#history: alexander the great

[hephaestn]

Alexander and Hephaestion at the Temple of Amun, Siwa Oasis, Egypt.

Alexander: The Making of a God — Episode 5

[charlesoberonn]

Tell me you know nothing about history without telling me you know nothing about history

[animentality]

[spineless-lobster]

Churchill: I hope I can be like napoleon

Napoleon: I hope I can be like caesar

Caesar: I hope I can be like alexander the great

Alexander the great: I hope I can be like achilles

Achilles: I hope patroclus fucks me today

[troythecatfish]

[aphroditelovesu]

⸻ The Lost Queen - XX ⸻

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au. — warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy. — word count: 4,801. — tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @elvinapandra, @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife, @animetye-23, @leathesimp. —the lost queen series masterlist. — ko-fi

Chapter 20

The march was an ordeal for all involved. The scorching summer heat punished soldiers and animals alike, making each step a monumental effort. Armor gleamed in the merciless sun, and the air seemed to ripple with the heat rising from the arid ground. The mood was almost palpable, a shadow that followed the ranks like an unwelcome companion. Yet everyone knew that they would rather face the scorching sun than face the icy winter winds that chilled them to the bone.

The destination was Babylon, a journey that would take months, according to the strategists' calculations. The army, vast in number and presence, advanced slowly due to the chariots, tents, and supplies that accompanied it. This slowness irritated Alexander deeply. He was completely focused on his goal: to rescue his wife, no matter the cost.

He was Alexander, and he would raze cities, enslave people, and send men to the sword until he recovered his wife, his Queen.

His wife and child were waiting for him. Alexander missed (Y/N) terribly. The moments they spent together, few but significant, did not make up for the emptiness in his chest due to his wife's absence. Nothing could fill the void that was eating away at him except having her in his arms once more, and this time he would be sure that no one could take her away from him again.

Impatience was eating away at him. He ardently wished to have wings like Icarus, to take flight and cross the sky to the gates of Babylon. Each day that passed seemed like an insult to his desire for action, an affront to his restless spirit.

It was then that he made a strategic decision. To speed up the advance, he decided to divide the army in two. He would lead the vanguard, accompanied by his main officers and the elite of his soldiers. The rearguard would be under the command of Parmenion, an experienced and trustworthy general. It would still take time to reach the city, but the movement would be faster with fewer men and baggage at the front.

Alexander would naturally lead the first group. His eagerness to advance as quickly as possible was almost tangible. Part of him wanted to mount Bucephalus and gallop non-stop to Babylon, ignoring all the risks of the road. However, reason prevailed over impulse. He knew that abandoning his army would be foolish. The path was treacherous, full of possible ambushes and challenges that would require his command and leadership. And he could not simply leave his own people behind.

As the sun set, dyeing the horizon red and gold, Alexander rode at the head of his troops, his gaze fixed on the east. Babylon was far away, but in his mind, he could already visualize the city gates, the imposing walls and the reunion that fueled his spirit. Determined and tireless, he advanced, guided by passion and the promise of victory.

Soon, he promised himself, (Y/N) would be back in his arms and he would never let her leave his side again.

"Alexander, please. The soldiers and animals need to rest." Hephaestion insisted, his voice thick with concern. He watched his friend closely as the men set up their makeshift camp for the night. The sky was already painted with shades of purple and gold, announcing the end of the day, but Alexander remained restless, almost oblivious to the exhaustion of everyone around him.

If it were up to him alone, Alexander would have continued the march without hesitation, ignoring the approaching darkness and the limits of the human body. But he knew that leadership was not just about giving orders; it was also about understanding the needs of his men. As much as he wanted to force them forward until their feet were raw, he needed to be wise.

"Fine," Alexander replied with a heavy sigh, finally giving in. He removed his sword from his belt and placed it at his side, as if the act symbolized a brief surrender. His eyes, intense and determined, fixed on Hephaestion. "But tell them that tomorrow, at first light, we will march again!"

Hephaestion sighed deeply, a mixture of relief and frustration. He knew Alexander better than anyone, and knew that this was as much of a concession as he could get. "I will," He replied with a slight nod, before walking away to relay his orders.

The camp soon came to life, filled with the sound of the soldiers' tired voices. Some drank wine around the campfires, their hoarse laughter mingling with the crackle of the flames. Others ate in silence or tended to their wounds, enjoying the brief respite of a night without marching.

Inside his tent, Alexander secluded himself. Sitting on a simple rug, he opened his copy of the Iliad. The epic poem was more than just reading material for him; it was a refuge, an anchor in the midst of the storm that raged within his mind. His eyes scanned the words greedily, absorbing the stories of heroes and battles that he so admired.

Alexander could not help but make the inevitable comparison. Once again, he saw himself as Achilles, the hero he so admired and whose legacy he aspired to equal — or even surpass. Hephaestion, ever loyal and ever present, was to him what Patroclus had been to the legendary warrior, a friend, a soul brother, someone he trusted more than himself.

But there was a third figure in this epic narrative that shaped his life. (Y/N), his wife, was his Briseis. Just as Agamemnon had torn Briseis from Achilles, breaking the hero's trust and inciting his fury, (Y/N) had been taken from Alexander. Not by a superior commander, but by Perdiccas — someone he had dared to call a friend.

Perdiccas' betrayal was an open wound in Alexander's heart. A man he had trusted had now allied himself with the Persians, keeping his wife captive. The memory of (Y/N)'s face, her beauty, her grace, her laughter, fueled his determination. He refused to accept that she would remain out of his arms, held captive like a trophy of war.

Thoughts boiled in his mind as he clenched his fists. He knew that, like Achilles, his anger and pain would drive him. But unlike the Greek hero, Alexander would not let anger cloud his mission. He would use his intelligence, his skill as a strategist, and his unbreakable willpower to get her back. He has to.

No matter the price he had to pay. No matter how many men or how many miles separated them. He would cross deserts, face armies, and defy even the gods if necessary. Because (Y/N) was not just his wife; she was his heart, the part of him that made him human amidst the divinity of his dreams.

And just as Achilles had gone after Briseis, Alexander would go to Babylon to seek (Y/N). But unlike his favorite hero, he would not let anyone stop him. Perdiccas would pay for his betrayal, the Persians would fall, and he would bring his wife back. No matter the cost. No matter the time. He would get her back.

And everyone who got in his way would be killed.

"Do you really think capturing Babylon right away is a good idea?" Nearchus's voice cut through the crackling of the fire, carrying the drawl of someone who had had a little too much to drink. He swung his wine cup slightly, the dark liquid reflecting the flames.

The other generals looked up, some with impatience, others with amusement. The firelight illuminated their battle-scarred faces, creating shadows that made them look even more worn from the campaign. Alexander was in his tent, lost in thought or reading, as usual, and none of them dared disturb him. As for Hephaestion, they all knew he was busy with his endless duties, and though he had been invited, he had politely declined.

So that left just them. As always.

"Do you want my honest opinion, or would you prefer a more optimistic one?' Ptolemy replied, his mocking smile shining in the firelight. He held his wine with the same casualness of someone going about their day, though the irony was evident in his tone.

Nearchus wrinkled his nose, clearly dissatisfied with the answer, but he didn't bother to reply. He simply took another sip of his wine, perhaps as a way to distract himself. Cassander, as was typical of him, rolled his eyes dramatically and muttered something unintelligible that seemed to include the words "idiots" and "waste of time."

Cleitus, on the other hand, laughed. The sound was low, almost infectious, and it made the others look at him for a moment. He seemed more relaxed than usual, warmed by the wine and the rare camaraderie they shared in the midst of war.

"You may be a bunch of blockheads," He said, gesturing with his free hand, "but oddly enough, I like being here with you."

There was something genuine in his words, though the alcohol certainly helped. No matter how much they had their differences —and there were many — there was an unbreakable bond between them. They could tease each other, argue, and even fight, but when it came time to fight, they trusted each other as friends, as brothers, perhaps.

"Don't get all emotional now, Cleitus." Cassander's mocking voice echoed through the circle of generals, thick with irony as he arched an eyebrow. His green eyes glinted mischievously in the flickering light of the fire, ready to provoke.

"And don’t get all bitter, Cassander," Cleitus snapped back without missing a beat, his tone sharp but with a hint of humor. He leaned forward slightly, as if preparing the final blow. "Tell me, is your bed really that empty?"

Cassander's face hardened, his mouth already opening to spew a sharp retort, but before he could fire off his retort, Ptolemy held up a hand, interrupting him with a tone of restrained exasperation.

"Now, no more arguing, huh?" He grumbled as he tilted the jar to refill his cup, the red liquid glistening in the light of the flames. "We're having a decent time, and we don't need two bickering children to ruin it."

Cleitus chuckled softly, shaking his head as he finished his wine in one gulp, not caring when a few drops escaped and stained his dark beard. He looked pleased with himself, relaxing back into his makeshift chair.

Cassander, on the other hand, looked indignant. He shot Ptolemy a sharp look, clearly annoyed at being compared to a child, but decided not to prolong the argument. With an expression that was a mix of irritation and disdain, he just snorted, muttering something unintelligible before picking up his own wine cup.

Nearchus, already visibly drunker, resumed the conversation, his voice carrying a note of sincere concern, albeit slurred. "But seriously, I don't think it’s a good idea to attack Babylon so immediately. The Persians have probably already received the news. They must be preparing, and honestly, another siege is not at all pleasant. We will lose more men than necessary."

The words hung in the air, and Ptolemy sighed, placing his wine cup on the floor, his gaze distant and thoughtful. "Yes, you are right. But what can we do? Alexander is determined. And.... She is our Queen."

The mention of (Y/N) brought a brief silence between the men. The light of the fire seemed to shine a little brighter in each of their eyes as they thought of her. Although the time they spent with her was limited, (Y/N) had earned a special place among the Macedonians.

She was not just Alexander's wife; she was a singular presence, able to touch even the most hardened hearts from years of war. Everyone remembered how she had saved Cleitus from certain death in a previous incident, defying orders to ensure he received medical care, how she had saved him with her own hands. Her kind heart and dedication to every soldier, regardless of rank, were rare qualities.

"She's different," Cleitus murmured, breaking the silence. He stared into the wine in his cup, as if the words had come out of themselves. "She didn’t have to, but she cares. About all of us."

The others nodded silently, even Cassander, who usually maintained a cynical air, seemed lost in thought.

Besides all that, (Y/N) was a good influence on Alexander. Where he was fire, she was the water that balanced him. She brought humanity to the king, reminding him that leadership was not just about conquest, but also about care and responsibility.

That was why they marched. It wasn't just for Alexander, or his glory, or the empire he sought to build. It was also for her, their Queen, someone who didn't deserve to be held captive. They would bring her back, not just out of duty, but because she had become part of the soul of the army.

Cleitus rose from his seat with a determined movement, his eyes shining in the firelight. With the firm stance of a warrior and the conviction of a man who knew what he was fighting for — or in this case, who he was fighting for — he raised his cup of wine.

"For our Queen!" His voice rang out loudly, full of respect and devotion.

For a moment, silence fell, but then, one by one, the other generals followed suit. Cups were raised to the starry sky, almost as an offering to the gods, the glow of the fire reflecting off the red liquids that danced within them.

"For our Queen!" They repeated in unison, their voices mingling, full of fervor and loyalty.

The wine was drank, but the true toast had been made long before that moment. It was in their hearts, in their determination. They would march for Alexander, for the empire, for glory — but above all, they would march for her.

And they would not rest until their Queen was free. And until everyone involved in her kidnapping was dead.

A few days before the march,

Roxanna moved restlessly around her room, unable to contain the anxiety that was eating away at her chest. She felt her servant's fingers sliding through her long black hair, gently combing it, but not even the repetitive gesture could calm her. Her thoughts were far away, swirling around a single name.

"Leave me alone." Her voice was firm, but without emotion. She did not deign to look at her servant, who obeyed immediately, leaving her with her whirlwind of thoughts.

Her father's visit a few hours earlier had only served to heighten her uneasiness.

"Seduce him, Roxanna. Make him marry you. For our people."

His words repeated in her mind like a crushing burden. It wasn’t just a suggestion; it was an order. A mission.

She sighed, her eyes lost in the reflection of the bronze mirror before her. Yes, Alexander was a handsome man. An unbeatable warrior, a powerful king. He could offer protection to her people, he could give her a position no other woman in Bactria had ever held. But she wasn't sure if it was the right choice. Not while another woman stood in his way.

Alexander's wife.

Her disappearance should have been a boon to Roxanna, but instead it seemed to only strengthen the bond between them. She knew it was common for a king to have multiple wives, mistresses even. But this.... This was different. Alexander had taken no mistresses — at least not that she knew of — and he was desperate to find her.

In any other circumstance, Roxanna might have found it romantic. A king's devotion, his unbreakable loyalty to one woman. But not now. Not when she wanted to be the only one.

She clasped her hands tightly, her heart pounding.

If she had Alexander's son, he would have to be the heir. The only legitimate heir.

But for that to happen, (Y/N) needed to disappear for good. She might be Darius' captive, but she was still alive. And that was a problem.

Roxanna sighed heavily, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands wrapped around her head as she tried to organize her thoughts. Her fate depended on her next decision, but the path ahead seemed foggy.

Before she could delve any deeper into her worries, her doubts, a loud sound echoed through the room — a firm knock on the door. She jumped, her heart racing in alert. She wasn't expecting anyone.

She frowned, straightening her posture and composing herself before answering.

"Come in." Her voice was firm, though it carried a hint of hesitation.

The door opened slowly, revealing an unfamiliar figure. Roxanna held her breath.

The man who entered was unusually handsome, exuding an aura of mystery and sophistication. His dark, deep-set, attentive eyes seemed to carry the weight of worldly knowledge. He smiled kindly, but something in his posture revealed that this was no ordinary visitor.

His dark hair fell softly over his forehead, and his rich, ornate robes were clearly Persian.

Roxanna felt her body stiffen. Who was he?

"Who... Who are you?" Her voice cracked slightly, but she kept her gaze fixed on him.

The man inclined his head slightly in a respectful gesture, a smile still playing on his lips.

"Aslan, at your service, my lady."

The name sounded strange to her ears. It wasn't Greek. Nor Persian. At least, not from a place she knew.

And that made her even more suspicious.

Roxanna felt a shiver run down her spine as Aslan took a step forward, his smile remaining enigmatic.

"Why are you here?" She tried to keep her voice steady, though a hint of nervousness betrayed her composure. "It's not proper for a woman to be alone with a man, I—"

Before she could finish, he interrupted her.

"Don't worry, little star. I'll be quick."

The nickname took her by surprise, and she opened her mouth to respond, but Aslan was already moving closer. His movement was fluid, confident, as if he was in control of everything around him. Roxanna took a step back instinctively, her muscles tensing in alert.

He laughed softly, a low, melodious sound, without a trace of threat.

"You don't need to be afraid of me. I won't hurt you." His voice was soft, reassuring. His dark eyes, which had seemed enigmatic and unfathomable before, softened.

Roxanna blinked, feeling her own heart slow down. The irrational fear that had gripped her seconds before began to dissipate, replaced by a strange calm.

She didn’t know why, but somehow... She believed him.

"I heard that you might become the second wife of our dear King Alexander." He began, his gaze roaming the room as if he were analyzing every detail.

Roxanna didn't bother to hide her displeasure at the title “second wife.” Her lips tightened, but she remained silent, just staring at the stranger.

Aslan smiled, as if he had already expected this reaction.

"And something tells me you're not happy with this arrangement." He continued, looking directly at her again. "Of course, nothing has been declared yet, and I doubt Alexander will marry you while sweet (Y/N) is still under the Persians. But the possibility exists. After all, it would be a beneficial alliance, especially since Darius' daughter, Stateira, is not yet of marriageable age. You would be the most obvious choice."

Roxanna felt a chill run down her spine as Aslan spoke, his words laced with a seductive yet dangerously calculated tone. She arched a dark brow, assessing him with a mix of curiosity and caution. Where was this conversation going?

Then Aslan tilted his head slightly, his gaze gleaming with something between amusement and intent.

"You see, little star," He murmured, his voice a soft, almost hypnotic purr. "I am a man of many talents. And I can make your problem disappear."

His smile widened, and Roxanna felt her stomach turn.

She knew exactly what problem he was talking about.

The silence that followed felt heavy, as if fate itself awaited Roxanna's decision.

A part of her, the rational one, screamed that this was a terrible idea. Nothing came for free, and Aslan was clearly no mere benefactor. But another part — the ambitious, desirous, dreamy part — was filled with excitement.

The idea of ​​being the only queen, the mother of the future heir, the woman at the great Alexander's side...

The thought warmed her chest like fire.

Aslan noticed her hesitation and kept his smile patient, as if he already knew what the answer would be.

"All you have to do is ask me, and I will rid you of your problem." He said it casually, as if he were offering something trivial.

A shiver ran down Roxanna's spine. She swallowed hard. She wasn't naive. She knew that nothing was done without a price.

"And what do you want in return?" Her voice was firm, but her heart was hammering in her chest.

Aslan smiled broadly, his dark gaze glittering.

"Don't worry about that now," He purred. "But I promise it won't be anything too far from your reach."

Roxanna felt her body tense. Every fiber of her being told her this was dangerous. But the promise of what could be... The chance to have everything she wanted...

The excitement, the desire, the dream took over her young mind.

And before she could think twice, the words escaped her lips.

"Do it."

She had just sealed a pact — and she didn't even know the price.

Present day,

Your eyes widened, your heart pounding in your chest as Aslan's words echoed in yoor mind.

Back to your own time?

Was that really what he was saying? Was it possible?

You had never really considered this possibility. You had always assumed that, because you were pregnant, you would be trapped in this place, that the babies inside you were an anchor preventing any return. But now... He spoke as if it were simple, as if everything could be reversed with a snap of his fingers. And maybe it could.

"Are you serious?" Your voice came out shaky, little more than a whisper, filled with disbelief.

Aslan smiled, that feline smile that never fully revealed its intentions, and nodded slowly.

"Yes."

Your heart raced even faster. The chance — if it was even a chance — to go home. To your family. To your time. It was a dream that seemed increasingly distant as you adapted to this strange Era, this reality you never chose but that had somehow become yours.

But why now?

Why was he offering you this choice now, after everything you had been through? After so long? After he himself had sent you here without even asking if that was what you wanted?

Your eyes narrowed, and your voice was firm, thick with suspicion.

"Why?"

Aslan shrugged, as if the answer didn't matter, his smile widening even more.

"Because I think it's time for you to come home, (Y/N)." His voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was something about it that sent a cold shiver down your spine. "You've spent too much time here. Your time is up."

Instead of feeling relief, joy, or hope, something else burned inside you.

Fury.

It took over your body before you could stop it, hot and uncontrollable, and before you could even think about the consequences, your hand came up and slapped Aslan across the face with a loud crack.

The impact stung your palm, but you didn't care. Your chest rose and fell heavily, your breathing ragged.

Aslan stood still for a moment, his head turned slightly to the side. Then, slowly, he turned back to face you.

And smiled.

A dangerous smile.

Aslan raised one of his hands and lightly touched his own cheek, where the red mark from your slap was beginning to appear. His dark eyes shone in an almost amused way, as if he found your reaction amusing.

"Well, that was an unexpected welcome." He murmured, his carefree tone contrasting with the intensity of his gaze.

You still felt your hand tingling, but you didn't regret what you had done. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, anger still boiling inside you.

"You have the nerve to show up here and simply tell me that my ‘time is up’ after bringing me here against my will?" Your voice shook, but not from fear — from indignation. "After making me live through all of this? Making me get attached to people, getting married? Making me get pregnant?! You have no right to do that!"

Aslan tilted his head slightly to the side, watching you as if studying your reaction. Then, he sighed.

"You've always been so full of spirit, haven't you?" He shook his head, a hint of amusement in his voice. "That's why I like you."

Your stomach churned in disgust.

"I don't give a fuck what you like." You spat the words out, your fists clenched at your sides. "I want to know what's really going on."

Aslan finally abandoned his relaxed posture and took a step closer. You forced yourself not to back away.

"Listen carefully, (Y/N), because I don’t like repeating things." His voice was lower now, more serious, and suddenly, the entire air in the room seemed heavy. "You came to this time for a purpose. Something that needed to be done. But now that purpose has been fulfilled."

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest.

"F-Fulfilled?" You repeated, the word sounding strange in your mouth.

Aslan smiled slowly.

"Yes. What had to happen, happened. You are no longer needed here."

The words hit you like a punch in the stomach.

You were no longer needed? As if your life was a simple object that he could discard as soon as he was done using it? As if everything you had lived here had meant nothing?

You felt an immense urge to punch him.

You gritted your teeth, blood roaring in your ears.

"What if I don’t want to go?" Your voice was low, but full of defiance.

Aslan smiled again, but this time, there was something dark in his expression.

"Oh, my sweet (Y/N)..." He whispered, his eyes glinting dangerously. "Who said you had a choice?"

The ground seemed to disappear beneath your feet, as if the world around you was disintegrating. With each breath, the air became heavier, harder to hold. You tried to stay upright, but the feeling of disorientation grew, your body starting to shake. Your eyes met Aslan's again, and this time, there was something different in his gaze — no longer just the calculated distance or the amusement of a manipulator. There was a touch of longing, as if he were looking at you with a sadness you didn't understand, something deep that was beyond your reach.

The chaos inside your mind intensified, thoughts tumbling over each other, conflicting feelings taking over your heart. How could he look at you like that, with a mixture of affection and... Farewell? Why all this? He was doing this to you, dragging you to a place where you no longer knew who you were, and now, he seemed to be saying goodbye for now. But why?

Before you could ask any other questions, a feeling of weakness took over your body, as if all of your energy had been drained. Your eyes began to close, your vision becoming blurry and hazy, while the weight of your own body seemed to become unbearable. Aslan’s words echoed in your mind like a distant whisper, even though he was there, standing in front of you, with the enigmatic expression as always.

"Don’t worry, (Y/N). We'll see each other again." He said, his words so soft that they seemed like a low, comforting chant. But what was comforting about all this? How could he say something like that with such certainty? "But don't worry, you won't be alone when you wake up."

Those words... You wanted to believe them, you wanted to feel that there was some truth to his promise, but the feeling of abandonment, of helplessness, was overwhelming you. Your vision grew increasingly blurred, as if the darkness itself was approaching, taking over your entire being. The last vestige of clarity in your mind disappeared, swallowed by a deep, cold abyss, and soon silence took over everything.

The last thing you felt was a strange sense of calm, as if, somehow, the darkness was a kind of refuge. And then, everything went black.

— lady l: I know it took a while to come out but my life has been a mess lately :( It hasn't been an easy start to the year but I'm here. We're entering a new phase of TLQ! Also, don't hate Roxanna! She's young (technically 16 if we are going really historical) and she doesn't know on what she's getting into. She'll come around, guys. 😉

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, it was longer than usual, but important. Forgive me for any mistakes and I'll see you soon! I love receiving feedback and comments! ❤️❤️

If you want to support or ask for something, my Ko-Fi/commissions are always open!

Bye for now!! ❤️

[diioonysus]

history + last words

[swftmoony]

why is everyone obsessed over romeo and juliet when the holy trinity of gay tragic lovers exits!? like alexander the great, achilles and apollo didn’t lose hephaestion, patroclus and hyacinthus for everyone to forget about them!! like they’re the same but one is a myth, the other is a book, and the one that was real

[nortism]

it actually wasn’t netflix who turned alexander the great gay, it was ben willbond in 2009 on hit children’s tv show horrible histories

[bleeding-seraphic]

A Guide To Alexander’s Favorite Things ;)

[mysharona1987]

Imagine being so dumb the Qanon Shaman is correcting you about misinterpreting history.

[hephaestn]

Alexander and Hephaestion encountering Darius' family after the Battle of Issus.

Alexander: The Making of a God — Episode 3

[remixingreality]

[floatyflowers]

Dark Husband! Alexander The Great x Reader

You were favored concubine of Darius, and held a high position in Egypt for such a title.

All it took for you, is to seduce him with your youthful looks and body.

Adding to that your high intelligence which attracted him to you.

It was going smoothly, as you planned to cause a revolt against him and take over.

But that all went to waste, When Alexander the Great conquered Egypt.

You quickly switched sides to save yourself, but never expected that Alexander would fall for your witty attitude.

And also your connection with the high priests whom you convinced to make the people trust Alexander and believe that he was sent by Amun to save Egypt from Persia.

When he proposed for you to marry him, you were surprised, but accepted.

Which was a huge mistake.

You expected that he would leave you in Egypt and continue his conquests but instead he took you with him.

"I'm your husband, so you are obligated to accompany me and attend to me whenever needed"

Also, your influential connections were cut off as Alexander refused that you speak or send letters to anyone.

Anyone who was against the marriage, Alexander would execute them.

He made sure to execute your relatives, so you will have no one but him.

Even though, Alexander has two other wives, and a harem, but it's you who he always spends most of his nights with.

Most of those nights, you would try to persuade him to sleep with others.

With the excuse that they will give him a better experience.

But he argues that he only wants you, and wants to get you pregnant as soon as possible.

Fortunately, Alexander gets ill, and you stay by his side until he passes.

Your happiness of freedom doesn't last, because Ptolemy I Soter decides to rule Egypt and take you as his wife.

So, you become the ancestor of Cleopatra VII

[primythios]

something about ‘don’t we all want to be achilles’ sticks with me so much, i feel like more people should see this

[premiumbitch]

۶ৎ EMPIRE OF ONE: THE ALEXANDER THE GREAT SCRIPTING & MANIFESTATION PACK ˙⋆.˚

This is for the lovely person who requested this (@angelclots) and for the people who want to manifest stuff about themselves or script this in their shifting script! this pack is a alexander the great theme ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ enjoy!

꒰౨ৎ꒱ the weight of empires rests in your gaze—unshaken, unmoved, filled with the quiet certainty of one who does not wait for fate but seizes it with both hands. men do not simply look at you; they stand in your presence and feel history shifting beneath their feet.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ the air around you hums with destiny. every step you take is carved into the fabric of time, each decision an unrelenting force that bends the world to your will.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ your beauty is not one of fragility or gentle admiration; it is the kind that makes even the greatest rulers feel small. it is the beauty of a storm on the horizon, of a sun rising over conquered lands, of something both untouchable and undeniable.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ your voice carries not just through rooms, but through generations. it is the kind of voice that lingers in the minds of men long after they have bowed before you.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ the gods do not watch over you; they walk beside you, amused and in awe of your unyielding ambition. you are not their chosen one—you are the one who makes them listen.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ you have stood before chaos and did not flinch. you have seen the impossible and made it real. you have looked at the world, vast and unconquered, and called it yours.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ war does not frighten you; it knows you by name. it lingers at your heels, follows in your shadow, not as a curse but as a crown.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ you are not remembered. you are never forgotten. your name does not fade into time—it is carved into it, eternal, unrelenting, victorious.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ your presence is the kind that ignites revolutions and bends nations to their knees. kings do not sit easy upon their thrones when your name is spoken, for they know that stone and gold mean nothing to one who was born to take.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ your beauty is not delicate, nor is it something that can be possessed. it is the brilliance of a blade catching the first light of dawn, the raw magnificence of a lion standing over its kingdom, the untamed fire that dances in the eyes of those who refuse to kneel.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ wherever you walk, history follows. the earth remembers your footsteps, the wind whispers your victories, and the stars align in quiet reverence to one who has defied the limits of mortality.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ your hands are both destruction and creation—capable of building empires as easily as they can tear them down. when you raise them, men listen. when you lower them, the world changes.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ your mind is a battlefield sharper than any blade, a labyrinth of strategy and brilliance that no army could ever hope to outmaneuver. every move you make is calculated, every glance a silent command that shifts the course of destiny.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ no obstacle stands for long before you. walls crumble, rivers part, mountains bow—not because they are weak, but because they recognize something greater standing before them.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ the universe does not test you. it does not throw challenges in your path to break you. it bows, knowing that you were always meant to conquer it.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ you are more than a legend, more than a name whispered through time. you are a force. unrelenting. eternal. bound to nothing, yet binding the world itself to your will.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ your eyes do not simply see—they command. warriors lower their weapons beneath your gaze, not out of fear, but because they recognize in you something greater than fate itself. the world does not move you; you move the world.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ your voice is not raised often, but when it is, it echoes like a war drum across centuries. it does not beg, nor plead—it declares. and the earth itself listens.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ your presence alone turns the ordinary into legend. battles are not just fought under your name; they are remembered, immortalized, burned into history as testaments to the will that bends nations to its knees.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ you are not simply strong—you are unstoppable. your spirit is carved from something beyond mortal hands, something unshaken by loss, unbroken by time.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ the stars above are not guides for you; they are witnesses. they have watched you carve destiny with your own hands, watched you take what was deemed impossible and make it yours.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ your footsteps leave echoes in the halls of eternity. long after your body turns to dust, your name will still be spoken with awe, written in gold upon the pages of history.

꒰౨ৎ꒱ you are more than just a conqueror of lands—you are a conqueror of time itself. men will rise and fall, cities will be built and burned, but your legend will remain. unyielding. undying. eternal.