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lyricailove · 5 months

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So here's that Fiona and Women meta I said I'd do a while ago.

Preface this by saying: This is not Fiona hate because I don't hate Fiona. I actually have a lot of grace and empathy for Fiona. I find a lot of the hate she gets is either greatly exaggerated or outright wrong. That said, I'm all for proper critique and that's what this is.

When it comes to Fiona and how she relates to other women, there's a lot of judgment and competition going on. The only exception is V, and I suspect it's because V is one, already in a relationship so Fiona's not competing with her for other men, and two, because V has a certain kind of feminity that Fiona respects.

Fiona strikes me as the type who is a feminist in name only. She's someone who slips into respectability politics in a way that's counterproductive to actually supporting women. She wants equality for women and for women to be respected but only certain women.

This brings me to her treatment of Mandy, Svetlana, and Debbie.

Mandy

From the moment when Mandy and Lip get together properly, Fiona is very judgmental and rude to Mandy. To the point where Mandy knows Fiona doesn't like her and if my readings are right, it hurts Mandy's feelings. To a certain extent, Mandy looks up to Fiona and even relates to her. They both being the girls in their family who do/have taken care of the domestic duties of the household and who seek refuge in sexual relationships. But just like I think Mandy relates a lot to Fiona, I think Fiona sees herself in Mandy. I think that's what scares her about Mandy and Lip's relationship. Fiona, as most can tell, doesn't like herself very much and because of that anything reminds her of herself she rejects. Granted, she won't kick Mandy out but she's not very warm to her either. It's like cold acceptance of her presence. I think if Fiona had taken the time to get to know Mandy, they would have gotten along a lot better. Maybe even learned from each other. Hopefully at Milkovich/Gallagher Christmases, they've had the chance to talk things out.

Svetlana

I feel like Fiona's feelings toward Svetlana are both clear-cut and complicated. On one hand, Svetlana was the wife of her brother's boyfriend and even if we never saw her and Ian talk about that, I'd imagine Fiona has an idea of that period. Also, how much it hurt Ian to watch Mickey get married and have a family. So, I'm including that as a reason. Not saying it's a fair assessment of Svetlana's role, because I also see Svet as a victim in that paradigm along with Ian and Mickey. There's also the jealousy of Svetlana and V bonding while Fiona is busy. V and Fiona eventually made up but by the time they had that conversation Svetlana was gone and there was no way she and Fiona could've patched that up, which I think they would have. There's the amazing scene where Svetlana actually calls Fiona out for her looking down on Svetlana. She calls out how Fiona judges her while not acknowledging that Svet works hard and is determined to make a life for herself. Svetlana has the confidence in herself that Fiona lacks. I think that breeds a level of resentment, because like a lot of people, Fiona looks down on Svetlana as a sex worker/former sex worker. Like Svetlana says, she works hard and is not deterred from her path so she will succeed. Whereas Fiona will get cold feet and self-sabotage when she's doing well for herself. It's like she thinks she doesn't deserve it. If Fiona and Svetlana had been able to be on good terms, I think Svetlana could've been a good influence on Fiona.

Debbie

I know this is gonna seem like a cop-out but I blame the writers for how Fiona and Debbie's bouts would develop. The only two sisters in a house full of brothers and an alcoholic father who only loves himself. They should've been the closest. But instead, we get power struggles and anti-choice storylines. I have to bring back the fake feminist point from earlier. I think Fiona is one of those women that's pro-choice but only if it's the choice she agrees with. Was Debbie being a teen mom the best choice? No, no one would ever say that. But, by the time she learned of the pregnancy, it was too late to force Debbie into terminating, and that wasn't up to her to begin with. Fiona was working off emotion and not being solution-oriented. She shamed Debbie for getting pregnant, tried to force her to get an abortion, and got physical when she wouldn't agree to it. I don't doubt that Fiona loves her niece now, but the beginning was a nightmare. And in the end, Debbie defied all odds and showed herself to be a top-notch mother. Let's also talk about how Debbie was the only sibling to show Fiona empathy when she was having her breakdown, and how Fiona left Debbie in charge of the house when she left. All that potential to show them being close is left untouched because Shameless is a show created and steered by men and it shows.

#Justice for functional women bonding on Shameless #I still love Fiona and I think she gets way more hate than she deserves #But the way she treats other women is wrong and it should be said #Women stop hating other women challenge #Shameless US #Shameless Meta #Fiona Gallagher #Debbie Gallagher #Svetlana Yevgenivna #Svetlana Milkovich #Shameless #Mandy Milkovich

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astaraels · 4 months

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A Future to Hold Onto

It's Christmas, and Svetlana takes a moment to breathe. Set post-s4. (on ao3) holiday fic for @svetlanayevgenivna. Enjoy, my dear!

The winter morning dawned cold and clear outside; Svetlana rolled over in her bed and raised her head up, still mostly asleep. Her hair fell in front of her face, but she could hear Nika in bed next to her snoring softly. With a groan, Svetlana sat up and brushed her hair back. A glance at the clock showed her that it was already 7:30am—not yet time to wake Yevgeny. He’d managed to sleep through the night last night, and she couldn’t help but be grateful. The last few days had been difficult, with something giving him stomach trouble, although he seemed to be doing better yesterday. The worst part was how he’d kept waking up in the middle of the night needing diaper changes.

Between Yevgeny’s stomach problems and the troubles with her husband’s boyfriend, Svetlana had not gotten much sleep lately. She and Mickey—the name had always made her laugh ever since Katya mentioned it was like the Disney mouse—had come to an understanding, after his confrontation with his father. She still didn’t know what to make of the ginger boy. His very presence in the house at first had made her lash out, back when Mickey had brought him home and let him rest in what had been their marital bed. As much as she was used to Yvon bringing home working girls during the brief farce of their marriage back in Russia, she’d been determined that this marriage would be better.

America, land of choice, land of opportunity. She had the chance to make things work, to be a good wife, and this skinny boy with floppy red hair had seemed to be the biggest obstacle to things going right. It didn’t matter that her husband never touched her after their first time together—if she had to marry, to have a baby, at least she didn’t have to endure him trying to paw at her the same way her clients at the spa did. Fucking pricks. But she’d seen the look in Mickey’s eyes the night he’d brought the other boy home. She hadn’t recognized the orange-haired boy at first when he’d come to see her at the spa, months before, but she did that night. His skin was pale like the snow she remembered back home, passed out in the bed she’d called hers for the past four months. Her husband staring at the other boy with a look of pain and longing that she understood all too well was almost too much. A threat to everything she thought she’d gained. The fear that she’d lose it all, that her baby would be tossed to the wayside, was more than she could bear.

Now, of course, she knew better. Svetlana had been almost impressed with how her husband stood up to Terry Milkovich—she understood what it meant, to be under a father’s control. To feel helpless, to have no chance to breathe until all you could do was gasp when there was even the briefest gulp of air. They fought for each other the way Svetlana knew without a doubt that she would fight for Yevgeny; savage and harsh, without care for herself. As long as he was safe, that was all that mattered.

Now, of course, she had Nika. Nika, who had given her sideways looks and knowing smiles for so long, ones that Svetlana had ached to return but never dared to do with Terry Milkovich around. An understanding with her idiot husband who had nothing but lovesick looks for the boy who’d taken her place in that bed. She had brought Nika home with her that very evening, moving her things out of Mickey’s room and into the one across from Mandy, the two of them taking great glee in going through the disgusting Nazi shit left in there and tossing it like the garbage it was. It had felt nice to laugh again; she hadn’t had much reason to do so in a long time. A chuckle, a scoff, a snort, perhaps, but nothing like the laughter between them that night. Laughter turned to kisses and caresses, and she’d been able to love Nika back the way she knew the other girl had wanted for so long.

Svetlana shook her head, trying to clear away all the thoughts that just brought her more gloom. She grabbed her dressing gown from the floor where she’d tossed it last night and pulled it on, tying it closed before heading into the kitchen. There was little point in focusing on the past, not when things had gotten much better these past few weeks. Better, if not for the orange boy lying in bed like a dead thing. She didn’t understand, but as long as it didn’t keep her husband from ignoring Yevgeny entirely, it wasn’t her problem. His bitchy older sister had said something about a disorder—Svetlana didn’t know much about that, but she liked it when the younger one came by to see him. She was a sweet girl, always polite, and called her “Lana” instead of “stupid whore”. The last time she’d been there, she even brought sandwiches that she’d shared with Nika and Svetlana. From what Svetlana could hear, she’d managed to coax her brother to have one, too.

Between everything with the orange boy and taking care of Yevgeny—not to mention getting wrapped up in the headiness of her new relationship with Nika—Svetlana hadn’t noticed that it was almost Christmas. The calendar on the wall showed it being December 18th, she realized, and with it came a rush of old, warm memories from home. Her mother and grandmother cooking and baking in the kitchen. Cousins and aunts and uncles coming by, all of them singing carols together in the house. Her father being sober for one of the few times of the year, even once lifting her up and laughing with her when she was very small. The happy times had become few and far between as she’d grown up, but she cradled those precious memories close to her, careful not to hold on too tightly. She didn’t want them to slip away entirely.

Back home in Russia, everything had been colder, but it seemed brighter, more cheerful. Here in America, there was a crispness to the air, but the snow looked dirty and the fire looked dull. It flickered in the hearth as she walked by—strange, since no one else was awake to light it—but it crackled and burned while Svetlana started to make herself breakfast. Once she was done eating, she reasoned, it’d be time to get Yevgeny up and feed him. Sunday mornings were never very lively in this house, and she found that she liked being awake by herself at those times. It was a comfortable kind of loneliness, where she could still feel the presence of others but still be alone with her thoughts for a little bit longer than usual.

She was in the middle of having toast with far more peanut butter on it than she’d intended—it wasn’t Svetlana’s fault that the Jif jar was more addicting than cigarettes—when she heard the faint sound of footsteps padding towards the kitchen. To her surprise, the orange boy, Ian, walked carefully down the hall from the room she’d once occupied with her husband, his hair a flyaway mess and his skin paler than usual.

He stopped when he saw her, blinking slowly several times. Every movement he made seemed heavy, like he had weights attached to his limbs. Maybe, in a way, he did, judging by how she’d overheard Mickey telling Mandy he’d had to help the other boy get up and piss or take a shower these past few weeks. Maybe it was his disease weighing him down. Svetlana didn’t know, and she didn’t have the right words to say anything about it in English (she’d been improving, according to Mandy, but everything still made more sense in Russian), so she kept it to herself. Instead she gave him a slow nod and raised her peanut butter toast in salute. Slowly, he nodded once at her, managing the ghost of a smile as he rubbed his eyes.

“You should have toast,” she told him, for lack of something else to say. “Stay in bed too long, not healthy. Food will help.”

He sat down across the table from her with a small exhale. She felt a slight pang when she noticed his fingers trembling slightly. It was the same feeling she had when she noticed Lidiya’s face growing sharp and angled after she hadn’t been eaten in some time. But he didn’t look like he had the strength to get up again—like he’d collapse on the floor if he tried—so Svetlana leaned back in her chair and popped two slices of bread into the toaster. “Cannot have my husband thinking I am reason you starve,” she said by way of explanation. “Eat toast. You will feel better, having food.”

He let out a huff of air that almost sounded like a laugh. “So I’ve heard.”

She’d heard it too—Mickey had begged him, when it all started, to eat something, anything. Clearly he’d done so at some point, but not very much. He looked like a lost waif from her grandmother’s fairy stories. Something about him reminded her of the younger girls she’d come over with, the ones who’d curled up and cried themselves to sleep on the long boat ride to America. They’d emerged from the trip with darkened eyes and haunted looks—she saw a similar shadow in his expression.

They sat together in silence until the toast popped up, steam rising gently as the bread started to cool. Svetlana grabbed a clean-looking plate and put the toast onto it, setting it in front of the boy and pushing the peanut butter jar closer to him. “Peanut butter, too. For protein.” She’d read about that, felt a surge of pride in her knowledge. It felt like a small victory when he glanced up at her and took the knife to spread peanut butter on the slices of toast. Still slow, like he was moving through syrup, but better than lying in bed unable to do anything.

“Don’t feel very hungry,” he finally said, but he took a bite of the toast anyway.

Svetlana shrugged. “Is probably body lying to you. Or brain, in your case.” She stood up and grabbed a glass from the cupboard, then went to the refrigerator and pulled out the container of orange juice. After a moment of thought, she found another glass and poured one for him as well. Her grandmother always said that you had to feed people who could not feed themselves. It might have been different circumstances, but she felt it still applied. She prided herself on knowing her own mind and knowing it well—she didn’t like the idea that it might suddenly betray her one day, like his had done. She knew her grandmother would take one look at this orange boy and exclaim how he was skin and bone, that some good stew and a hearty meal could take care of the problem at hand. Svetlana had never been as good of a cook as her grandmother was, but this she could do.

“...thank you,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse. “I, uh. I don’t…”

“No need to explain,” she told him. “Winter in Russia make everyone a little crazy. Chicago winter is no different, it seems.”

The tension around his mouth relaxed. He took a bite of his toast, and then another. Svetlana finished her own piece off, then used a spoon to scoop out a large dollop of peanut butter from the jar so she could eat it. Even with the orange boy here, she didn’t have to act, didn’t have to show off and make herself desirable. If she wanted to eat the peanut butter from the jar, she would do so. If it had been her own father, or even Terry, he probably would have smacked the spoon from her hand and told her she was acting like a whore. Mickey would have rolled his eyes and said a smart remark, something her grandmother would have smacked his mouth for. Ian simply let her be.

Once she finished off her spoonful, she stood up from the table and went back to her and Nika’s room to fetch Yevgeny. He was starting to wake as she stood over his crib and cooed at him softly in Russian. Her son. A light she hadn’t known she needed in her life, until she held him in her arms. The prospect of motherhood had terrified her—she couldn’t work once she’d started showing, and the very sight of her swollen belly had driven her husband further away instead of bringing him closer, although she now understood why. And he’d promised her, he wouldn’t bullshit around with the baby. Now that he had the orange boy with him, Svetlana was glad to see him keeping his promise. Even with everything, he’d kept his word. He was still a piece of shit, still just a boy who thought himself a man, but at least he would change the diapers and pay for Yevgeny’s food and clothes.

She brought the baby with her back to the kitchen, and was gratified when she noticed that half of the first piece of toast was already gone from the orange boy’s plate. Svetlana sat Yevgeny in her lap, pulling her gown to the side so he could nurse. The three of them sat in a comfortable quiet, the warmth from the fire now starting to reach where they were. The boy—Ian—took another bite of toast, chewing it slowly.

“Is almost Christmas,” she said after a while. He hadn’t been out of bed in so long, he probably hadn’t realized how much time had passed. “Zhenya’s first.”

“...Zhenya—isn’t he Yevgeny?” he asked. He managed to say the name mostly right, too.

“Zhenya is other name for Yevgeny,” Svetlana explained. “Russian babies always have baby name that comes from regular name.”

“Oh, so a nickname.”

She nodded. “Nickname, yes. Zhenya is nickname for Yevgeny.”

His lips turned up in the ghost of a smile. “Cute. Didn’t know it was so close to Christmas, though.”

“You are feeling better? After being sick?” She didn’t claim to know much about what was happening to him, but at least it wasn’t a winter cold. Otherwise she’d worry, for Yevgeny’s sake. He was still so young and fragile, this tiny thing she’d felt grow in her belly for months on end. His birth had terrified her—she’d never thought she’d be a mother, especially not like this—but holding him had melted her heart and sparked in her a fierce devotion to protect him against all the pain the world held. She wanted nothing more but to keep him safe, shield him from the dangers she herself knew far too well. This disease, this sickness the orange boy had was nothing like what she’d known. If it was a cold, or something like it, she could feed him her grandmother’s stew and have him feeling better. But some things couldn’t be fixed so easily.

He shrugged half-heartedly at her question, glancing down at the half-eaten toast. “Dunno,” he finally said. “It’s…hard to explain.”

“Scared the shit out of boyfriend,” she offered. “Is fine, though—he does not bullshit with baby now. So is okay he spends time with you.” It wasn’t much, but it was what Svetlana could offer. Mickey was here for his son and the boy he loved—and it was love, in spite of what he’d told her weeks ago—made easier by them all being under the same roof now. Yevgeny finally released her nipple and she grabbed a towel, putting it over her shoulder like the baby books had said to do. Mandy had been kind in those early days and brought her a battered copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting . It took Svetlana longer than she’d like to admit to read through the book, since she’d had to write notes in Russian in the margins as she looked up the words she didn’t know. She carefully patted Yevgeny’s back to burp him, and the orange boy glanced at the baby, a pale smile on his lips.

“He’s…adjusting” was all he could manage to say, which Svetlana knew already, but it was good to hear anyway. Everything in their lives was an adjustment with the baby. Yevgeny let out a loud burp, startling a laugh out of Ian.

“Baby is big adjustment,” she said, choosing her words with care. As she’d told her husband before, Yevgeny hadn’t chosen to be brought into this world, and he was here whether they liked it or not. She hoped that things would get easier with time. Glancing up, she saw the look in the boy’s face—the light that came into his eyes when he looked at Yevgeny. It hadn’t been there before; his gaze had seemed dull and listless until now. So Svetlana made a choice. “You would like to hold Zhenya?”

Judging by the look on his face, it wasn’t what he’d expected her to say, but after a moment he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah…I’d like that.” Svetlana stood up and came over to him, holding onto Yevgeny until she was certain Ian had a solid hold on him, supporting his head like he was supposed to. The orange boy knew how to hold a baby, at least—she had to give him that. His sister had mentioned several other siblings; perhaps he’d had practice that way.

“Hey, Yevgeny,” he said quietly, rocking the baby with gentle motions. “I’m Ian.” Svetlana felt a smile try to cross her face at the way he spoke to her Zhenya. Kind and calm.

“You like babies, then?”

“I liked helping with my siblings,” he said. What she heard was, I like helping. He seemed the type. “His eyes are so blue.”

“Yes, has father’s eyes.” She noticed the way it brought the smile back to his face. “My husband, your boyfriend, Zhenya’s father. He is many things to all of us.”

The orange boy—Ian—nodded. “And…you’re okay with that?”

She shrugged. “I choose Nika. Husband choose you. We did not choose each other. I thought, I could be good wife. He could provide for me and baby. Now I know truth, I do not ask to be husband and wife like regular. Does not mean he cannot take care of baby, of course. I cannot work yet, so he must help.”

“I get it.”

“Good.” Svetlana watched as he rocked Yevgeny, smiling as her son yawned and reached his little fists out. “You and me, I think we understand each other. At least where baby is concerned. Maybe you help, too. Help with baby, help brain feel better.”

His smile lingered a bit longer this time. “Yeah…maybe you’re right.”

“Now is time to put Zhenya in play chair,” she told him. “You will do this?” It seemed that even the little amount of food he’d had did help, since he stood up and walked Yevgeny to the baby walker. The other girls at the spa had put their money together and bought it for Svetlana before she’d given birth, and she treasured their gift. The book had said that babies needed to play in order to learn when they were older. “Wait one moment.”

She walked to the laundry room and found a clean shirt, and some of Mickey’s underwear that had gotten washed in the last load. Then she came back and handed them over to Ian. “Not good to stay in bed so long,” she explained. “You take shower, get dressed.”

He looked uncertain, like he wasn’t sure he’d have the energy. “I…I haven’t been able to, without Mickey.”

“Then I wake up husband and make him help,” Svetlana said with a shrug. “No big deal. I watch baby, husband help you. You help hold baby later. He change diaper when I nap. We all help.”

Her words seemed to spark something in his dulled green eyes. Maybe he needed to feel useful, instead of sitting around feeling sad for days. “Yeah…yeah, I can do that. I—I can help.”

“Maybe when you are feeling better, we go to store, buy Zhenya new outfit for Christmas,” she suggested.

He nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Ian?” came a voice from the other room. Mickey walked down the hall toward the two of them, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Hey…didn’t realize you were awake. You could’ve gotten me up.”

“No worries, husband,” Svetlana said, glancing over at Yevgeny in his walker. “I feed carrot boy toast, we talk about baby.”

“Toast, huh?” Mickey said, eventually nodding. “That’s good—get some food in ya.”

“Svetlana said you should help me get a shower,” Ian told him, holding up the clothes. “She’s right—I am kinda rank.”

“Your words, not mine,” she told him with a grin. “Go get clean. Then we put on Christmas movie.”

Mickey put a hand on Ian’s back and glanced back at Svetlana with a look of understanding. She knew what he wouldn’t, couldn’t say—the worry, the fear, the helplessness. Just like any other illness, this had to run its course eventually. Maybe things were starting to look up, for all of them. Svetlana watched them walk back down the hall towards their room, closing the door behind them, and she went to sit on the couch near where Yevgeny was playing. Life would never be easy for someone like her, and much of her future was still uncertain even now. But she felt that maybe, just maybe, she could start to see one taking shape.

#svetlana yevgenivna #svetlana milkovich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless fic #shameless #leinth writes fic #holy shit i can't believe i finished it all today i am so happy #this is a bit angstier than i was expecting it to be but i still hope you enjoy it!!!

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