go check out my other SPM stuff. Those are much less M-rated.

This fic is alternately titled "Nobody Has Any Fun Ever", and is affectionately referred to as a garbage fic and an emotional shitpile. Not to say I didn't put any effort into this, oh no no no. In fact, this is the longest, most quality thing I've ever written, and sometimes I can't even with it. It seems like its written itself, almost. As of this posting, I have 10 chapters written, and have sometimes spent almost 5 hours in a row writing, which is unusual for me. The chapters themselves are also much, much longer than my normal, and I keep watching the word count go up in amazement.

If you don't enjoy vore, you can skip to chapter 3.

So... I hope you guys will enjoy this as much as I do. Now, without further ado, release the beast!

5/5/2018 edit: I shouldn't have to say this, but I do not think that anything in this story is ok. Abuse of any kind is an awful, awful thing to do to someone. An author can write about bad things happening in their stories without thinking they're ok to happen in real life, yeah? I may have morbid fascination, but that doesn't mean I want bad things to happen to real-life people, yeah?

This fic was an experiment in writing something purposefully messed up. Perhaps I succeeded a little too well, though the fact that it took nearly 3 years to get any flames seems to say that I was doing something or other right. Anyway, enjoy. Or don't. 

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Luigi was first aware of the pounding in his temples. He opened his eyes blearily, quickly shutting them again with a groan. The lime green ceiling above him was way too bright... Wait, lime green? His room wasn't that color. With a panicked gasp, he opened his eyes again. His headache only got worse at the garish brightness.

He sat up, but became overpowered by dizziness and had to tuck his head into his knees to just breathe for a moment. His thoughts began to form some sort of order. First off, he was naked. He didn't sleep in the nude. Second, he was clearly in an unfamiliar place. Third, what was he sitting on?

With the headache in check, he slowly stood up and looked around. The eye-gouging color of the walls seemed horribly familiar somehow, as if he'd seen them in some terrible nightmare of his. He looked down and saw that he wasn't even wearing socks, and was also standing on something that appeared to be polished cherry wood.

In fact, it seemed to be a very large, flat plane of cherry wood. Luigi walked cautiously to the nearest edge and peered over it. There was only carpet an even worse color green than the walls, and the long wooden legs of the thing he was standing on reaching down to the floor. He was...on a table? But...why was it so big? He began to pace around the empty tabletop.

His pondering was interrupted by a lilting voice he hadn't heard in years. He shivered and turned to face the speaker.

"Ah ha ha ha... Finally awake, are we Mr. L? Or should I call you Luigi?"