Chapter Text
As a reward for saving a planet at the ass end of time, each of the (We're Not Teenagers Anymore) Titans was granted a brief visit with the Oracle of The Old Rotes. It was rumored that she was the daughter of the last human to ever set foot on Earth, and to honor her heritage she had downloaded the greatest library Humanity ever created. That apparently had nothing to do with the fact that she could see the future. Most people just chalked that up to old age.
Starfire got an epic poem about healing and reconnecting with a past self in pain. Raven got "Advice." Cyborg got "A bit of closure," and tried to look like he hadn't been crying.
Beast Boy returned to the group looking troubled. "She gave me what she said was 'likely the only way to save the planet', but I think this is just Ecoterrorism for Dummies."
Star Fire smiled and patted him on the shoulder, "I politely request at least nine days advance notice before you become a Supervillain."
"As if! I don't even want to change costumes, let alone change sides." He crossed his arms and grumbled, "Why didn't I get a cool poem?"
Red Robin was honestly more than a little nervous about this. He knew all too well that capes were magnets for awful prophesy clusterfucks. But the others didn't seem to have gotten anything too bad. Well, except for Beast Boy. Still, maybe it would be just some solid advice. Heck she might not even be able to see the future. Wouldn't be the first time a charlatan or madwoman had headed a religion.
"Wish me luck team," Tim threw a small salute as he walked towards the positively spartan tent the Oracle lived in.
Cyborg called back, "Good luck man. We can probably take down BB by himself, but the two of you together would be unstoppable."
"I'm not gonna be a supervillain!"
"Ah, Gar, we're just teasing," Cyborg pulled Beast Boy in for a nuggy and Robin laughed quietly to himself.
Stepping into the tent was like walking into a wall of scented fog. Robin coughed a bit and was very grateful that his eye lenses were keeping the smoke out. A voice, reminiscent of a thousand chain smokers all rasping in unison, called to him from the back of the tent.
"hehehehehheheh, I can feel your dread child. The only mercy I can offer is to drop the other shoe. Got a world saving prophesy here for you." As his vision cleared, he was struck, as though by a 2x4, with just how ugly this old crone was. Normally, the word crooked implies that at least some of what is being described is in its proper order. However, in some sort of anti-miracle, every single facet of this woman's body seemed to be crooked all at once.
Robin sighed and tried not to wonder whether her left eye was too big, or her right was too small, "Ah well, let's get it over with then."
"I love it when I get a veteran. Veterans know not to look too hard at the logistics of prophesies that have already passed. This one is fairly simple, so you're at a disadvantage. A plan junky like you is bound to overthink it and blow up the planet."
"Gee, thanks."
"You're welcome. Now here's your prophesy." She handed him a scroll both ornate and crumbling. It had these words printed on it in vaporwave format:
It is not enough to simply Live Fast. One must also pursue the Ass they wish to Eat.
Robin looked at it, started to say something, stopped. Raised an indignant finger and opened his mouth only to think better of it. The wizened sack of poorly healed bones seemed only amused by his torment. After a moment his shoulders slumped and he said softly, but with passion, "Why did it have to be memes?"
"HAH! As though there could be a better legacy than the petty and trivial joys of the plebs." The Oracle paused to take in a weirdly long, wheezing breath of incense, "That kind of thinking is why we all died."
Tim gave her a concerned look, "Are you…? Ah, never mind." He shook his head, "I know you said not to overthink this, but how exactly is 'pursuing ass' going to save the world?"
"A bunch of Butterfly effect bullshit to be honest. You probably won't even be aware of most of it, but going after that crush of yours will save both Beyoncé and the planet she deigns to live on at least 7 times over."
Robin felt his soul being slowly ground into powder, "Is there any time crunch on this? By the next solstice kind of thing?"
He began to realize how much her skin reminded him of poorly made leather. She scratched at her chin as though stroking an incorporeal beard while deep in thought, "As long as you make an honest effort to woo and or seduce him within the first week of your return and keep trying until either outright rejection or acceptance, you should be fine. Now scram!"
Red Robin's teammates saw him return a broken man, cut down in his prime. "I wanna trade with Beast Boy."