Oh wait. That's not right. It's actually time to announce BBRae Week 2026!!!!🎉🎉🎉🎉
This year we're hosting it at the end of May. Literally on the last day of May into the first week of June: May 31st -June 6th. That still counts as BBRae for May right? Close enough!
Stay tuned, cause starting next week we are taking submissions for prompts. From Monday February 1st to Wednesday February 11th, we will be accepting prompt submissions. Then starting on February 15th, we will start voting on which prompts will be used for BBRae Week.
We are super excited for the ideas you guys have in mind!
BBRae Week 2026:
Sunday May 31st - Saturday June 6th
Feel free to message with questions, comments, or concerns.
Thank you guys for your participation each year! We're always super happy to host and we love seeing all the great fics, art, etc., you guys create every year. Here's to another amazing BBRae Week!
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Garfield Logan/Raven
Characters: Victor Stone | Cyborg, Dick Grayson
Additional Tags: Fluff, Prompt Fic, bbrae week 2026, Secret Relationship, Attempt at Humor
Series: Part 6 of BBRae Week 2026 💚💜
Summary:
But it could also be amusing, how the traits hung off of him like an upside down bat. That’s what Beast Boy thought anyway, as he watched him spread out all his “evidence” at the breakfast table and lose himself in random photos and notes. He wasn’t totally sure what had caught his fearless leader’s interest, but Robin looked about ten seconds away from needing a ball of red string. He took a big sip of his soy milk, turning his attention back to his tofu scramble. Which is exactly the moment Robin decided to throw a grenade into the calm of the morning.
10 a.m. Lower Jump City Area Elementary School, Jump City, California.
The crowd surged forward against the line established by police, shoving them back several feet. The officers now had riot shields to form a wall as desperate parents and family members hurled obscenities, supplications and random objects in their direction.
They dug in, their nerves beginning to fray. The situation was already dire and was quickly deteriorating. If even one person broke through the barricade, it would be pandemonium.
I don’t know why I look like one. I don’t know how I ended up in this mess.
I am on the curb, in the rain, on a staring contest with the girl shaking the bowl -my bowl- and frowning at me from under her porch.
At this point I can tell what she’s thinking from far away. There’s a storm. You’re getting wet and cold for no reason. But last time she tried to be sneaky and hook a collar on me while I ate from that bowl. I need her to know I’m drawing the line: I’m not okay with that.
Finally she huffs -I can’t hear it with the rain being so loud, but I see the gesture-, leaves my bowl on the ground and goes back inside. I wait a few seconds before I go eat.
─
The first time I met her, wandering her neighborhood, I thought I would’ve given anything to be taken into a family and adopted. I think I hadn’t looked like a dog for long at that point, but I already felt like I’d been forsaken forever. I was hungry, I was cold, I was lost and unsafe: all problems I had to clear out before I even got to my main problem of why I looked like a dog.
I’d tried my luck with all the strangers I came across, quickly getting a crash course on how to read people from a very low vantage point, from the way their jaws set and what their hands did. Some people shot me a dirty look, and that was my only cue to get out of the way before they kicked. A lot stopped to coo at me, some of those to pet me. But no food; no taking me along with them.
Across her house is where I stopped to think, to try to come up with a plan. Where did abandoned dogs go? How did one go about being adopted? Were there tricks I could learn to endear myself to people? Was it all a game of numbers? How did I know the right ones to follow? I didn’t want to get to the point of turning myself in at a shelter, and I didn’t even know how I’d find one. I was lost—the city looked so different from down here.
That’s when a door opened, and a girl left her house, crossed the street and set a bowl of food in front of me. That whole process she said not a word—like she was used to making herself understood without them. She just looked at me, and she only looked at me to make sure I knew the bowl was for me.
Seeing as I still didn’t move, she spoke. “Come. Eat.”
Just like that. Cold and clinical. A little impatient.
After all the people who’d stopped to pet me and gotten away quickly when I’d tried to follow them, after all the parents who’d turned kids away from me; after all the people who’d smiled at me performatively while they kept walking, and those who’d just passed by pretending not to see me, this girl had come out of her house, all comfy clothes and loose hair trailing behind her, just to connect me, unsmiling, to a plate of food.
She only turned to go back to her house once she saw I was eating. I was in love by the time she’d crossed the street.
─
But that’s the whole reason I can’t let her adopt me.
On one of those evenings she said it for the first time. “Do you want to be my dog? I think you like it here. I’d take care of you, you’d take care of me. How’s that sound?”
I didn’t see it immediately. At first, I was just glad to have something stable going for me.
We established a routine where she’d feed me before leaving home for work and on her return. I’d be there waiting patiently when she returned in the afternoon, she’d go inside for a bit and come out in clean clothes and wet hair, she’d bring me food and we’d hang out. I’d always eat on her porch, right by her door. Eventually we moved on from the raw minced meat she’d given me the first few times into actual dog food. When she’d pet me, it was like she’d never had a pet before.
The reality hit me only when she put it like that. I ran off, all the way across the street.
When I looked back, her hand was hovering where she’d been petting me a moment ago. I heard her say, “Well I wasn’t expecting that.”
Message received, I’d thought. I’m not up for adoption.
─
But evidently, I didn’t make myself understood like I thought I had.
Over the next couple of days, she pushed the offer. First, she showed me a leash. I answered that by running off. This began a silent war.
She’d come at me with a leash or a carrier, trying for hours to get me to at least smell it, while I gave a step back for her every step forward. Finally she started just leaving her back door open, and only offering me the bowl inside her house.
I refused to go in.
“Come on,” she tells me from her living room, exasperated. “It’s the same as outside, but it’s warm and there’s always food.”
But it’s not the same. She doesn’t know what she’s offering me. Or rather, who she’s offering it to.
I’m not a dog. I only look like one. How can I enter her house under false pretenses?
“I’m an introvert too. It’s not like you have to be around me all the time.”
I bark—I’m not an introvert at all. More to the point, I don’t want to keep finding out stuff about her when she doesn’t know I understand.
She picks up my bowl and shakes it. I stand in anticipation. Seeing my interest, she tries, one last time, to place it inside next to her. I sit again.
Finally she sighs and puts the bowl outside. The way she’s glaring at me makes my heart ache.
“This isn’t like me, you know!”
That’s all she says. Then she goes back inside and closes the door.
I don’t know what she meant, and that’s exactly the thing. I don’t want to know what she meant. Not like this!
I want to know her as human. I want her to tell me the story of how she got a weirdly smart dog that won’t let her adopt him over a glass of wine, while she’s all made up and coy, and I’m trying half-heartedly not to stare at her the whole time.
I give it a few seconds after she’s closed the door to eat. I think she’s glad when I do eat, no matter how frustrated I make her otherwise.
─
I’ve called a ceasefire because she hasn’t tried to trap, lure or leash me in a few days. After the storm didn’t make me fold, she seems to have given up. Tonight, I let her pet me comfortably because she closed the door when she came out to feed me. It's bittersweet.
She talks to me like you’d talk to a pet; stilted, more for herself than for me, and trusting her tone to carry her meaning. Right now she says, like we’ve been arguing out loud all along, “But you can’t be an outside dog. Not with the cold coming.”
Well. I had hoped to resolve my situation before then, but she’s right. I leaned in on her, as if to show her I saw the direness of the situation too. What the hell are we gonna do, girl?
“You’re too smart for your own good. I’ve never seen a dog so smart.”
Funny. Before this, I remember being called dumb for the better part of my life.
“Maybe I could get a catio…”
I don’t bark to tell her she got the wrong species. I can appreciate she said it as shorthand, because she’s deep in thought. And maybe there isn’t a catio equivalent for dogs.
I wouldn’t know. Truth is, I was a cat person myself before all this.
───
Notes:
The fact this is out today is a MIRACLE, seeing as my brain was living two whole weeks in the past and I was still at the vague stage of ‘wow I need to get those things done for BBRae Week ❤️’.
I’m also doing Day 6. It seems tradition now for me to shoot for 3 prompts and manage to do 2 *shrug*
Anyway, enjoy this weird little story with a conundrum that came right the fuck out of nowhere and even I don’t know how they solve. ❤️❤️❤️
Teen Titans folks, there is an ongoing bbrae fic (with some light robstar) happening as we speak over on ao3! Written by me! Nine chapters so far, and things are starting to heat up.
