Here are your prompt lists for March of Pain 2026!! (#14 was accidentally skipped, so feel free to use an alt prompt or use it as a free day)
The only hard rule is to have fun!
If you share your work(s) to Tumblr, please use the hashtag #marchofpain2026
If you share your work(s) to AO3, please tag it with "March of Pain 2026". Additionally, there is a collection you can add your works to, which can be found here: March of Pain 2026 | Archive of Our Own
There is no real deadline and the AO3 collection will remain open indefinitely but obviously the main target is March 2026
If you have any questions, there's an Ask Box on this page
Below is text copies of the lists.
March of Pain 2026 PROMPTS LIST
Stressed
Flu
Jump
Lies
Fall
Reveal
Hopeless
Fever
Fear
Heaven
Need
Worthless
Want
Doesn't exist! Use as a free day or use an alt prompt.
Here at the lake sits a lonely child: a c!Fundy poem about being unwanted
@storyweaverofgondor The Whumps of March Day 26: Isolation/A Lonely Soul
@squidlykitten Moody March Day 6: Loneliness â âI never thought I would wind up all aloneâŚâ
@marchofpain Day 26: Alone
Please ignore the fact Tumblr dropped the quality of the photots
Genre: Fanfiction
Fandom: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare
Rating: T
Warning: Poor mental health
Pairing: None
Description: Everyone wonders if part of Jamie isolating herself is due to stress.
Day 1;
@marchofpain; stress
Ao3 or under the cut
Being in an elite military unit is stressful, but the men of Task Force 141 and their allies worry about their friend, Jamie, a woman with a unique life. They wonder if going to different dimensions stresses her. They know life in her home dimension stresses her and affects her when she returns to their dimension. As usual, Jamie stays in her room when she returns. Which stresses her friends.
âI wish sheâd understand she can come to us,â Alejandro sighs.
âWell, when sheâs told to keep quiet at home,â Soap reminds him.
âHow long before sheâs quiet on missions?â Gaz asks. âItâs bad enough he isolates when sheâs here and doesnât talk to us, but on missions is dangerous.â
âSheâs giving me gray hairs without realizing it,â Price adds.
âAre you sure itâs not your age?â Soap smirks.
âShut it!â
âWe have more important issues than your gray hair,â Nikolai argues.
The others agree. They also agree that they shouldnât all go talk to Jamie, even though theyâre all worried about her.
Price knocks on the door before entering Jamieâs room. He sees Jamie lying on the bed, staring at the wall. He sits on the bed and places a hand on her shoulder.
âJamie? You know itâs not good for you to isolate yourself.â Jamie says nothing. âWeâre worried about you. You know this isnât healthy.â
Price sighs and moves Jamie onto his lap. He hugs her, uncertain of what else to say. Every time Jamie is like this, he thinks about the special arrangement he and Laswell made. Worried heâs going to have to end the agreement for her and the teamâs safety on missions.
What if Soap is right? Price worries.
Price questions how much stress Jamie is dealing with. Between what she deals with in her home dimension, the enemies Task Force 141 faces, the Decepticons, and who knows what else. He knows that while sheâs been going to different dimensions for twenty-four years, dealing with many conflicts, it doesnât mean sheâs immune to feeling stressed. He hates not knowing how to help her.
Whumpees: Sonic the Hedgehog, Miles âTailsâ Prower
Warnings: None
Word Count: 196
Summary: After Sonic assured his friends he was okay, they all left on their own solo adventures. Tails comes home to find out Sonic didn't tell the truth.
A/N: No happy ending. No comfort. Post Frontiers.
@marchofpain
-
âYou said you were okay!â
Tails felt childish. He felt childish and small and-and hurt and worried and scared and stupid because he felt that way. Heâd been all around the world, visited nearly every continent. He was smarter than all his peers. Smarter than some adults! He knew how to fly a plane! Heâd been on amazing awesome dangerous global adventures! Heâd been to space!
He shouldnât feel scared or small or helpless. He was ten years old! Double digits!
But as he stared at the unresponsive form on his brotherâs bed, it was all he felt.
Tailsâs lip started to tremble against his wheel. He could already feel his eyes watering, and he held the tears back as hard as he could. Sonic never cried! So he wouldnât either!
...But it seemed Sonic didnât tell the truth either.
In an impulsive burst of emotion, Tails grabbed his brotherâs shoulders and shook! âSonic!â A hiccup bubbled up out of the kitâs throat. âIâm home! I - Iâm back! You said - You said he wanted to hear all about m-my adventure!â
Dark red and electric blue flickered in dull green eyes.
A/N: Debating whether or not to just post ao3 links in the future. [insert thinking face here] Lemme know your thoughts!
---
âWaâŚpâŚSâŚcâŚâ
There was something on his fur. Its cool presence on his forehead was the first thing to filter into his awareness. He wasnât fully awake, but he could tell that it felt nice.
âCâŚon...nicâŚâ
Had he fallen asleep? He mustâve. When had that happened? He could feel a mattress hugging his back, the foam topper under the sheets cushioning his hips and aching joints. Must be his bed. He vaguely remembered getting comfortable in it earlier, settling down to watchâŚsomething.
âYou neâŚtakeâŚâ
A hand was on his shoulder. A gloved thumb rubbed across his fur. It didnât feel bad, but Sonic did wonder why it was there. There was something else tooâŚa voice? Yeah, a voice. It was gentle, and patient. It made him feel safe.
â...Sonic?â
Oh. It was talking to him.
âIâm awake,â he tried to say, but it came out more like âblarghâ than coherent language.
The movement on his shoulder paused as the voice giggled. âCâmon, big bro.â His shoulder was gently shaken, urging him further awake. âItâs time to take your meds. You were sleeping through your alarm.â
Meds?
Oh, right. It came back to him now. He was sick. Tails had managed to drag him to the doc yesterday to get a flu test and a prescription for an antiâŚsomething. Sonic couldnât remember. They were pills he needed to take so this bout of flu would go away. Heâd set an alarm on his phone and apparently not heard it.
The hedgehog groaned and raised a hand to rub his eyes, except in his groggy stupor, he misjudged how fast he was moving and accidentally smacked himself in the face.
The voice â Tails, he recognized now â snickered. The fox nudged him again before withdrawing his hand. âI brought you some toast with peanut butter too, so you have something in your stomach.â
Sonic grumbled something out in acknowledgement. Right, he had to eat first.
With more effort than heâd like, Sonic sat up and pried his eyes open. He was greeted by the sight of a smiling, healthy fox holding a plate with the promised toast, tails swishing idly behind him. He waited for his brother to get situated before handing over the plate.
Even after sleeping for hours, Sonic felt exhausted. His body ached, his head hurt, his throat was sore. Truly, the flu was a nightmare. Still, he offered his brother a small smile as he accepted the food. âThanks, buddy,â Sonic murmured. âWhatcha been up to today?â
Tails launched into talking about his newest project. The fox made himself comfortable on the edge of Sonicâs bed while he talked, waving his hands around when he got particularly enthused and using words Sonic wouldnât know the meaning of even when he was well. There was a decent shot Sonic wouldnât remember any of this tomorrow due to the brain fog pulling his brain like smog, but for now, the blue hedgehog sat back against his headboard and enjoyed the sound of his little brother talking while he ate his toast.
@storyweaverofgondor The Whumps of March Day 4: Mirrors
@marchofpain Day 20: Yearn
CW: (Internalized) ableism? Phil looses his wings and struggles with this
Phil has no mirrors in his house. He hates them; the image they reflect is something he despises. It is pitiful, this state that he has been reduced to.
Once a fearsome warrior whose mere name stabbed fear through armies, his wings large enough to swallow up the sun as he plunged his sword down. The last thing his victims would see was the eternal black of his feathers, engulfing and nightmarish as the legends say.
He used to strike fear into peopleâs hearts. Now all he gets is pitiful looks and winces if someone doesnât care to mask their expressions.
Some days, he canât dare to look outside. To see birds preen, hearing their small wings flap, seeing how the wind flows through feathers with each push up and down. Itâs a reminder of what he has lost, of what has been torn away.Â
Child of the Sky. That is what his Lady used to call him. Now he is permanently grounded. His freedom was taken not from chains, but in the mangled state of his wings. He can still feel them burn, can smell burnt skin as his feathers burn through muscles and to bone.Â
It hurts, it hurts so much. He canât explain the agony this has inflicted, only that it hurts beyond imagination.
@marchofpain 01 -- stressed
fandom: miitopia
characters: atticus the thief, jupiter the warrior
contains: swaddling atticus like a kitten (deserved).
notes: been playing miitopia fear the consequences. atticus is called "kid" but is 18. title is from rebreather by sparkbird (listen to sparkbird. this is a threat.)
Jupiter learns a lot about his new travelling partner that first night. The warrior goes to bed early as he always doesâ nighttime is dangerous in Miitopiaâ and assumes Atticus wonât be far behind.
Sometime early-morning (two, three maybe?) he stirs. Jupiter is almost positive that it should still be dark out, but the room is dimly-lit. Surely his companion didnât go to sleep with the lantern still burning?
âWas I being too loud?â
Jupiter startles, rolling over frantically. His friend stares at him from across the room, lantern-light glinting in his glasses. It is definitely way too late to still be pouring over parchment.
âNo,â Jupiter finally responds. âI donât think so, anyway.â He blinks more sleep from his eyes. âWhy are you still up?â
The little thief turns back to his paper. âWe have no idea where weâre going.â
âYeah, we do. East.â Jupiter sighs, sitting up. âYou worry too much, little red.â
âI worry a reasonable amount.â Atticus looks at him, expression caught between a glare and a grimace. âWe have to leave early tomorrow. You should go back to sleep.â
âSays the one who hasnât slept at all?â
The thief draws a little arrow somewhere on the map. Itâs very thoroughly labelled; every landmark has a set of instructions and a clear path to the next one. He pointedly doesnât respond.
Jupiter takes a long sip from his water bottle, considering. Now that he thinks about it, Atticus had already been running on fumes when Jupiter had saved him. Heâd caught snippets of the kidâs story; the thief seemed convinced that heâd lead the Dark Lord to Greenhorne, which⌠was probably a load of junk. Evil likes to pick on small towns and kings. Atticus (probably) had nothing to do with it.
Jupiter was a warrior, trained before leaving home. The little thief had been thrust into chaos and suddenly had the world on his shoulders.
Gods above, no wonder the kid was stressed.
âAlright, Little Red. Câmere.â
âWhat?â
âGet over here.â
Atticusâ looking confused as hell, for obvious reasonsâ trudges over. The moment the kid is in range, Jupiter grabs him. âWeâre having a sleepover.â
Itâs a wrestle to get him into the blankets. âWhatâ? Hey! Get off of me!â
âYou need rest, kid!â
âYouâre only a year older than me!â
They bicker back and forth for a long while, struggling with sheets and bantering about blankets. Eventually, Atticus ends up effectively swaddled, growling like a dog. Jupiter flops down next to him and waits for him to settle; he takes the thiefâs glasses, setting them on the nearby table.
The kid looks exhausted. Heâll thank Jupiter later.
âGoodnight, Atty-boo.â
âGo to hell, Jupiter.â
Itâs maybe five minutes before heâs out like a light.
Summary: Sonic's time imprisoned on the Death Egg takes a toll he can't hide.
A/N: I've decided to use March of Pain to exercise my writing muscles! This'll be fun. For me, of course. Not Sonic. Nah, Sonic ain't gonna like any of this lol. Thanks for hosting, @marchofpain!
---
There was a lot Sonic had been through. The flooding of Station Square, turning into a Dark Gaian monster every night. There was more heâd put his body through. Breaking sound barriers, electrocution, crash landings.
None of it compared to this.
A cold cell, in some new base of Eggmanâs. The torture. The waiting.
At first, it was waiting for his friends. Waiting for them to bust into wherever this place is, waiting for the flashing red lights thatâd let him know help had arrived. Waiting for a big red hammer to bust the security pad to his cell, or for the newest version of the Miles Electric to hack it. Waiting for someone to help him take off the too-tight cuffs around his wrists and ankles.
They never came off. No matter how long he waited.
Eventually, what he was waiting for changed.
He waited for the sound of footsteps clanging through the metal hall. Waited for a deep, rumbling laugh and yellow sclera. Waited for the bars in front of his cell to slide away and let something worse in. Waited to see if theyâd take him anywhere or get straight to it. Waited for whatever torture came next.
There had been talk of cutting his quills. It ended when Zavok laughed and picked one of many up from the ground.
âYou mean one of these?â The Zeti had sneered.
It made Sonicâs gut shrivel up. Because as much bravado as he put on, as much as he snarked and quipped and refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing him scared, he couldnât stop his bodyâs natural responses.
He was losing quills. They littered the floor like dust around his feet. Not only was he shedding quills, but they were brittle too. Heâd tried to use one, two, three, seven as files or lockpicks or something to help him get out of here.
Theyâd all shattered.
Zavok knew what it meant. Metal knew. Eggman knew. Hell, Orbot and Cubot probably did too.
Sonic was stressed.
His own biology sold him out.
He knew it couldnât be stopped, but he wished it would. Maybe then theyâd look less pleased whenever they came to fetch him for the next âsessionâ and spied the new quills on the floor. Maybe they wouldnât know just how much this was affecting him. Maybe they wouldnât be taking so much pride in it.
No specific prompts, but I think it would be cool for people to write more about Fibromyalgia for the month of February. Below is an AO3 collection for the event
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
