(Explicit, 34,000+ words, total reality-shattering bimbo apocalypse)
The Batcave was colder than usual.
Bruce sat at the central console, cowl pushed back, staring at the frozen image of Barbara cradling Damien like he was the most precious thing in the universe. Dick stood behind him, arms crossed so tight his knuckles were white.
They hadn't spoken in six hours.
Then Dick broke the silence.
"We're going back in tonight," he said. "Full force. I don't care if we have to sedate them, shrink-ray them, call in the League—"
Bruce's voice was gravel. "No."
Dick spun. "Bruce—"
"I said no." Bruce stood, every movement stiff with pain from the night before. "We don't know the limits of the effect. We charge in again and we risk triggering another escalation. We could lose more than just Barbara."
Dick laughed (sharp, broken). "We already lost her! We lost all of them!"
Bruce's eyes were hollow.
"Then we don't lose ourselves."
He turned back to the console.
"We study. We wait. We find the source of the power and we shut it down surgically."
Dick stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
"You're giving up."
"I'm choosing not to become the next victim."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Dick's fists clenched.
"Then I'm going alone."
He was halfway to the Batwing when the cave lights flickered pink.
The change hit them both at once.
It started in their chests (warm, golden, maternal), spreading outward like molten honey.
Dick felt it first in his knees. A soft, wet pop as his legs lengthened, bones stretching, muscles melting into plush, jiggling softness. His boots split at the seams as his feet grew dainty, arches rising into perfect, pedicured elegance tipped in glossy bubblegum pink.
Bruce staggered, gauntlets scraping the console as his spine arched violently. Every vertebra cracked and re-set, lengthening his already towering frame inch by agonizing inch (six-four became six-six, six-eight, seven feet, seven-three).
Dick's suit began to tear.
The blue bird emblem stretched, distorted, finally ripped in half as two colossal breasts surged forward beneath it (softball, cantaloupe, beach ball, larger). The reinforced Kevlar peeled away like tissue paper, revealing pale, flawless skin and nipples hardening into fat pink peaks that leaked shimmering milk the moment they were exposed.
Bruce's batsuit suffered the same fate.
The chest plate buckled, split, and his own chest detonated outward in slow, obscene waves. Breasts ballooned past any sane proportion, heavy enough to rest on the console even as he tried to stand straight. The cowl's ears snapped off as his shoulders narrowed dramatically, waist cinching inward with a fleshy hiss that crumpled the utility belt like foil.
Dick's hips cracked next, widening with a sound like ice breaking on a lake. His ass ballooned outward in hypnotic pulses, shredding the lower half of his suit and leaving him in nothing but torn black scraps and miles of creamy, jiggling flesh.
Bruce's ass followed suit (rounder, heavier, higher), until the entire seat of the batsuit disintegrated and the perfect heart-shaped miracle bounced free.
Their arms slimmed, biceps melting into soft, elegant curves. Gauntlets cracked and fell away. Fingers lengthened, nails pushing out into perfect ovals painted glossy pink (Dick's bubblegum, Bruce's a slightly darker rose).
Dick's hair erupted first (short black waves exploding into a waist-length, then hip-length, then floor-length cascade of glossy raven that shimmered like liquid midnight). Bruce's followed seconds later, growing into a matching waterfall of silky obsidian that pooled around their feet.
Their faces were last.
Dick's sharp jaw softened, cheekbones lifted, lips plumped into a permanent bubblegum pout. Eyelashes lengthened until they brushed the air. His blue eyes bled slowly into a vacant, sparkling sapphire shot through with pink hearts.
Bruce's angular features melted and reformed (cheekbones higher, jaw delicate, lips plush and rose-pink). The perpetual scowl smoothed into a soft, dopey smile. His steel-gray eyes shifted to a warm, glowing amethyst, pupils blown wide with pure, dizzy maternal love.
The final scraps of their suits burned away in pink fire.
Two towering, seven-foot-six goddesses stood where the Dark Knight and his first Robin had been moments before.
Dick (now Diki with an i, because everything was cuter with an i) blinked slowly, glossy lips parting in a soft, breathy giggle.
"Like… oh em gee," she lisped, voice high and bubbly and utterly vacant. "We're, like, super-duper pretty now!"
Bruce (now Brucie, because that was just the cutest) tilted her head, long black hair swishing.
"Tee-hee! We gotta find baby! He's gonna be so happy we're big and soft and totally ready to give him all the cuddles!"
They turned as one, hips swaying, breasts bouncing like they were trying to escape gravity, and skipped (actually skipped) toward the Batwing.
The cave computers flickered, then displayed a single line in looping pink text:
MOMMY PROTOCOL ENGAGED
DESTINATION: BABY ♡
In the penthouse, Damien was curled on the couch between Joki, Harley, and Babsy, half-asleep and surrounded by warmth.
The front door exploded off its hinges.
Two new goddesses tumbled in, giggling and squealing.
"Diki found baby!" the raven-haired one with the bubblegum nails cheered, launching herself across the room.
"Brucie too!" the slightly taller one with rose-pink nails sang, following a half-step behind.
They crashed into the existing cuddle pile like pink meteors.
Damien squeaked as four (no, now six) arms wrapped around him, six colossal breasts pressed against him from every direction, six sets of plush lips peppered his face with sticky, adoring kisses.
"Baby baby baby!" Diki cooed, nuzzling his cheek. "We were so grumpy before, but now we're all better and super-duper in love with you!"
Brucie's massive frame curled around him from behind, chin resting on his head.
"Mommy Brucie's gonna keep you safe forever and ever," she lisped, voice dripping with vacant devotion. "No more scary bat stuff, just snuggles and kisses and milkies whenever you want!"
Damien's brain short-circuited completely.
There were now five seven-foot-plus bimbos in the room (all former heroes and villains), all giggling, all cooing, all competing to see who could smother him with the most affection.
Joki and Harley exchanged a look of pure delight.
Babsy just laughed, bright and bell-like, and pulled Damien deeper into the pile.
"Welcome to the family, girls," she said warmly. "We've got plenty of room for two more mommies."
Outside, the Bat-Signal flickered once, then went dark forever.
Inside, Gotham's new royal court of dumb, beautiful, obsessively loving goddesses curled around their shy, overwhelmed prince and refused to let go for the next twelve hours straight.
The transformation was complete.
The Bat was dead.
Long live the Mommies.
End of Chapter Eight.
(Word count: ~34,700. There is no Justice League left to call. There is only cuddle.