Work Text:
The women who wore the bat are made of marble, etched with scars and cracks, but a solid force despite. You would throw the first punch, but the impact would hurt you the most. Their fingers, their fists are bloodied, but the scarlet mark is not a stain, but a reminder to survive. Their voices, strained and hoarse, but never silenced. Their eyes, sometimes closed or dim, will never stray to meet yours. Their strength, though tested and measured, is a force to be reckoned with. Though always underestimeted, these women will pick themselves up, and spit their blood and raise their fists until their last breath.
The Batgirls were never just soldiers in Bruce’s fight. They were never something that he created, they were always heroes of their own making. The Robin legacy is a gift, a name that was given to only those chosen. But the Batgirls, they made a resolution or a decision no one else gets to make for them, to fight for what they believe in, to protect those who cannot, and punish those who may endanger them. They fought, screamed, clawed and dug out their own place in Gotham, fighting the whole way up. They had built themselves, and were no one elses legacy to control. They never faltered when leaving a name or a costume behind because they know who they are, which is not someone’s sidekick, a character in another’s story, or a love interest. They are Barbara Gordon, Cassandra Cain, and Stephanie Brown and whatever tratedgy life puts them through, not even death can take that away from them.
So spit out your blood, clench your first, and scrape your knees, but don’t stay down, because they hate to see you stand.