Ancient Wanderer

I want to read this book! And I love, though it’s sad, those are the words Deke told her back in ‘74. Clearly it stayed with her for decades.. and then to title her memoirs that… wow.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: For All Mankind (TV 2019) Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Pam Horton/Ellen Waverly Characters: Ellen Waverly, Pam Horton, Original Characters, Jordan, Maya, Carson, Kevin Additional Tags: political fiction, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Diplomacy, behind the scenes politics, President Ellen Wilson, The Wilson Administration, Visibility, LGBTQ Visibility, unprecedented Series: Part 2 of Unprecedented Summary:

I admit, I am new to the world of For All Mankind, but having browsed episode and character discussions on various platforms, I've noticed people love to dunk on Ellen Wilson for being a Republican and/or for the Republican Party to reelect an openly gay president. And yeah, if you're looking at that through the lens of today's GOP, it sounds absurd. But that reaction misses two key things: what the Republican Party actually looked like in the early ’90s before Newt Gingrich and the 'Republican Revolution' and how Ellen herself reshapes the party in FAM’s alternate history.

Disclaimer: I feel like I need to preface all this and state I am not a Republican and do not endorse any shenanigans in the current makeup of the GOP.

So in many ways, Ellen's political outlook owes a debt to someone you might not expect: Richard Nixon. In FAM's alternate history, Nixon isn’t just the scandal-plagued figure we know. He’s the president who expanded the space program after the Soviets landed a woman on the Moon, opening the astronaut corps to women like Ellen. Not out of idealism, but out of strategy. He saw progress as a weapon in the Cold War—and that choice, cynical or not, changed her life. That’s why a portrait of Nixon hangs in her Oval Office. Not as an endorsement of his character, but as a recognition of how power, when used strategically, can reshape institutions. She doesn’t have to like him to understand the door he opened. In her own way, she learns to do the same.

But it wasn’t until her time behind the scenes at NASA, under the mentorship of Tom Paine, that she learned how to walk through that door and keep it open. Tom who was part visionary, part political operator taught her that lasting progress doesn’t come from idealism alone. It comes from knowing when to compromise, when to push and when to play the long game. That’s where her political spine was forged. Not in ideology, but in the art of preserving the mission.

Because for her, progress isn’t just about being right. It’s about doing the hard, unpopular thing that makes the country stronger in the long run.

At the beginning of Season 2, Ellen is already frustrated. “We’re five years into the Mars program and already ten years behind schedule." Even in a world where space remains a national priority, NASA is still hamstrung by politics, budgets and bureaucracy. That urgency fueled her leadership. She didn’t just keep the agency afloat after the loss of Tom, she transformed it. She made hard calls, like recommending arming Pathfinder, not because she wanted to militarize space, but because she knew it was the only way to keep NASA independent. If she hadn’t, the Department of Defense would’ve swallowed it whole.

That decision bought NASA the political capital it needed to protect its budget, assert its strategic value and fund bold long-term projects without becoming a pawn. That legacy, of protecting NASA’s autonomy and aligning it with American strength, made Mars possible. Everything Ellen did at NASA was in service to that bigger vision: expanding the agency’s reach, and with it, humanity’s.

And that vision didn’t stop when she left NASA. In fact, it’s what pulled her into politics in the first place. She didn’t run for Senate in ’86 because she was eager to legislate, she did it because she knew that if Mars was ever going to happen, someone like her needed a seat at the table where the budgets and decisions were made.

And yes, she’s a lesbian. Which makes some people ask: why not do all this as a Democrat? But that question misses the political reality of her time. In the ’80s and ’90s, Democrats supported NASA in principle but often prioritized domestic issues like healthcare, education and welfare over costly space programs. They weren’t going to make Mars a national priority. Ellen understood that if she wanted to keep space at the center of the national agenda, she had to align herself with the party more likely to fund bold, high-cost initiatives tied to American strength and global leadership. At that time, that meant the Republicans, whether she liked it or not.

And let's not forget, the Republican party had a big tent. Ellen's style was steady, institutional and pragmatic. Her politics line up more with the old Rockefeller Republicans who are fiscally conservative but socially and environmentally moderate, driven by competence and service, not culture wars.

She’s measured, technocratic and mission-driven. When she discusses VP picks, she considers John McCain: fiscally conservative, socially moderate and a war hero. She wants someone competent, someone who reflects her own belief in duty and service. Larry is the one that pushes her toward Jim Bragg—someone that excites the base. Ellen’s response? “Are we sure we want someone that far right on the ticket?”

But she’s not naïve. She understands what she has to do to win. She chooses Bragg reluctantly, but strategically. And while she’s not above letting others do the dirty work, she’s calculating when she needs to be.

So, in 1992 she is elected and in 1993 is sworn in as America's 41st President. And that's another huge alternate path. In our timeline, Newt Gingrich takes over the party in ‘94 as Speaker of the House and steers it into a new era of outrage politics. But in For All Mankind, Ellen is president by then. She’s the face of the party, not Gingrich. That doesn’t mean the Braggs and Gingrichs go away—Larry even complains about the heat they’re getting from Newt during her first term—but they never take the wheel. Ellen’s leadership delays, maybe even derails, the GOP’s hard-right turn. The party doesn’t exactly become progressive, but it stays institutional, pragmatic and focused on governance instead of grievance. And that matters.

And then, in 1995, she comes out. And that's when Ellen truly reshapes the GOP.

It doesn’t happen in a sweeping, feel-good moment. It’s messy, divisive, and politically costly. The conservative wing of the party turns on her almost overnight. Her vice president, whom she once chose to appease the base, now positions himself as her chief critic. There are calls for her resignation. Some push for impeachment. She loses allies she once counted on.

But she doesn’t back down.

And in doing so, she forces her party—and the nation—to grapple with a version of queerness that doesn’t fit into familiar narratives. She isn’t a radical activist or a tragic victim. She’s a sitting president. A former astronaut. A symbol of American excellence. And now, openly, a lesbian.

That choice could have ended her presidency. It very nearly did. But the country didn’t turn away from her—not completely. And that wasn’t just because of Ellen’s own composure or record or allies. It was because, long before she ever stepped into the Oval Office, the ground had already started to shift.

In For All Mankind’s alternate history, the passage of the Equal Rights Amendment in 1974 wasn’t a symbolic gesture. It was a constitutional reorientation and a redefinition of what equality meant in law and in life. That one shift sends ripples through every institution in American life—from education to labor to politics. By the 1990s, there’s an entire generation of women, and men, who came of age with gender equality enshrined in the Constitution. The cultural conversation has moved, even if the party hasn’t fully caught up. Ellen doesn’t have to convince the entire country she belongs in office—just enough of it.

The ERA made Americans ask harder questions: If the law guarantees that men and women must be treated equally, what does that mean for marriage? For family? For who gets to serve, lead, and love in public? Once equality is codified on the basis of sex, it becomes much harder to justify discrimination based on sexual orientation. Why can a man marry a woman, but a woman can’t marry a woman? Why can a straight woman lead the country, but a lesbian can’t?

It didn’t end homophobia, but it planted the seeds for a broader, more inclusive understanding of what equality actually requires. By the 1990s, those seeds had taken root. Not everywhere, and not easily—but enough.

So when Ellen comes out in 1995, the backlash is real. But so is the support. There’s a generation of voters who grew up believing that fairness isn’t just aspirational—it’s constitutional. And when they see Ellen Wilson, they don’t just see a gay woman. They see a veteran of the space program, a steady leader, a president who has already proven her worth. Her identity doesn’t erase that—it coexists with it.

Voters, even Republican ones, are able to look at Ellen’s record and choose competence over fear. Stability over scandal. The mission over the noise.

And the fact that she does win reelection changes everything. Because now the first openly gay president isn’t a fluke or a scandal—she’s a two-term leader. And she’s a Republican.

Ellen doesn’t drag the GOP leftward so much as force it to reckon with its own contradictions. Can you be pro-family and anti-Ellen Wilson? Can you praise duty, courage, and sacrifice, and still claim she’s unfit to lead? Her very presence creates friction—but also possibility. She proves that you don’t have to abandon tradition to embrace inclusion. That strength and identity aren’t in conflict.

Her presidency doesn’t erase the culture wars. The Braggs and Gingriches are still there, waiting in the wings. But for a brief, critical window in the 1990s, Ellen Wilson holds the center. She keeps the Republican Party institutional, not insurgent. Mission-driven, not grievance-driven. She reminds the country what steady leadership looks like—and what real representation can mean.

Having just watched this show twice in a week, I am absolutely obsessed with these two and wonder what their life was like before Deadloch.

Cath, like many characters on Deadloch, have many annoying characteristics but I was truly blown away by the majority of people presumably hating her ass?!?

Like once it’s revealed that she’s the victim of infidelity, sooooo much of her behavior makes sense. Like, she doesn’t do any thing to purposely punish Dulce or make her pay for anything. It all stems from a shit ton of trauma and fear and insecurity. And bless her heart, Cath knows it’s her burden to bare and fix and control and she’s trying but she’s only human and as she is able to express, certain things trigger her.

Especially finding out that Dulcie’s new partner is a woman. Dulce doesn’t even try to take Cath’s very reasonable feelings into account. I get she’s in the middle of a murder investigation, but that’s honestly a sad ass excuse to not be up front and honest with your wife on a topic you know she would be sensitive about.

The fight between them in the police station was such a great scene. Neither party was wrong in my opinion. And it was good to see Dulce finally voice her own opinion about things. She’s allowed herself to be on the sidelines of her own life and it wasn’t fair to either of them.

And I also really appreciate the show not succumbing to tropes and having them break up and Dulce go off with Eddie. There's already been a story about two people finding companionship and affection with each other in the midst of a stressful job and investigation. It was the called the Dulcie Collins and Hannah Chambers show and it didn't last and this is the aftermath of that story.

I'm also so very curious what type of lawyer Cath was. Was she a criminal attorney? Was she a prosecutor? Defense attorney? Or, like, tax law or something? What lead Dulce to stray? Did Cath give up her career as a lawyer (as Dulce gave up detective work) in this compromise of starting over?

I call this series:

Ellen Reacts to Larry Without a Filter

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: For All Mankind (TV 2019) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pam Horton/Ellen Waverly, Ellen Waverly & Larry Wilson Characters: Ellen Waverly, Larry Wilson, Pam Horton, Original Characters Additional Tags: Family Drama, Coming Out, Post-Canon, Character Study, Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Gay Character, Family Dynamics Summary:

The look in Pam's eyes here.... My god, it speaks to me. She is so in love. And she is tip toeing around this feeling.

She doesn't want to scare off Ellen, so she wraps up this feeling into an idea of being different when they're with each other and asks her if it scares her and holy shit, it doesn't! Ellen doesn't even hesitate to say it doesn't scare her.

I think it's the first time she's thinking to herself, "oh my god, I think she actually loves me too!"

So on the brink of this relationship going off the rails, she's got nothing left to save it for and she tells Ellen she loves her. And what does she get in response? Nervous vacant eyes from a woman shutting down emotionally in a very public place.

You think that's tough enough when you put your heart out there, but then...

When she finally hears Ellen say it…

She says it to her fucking beard on national television.

See, she never got to hear Ellen say how she’s in love with her too.

No, that admission died with Deke.

Pam put her heart on the line, gave Ellen four of the best years of her life and within an instant it was gone. One conversation over a bar and her whole life derailed. She put it all out there and Ellen left her hanging.

It’s no wonder it took her a long time to write about it. A love that could destroy you that you’d (obviously) fall right back into again.

Sometimes I can’t help but shake my head at Ellen. Not mad at her, per se, but utterly heart broken on Pam’s behalf.

As much as Ellen’s heart stopped for those ten years, I don’t think she ever really understood the pain she put Pam through. The rejection.

Mid-October, 1995

Camp David, Maryland

Late Friday Afternoon

The porch door creaked open for the third time in twenty minutes, and Ellen didn’t bother turning to see who it was.

She sat in one of the weathered teak chairs that lined the edge of the deck of the Aspen Lodge, a mug cooling between her palms. Beyond the railing, the Maryland woods stretched in every direction—dogwoods, pines and maples turning steadily with the season, their leaves already deep in amber, red and gold. The late afternoon sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out toward her.

Camp David was quiet the way few places ever were. No motorcades. No press pool. Just the layered stillness of forest and wind and a long drive that led nowhere the public could reach.

It should’ve been peaceful.

They’d only just arrived a few hours ago—her parents, her brother, Larry’s entire family. All of them stepping onto the grounds like it was a reunion, like it wasn’t also a reckoning. The house had good bones—wood-paneled halls, stone fireplaces, oversized leather armchairs—but none of it could muffle the tension simmering beneath polite conversation.

It was one thing to have come out, to face the world with the truth of who she was. But this—this was a family still trying to catch up. Still trying to fit pieces together that didn’t quite match anymore. And here they all were, playing house in the woods, pretending everything could still be the same.

Ellen stared out into the woods, feeling the weight of every branch and leaf. What had she been thinking? Inviting them all here, together, in the wake of everything? Maybe she had hoped the controlled setting would ease the tension, that the serene surroundings of Camp David could somehow soften the raw edges of what they were all facing. Maybe, in some corner of her mind, she thought that a weekend away would give them the time they needed to process—time to let the truth sink in, even if it wasn’t the truth they expected. Or wanted.

Larry had been anxious, and she’d understood why. They both knew they couldn’t avoid the fallout any longer. Their coming out had upended so many assumptions, shattered illusions of who they were in their families’ eyes, the country’s eyes.

If they were going to survive the court of public opinion—if she was going to survive the attacks from Congress, from her own party—they needed this. She needed her family to understand, to be on her side. Without that, everything else was just noise. Because if she couldn’t get them to stand with her, how could she ask a whole country to?

So, they were committed to honesty. No lies. They’d promised themselves that. No more. Even if it meant facing the discomfort, the awkwardness, the questions and the silences that stretched too long.

That was all she could offer them—the chance to see who she really was, even if they couldn’t immediately accept it.

The porch behind her gave a small groan of weight—someone stepping out. Again. Still, Ellen didn’t turn.

“It’s getting cold,” came a voice behind her.

She exhaled, a thin stream of steam rising with her breath. “I’m aware.”

The mug was more prop than warmth now, but she kept it in her hands. She hadn’t asked for company. But she also hadn’t told anyone to leave her alone.

“I thought you might want something stronger than coffee,” the voice added.

This time, she glanced over her shoulder.

Janet stood behind her with a bottle of bourbon in one hand, two short glasses in the other. She raised an eyebrow like it was a question but didn’t wait for an answer before taking a seat next to Ellen.

“I figured if we’re all going to pretend this is a normal weekend, we might as well drink like it is,” she said, setting the glasses down on the table between them.

Ellen gave the smallest nod, grateful without showing much of it. Janet poured them each a finger of bourbon and handed one over.

They sat in silence for a moment, the kind that didn’t need to be filled.

“I always wondered,” Janet said eventually. “About you and Larry.”

Ellen didn’t look at her, but her jaw tightened slightly.

“I didn’t know, not really. But… I mean. Come on,” Janet continued, her tone light but not flippant. “You were Ellen Waverly. You’re—what did my mom used to say? ‘Too impressive by half.’”

That got a faint smile.

“And Larry,” Janet went on, “Larry is… Larry. Brilliant, kind, terrible dresser. He blushes when someone says ‘undergarments.’ I love him, fiercely. But I always had this sense about him. This sense that the two of you were more like… college roommates that got along well enough to make it work.”

Ellen huffed a quiet laugh, her fingers drumming against the tumbler. “You’re not wrong,” she said, eyes still on the glass. “We were roommates. Best friends, really. Oddly good together, just not like that.”

Janet shifted in the chair beside her, crossing one ankle over as she took a slow sip, then rested the glass on her thigh.

“Did he ever have anyone?” she asked, her gaze fixed somewhere out past the trees. “Like that?”

Ellen swirled her own drink, the amber liquid catching a glint of the low sun. “You should probably ask Larry that.”

“I would,” Janet said, “but have you seen him today? His eyebrows are practically grafted to his scalp. He looks like he’s waiting to be audited.”

That pulled a soft snort from Ellen. She tilted her head slightly, the faintest trace of amusement flickering across her face.

“I just want him to know he can talk to me,” Janet said. “It’s not like I need names and dates. Just… context.”

Ellen nodded. “He’s never really wanted to find the one. But he’s never been short on company.”

Janet took another sip, then let the glass settle again. “Yeah. That tracks. He’s always been the kind of person who could build a whole life out of the parts he liked… and quietly ignore the rest.”

Ellen gave a quiet hum of agreement and took a sip from her own glass, the bourbon warming her throat. “That’s definitely one way to describe him,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting.

“What about you? Did you ever have anyone?” Janet asked, her voice casual but with a hint of gentle curiosity, as if she was asking about a favorite book, not a cornerstone of someone’s life.

Ellen’s eyes dropped to her glass. The corners of her mouth twitched involuntarily—a smile she had no intention of letting out. Of course there had been someone. There had always been someone, someone who mattered more than anyone else. The only woman who ever made her feel like everything fit, everything made sense. And for a moment, she wanted nothing more than to talk about Pam. To say her name, to spill every good thing, to let it pour out like she'd been waiting years to tell someone.

But not yet. She cleared her throat and smoothed the expression from her face. That part of the story was coming. Just not tonight.

She took a slow sip of her drink, then set it down with deliberate calm. “We should probably head inside,” she said.

Janet eyed her for a beat, then pushed herself out of her chair with a quiet grunt, taking her tumbler with her. “Yeah, I did leave Craig with your mom when I came out here.”

Ellen raised an eyebrow. “Oh, he didn’t deserve that. I thought you actually liked him?”

“I do,” Janet said, offering her hand to help Ellen up. “After you, Madam President.”

Ellen took it with a soft laugh, rolling her eyes. “Let’s go save your husband.”