Mother: ???

Ex-wife: Livia Visentin-Dragomir

Heir: Damien Visentin-Dragomir (deceased)

-

aleksander is the sole surviving member of the dragomir-han clan.

Any writing about Aleksander Han needs to be vetted by me, the mun first. I ask this common courtesy because I will respect you just the same.

Pm for connections. No plots involving detailed writing of SA or terminal illness as well as any type of VORE. Minors dni.

Please don't assume end games just because a plot could revolve around romance/nsa. It is important we both reach a mutual agreement before anything!

• Writing Style: 3rd POV only.
• Preference: multi Para, novella
• Timezone: why do you wanna know?
• Rating: Mature themes, typically toxic. if you like fluff, this character is not it.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Name: Aleksander Dragomir

Nicknames: Aleks _{(a few close associates)}, Sir _{(to many)}, Master/My lord _{(to older subordinates)}

DOB: irrelevant | appears 37, true age is 370

Occupation/Rank: Night Terror Bureau's Chief Inspector (South Korea Branch | Formerly Russia)

Residence: Seoul, South Korea

Languages: French, Italian, English, Korean, Japanese, Chinese (Mandarin and Cantonese) , Dutch , German, Spanish, Russian

Origins: Russia

Marital Status: Divorced

Sexuality: Pansexual

Appearance: 6'0 in stature, straight unyielding posture. eyes are the deepest shade of green with black rims.

TW: this character is NOT sane.

MBTI: INTJ (the architect)

cadence/presence/personality: _{aleksander does not waste time on idle chatter, nor does he hunger for higher ranks or titles. his place in the world is already carved deep into its bones. he remains where he is, not out of contentment, but because the game itself, the endless hunt, the struggle for dominance and survival, is what keeps his ancient heart beating.}

_{with him, control is absolute. to meet his gaze is to feel the weight of centuries pressing down, a reminder that he has seen kingdoms rise and fall and that he has outlived every rival who once dared to stand before him.}

_{to vampires, he is both a legend and a warning, proof that immortality can devour the soul until only purpose remains.}

_{some say the death of his son hollowed him out, leaving behind a creature of duty and cruelty. the centuries since have been marked by an unrelenting severity in his rule, as though every act of domination could somehow silence the grief that claws at him still.}

_{others whisper that his mercilessness has only deepened because of his endless hunt for the wife who fled him long ago.}

_{each passing century sharpens his cruelty further, as though it is all that keeps him tethered to existence.}

_{only aleksander knows the truth. the mind behind his calm exterior is one unraveling in silence, and the morality that once might have guided him has long since eroded.}

Wardrobe: surprisingly modern and up to date custom tailored suits from designer houses. aleksander is often seen in black, grey or red. his elegance is understated for he is long past his youth, long past trying to prove and parade himself for recognition.

aleksander’s beginnings were predictable, almost ordained. with his striking resemblance to the cruel kings immortalized in old portraits, it was said from birth that he would lift the dragomir name to greater heights. beyond russia’s frozen reach and into greater europe. he was raised to believe his path was not a choice but a continuation.

despite his detachment from human desires, those fragile, fleeting emotions called affection and fondness, he understood his duty with perfect clarity. as heir to the dragomir-han bloodline, he was its spine, its continuity. the line had to endure. for those who had made enemies across centuries could never afford weakness.

survival meant expansion, control, and a kind of immortality that went beyond the curse already in their veins.

the dragomirs were indispensable to russia’s courts, their influence was woven into politics. they moved power from the shadows, striking pacts sealed not with signatures but with blood. it was through their dealings with humans that their empire thrived, humans who craved power, wealth, or the illusion of safety, and who were easily bought or broken.

but aleksander was not remembered for diplomacy. he was remembered for his cruelty. before he had even inherited his father’s mantle, he had already united the fractured branches of their lineage into one formidable clan. his rule was forged in terror and every victory was paid for in blood. when sacrifices were required, he made them without hesitation, cutting away the weak to strengthen what remained.

those who fell were barely an afterthought, mere stones laid along the path he carved toward dominance.

for aleksander, power was not inherited. it was taken, piece by piece, from those too slow to keep it.

that detachment began to crumble after a marriage alliance that would alter not only aleksander but the course of his entire lineage. perhaps it was affection that stirred him, or perhaps something darker and more consuming, obsession. whatever it was, their union bore him an heir, a child he treasured beyond reason, with the woman who had shifted the way he saw the world after centuries of indifference. for a time, even a creature like him believed he could be whole.

but karma has a cruel way of returning, and even near-immortals are not immune to weakness. in opening himself to feeling, aleksander had left a wound unguarded. the enemies he had long buried within the dragomir-han clan resurfaced, weaving an elaborate plot against him. they struck not at his power, but at his heart. when the time came, he was too late. his heir was gone before he could reach them, before he could tear the traitors apart with his own hands.

but he could still save her.

and she despised him for it. she blamed him for losing control of his own bloodline, for failing to protect their child, for choosing her life over the one they had created together. what once was fondness curdled into bitterness, and that bitterness festered until it became something rotten between them. nothing could have stopped their inevitable end, yet aleksander, cruel and selfish as ever, refused to let her go. even when she fled him, fleeing the frozen lands they had called their throne in russia, he could not bear to release her from his grasp.

and so his hunt began.

he purged the world of the dragomir clan as if vengeance itself had possessed him, erasing the very lineage he had once vowed to strengthen. centuries of loyalty and service meant nothing when weighed against betrayal. grief consumed him completely, and his madness spread across continents. branches of the dragomir line fled into every corner of the world, hiding, waiting, knowing their extinction would come at the hands of the one who had once uplifted them.

innocent and guilty alike perished beneath his hands. cities fell silent where his presence lingered. yet despite the chaos, despite the fragile order the vampires had begun to build within russia’s newly formed hierarchy under the crimson accord, there remained a seat for him among their ranks. and he took it with no hesitation. marking the rest of the dragomirs unregistered and rogue.

from there on he rose within the ranks of the newly formed night terror bureau. inevitably taking a chief inspector role despite knowing he could join the government and ascend higher.

as if his crimes had been forgotten, or perhaps forgiven. some said the council admired his resolve. others whispered it was fear that stayed their hand. whatever the reason, aleksander dragomir, the last living member of the once-revered dragomir bloodline, continued to be spoken of in hushed tones.

when at last the final thread of his bloodline had been severed, aleksander began anew.

he started creating his own sires. whether this was an attempt to restore his clan or to fill the endless void within him... no one knew. he never spoke of his reasons and none dared to ask.

his new hunt is different now, more personal but no less deadly. and as he pursues it, the path behind him is marked by a trail of blood, with horror stories whispered by both humans and vampires alike. every tale ended the same way....with the promise that wherever aleksander walked, ruin inevitably followed.

type: sired, subordinate

summary: a favored sire. constantine serves as aleksander’s right hand, acting in his stead to monitor the other sires scattered across continents. he tracks the unruly, hunts the disobedient, and either drags them back to heel or ends them when their hunger turns uncontrollable. the bond between them is a paradox, born from constantine’s deep disdain for his own kind. it was that very defiance, burning in his eyes the night aleksander found him, that convinced his sire to damn him with immortality, turning hatred into a curse he could never escape.

to be given such a role is a cruel test, one that never ends.

and every time constantine pulls the trigger, he should remember that aleksander had placed the gun in his hand for a reason, proof that he was never meant to be like the rest.

𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙨𝙤𝙣

[ taken ]

type: ex-wife

genre: ANGST, romance, not end game (no pressure)

gender: female

age: -300

rank/species: judanian/lilithian

summary: an arranged marriage orchestrated between two powerful houses that should not have worked, but somehow did. it was a union born not of love but of necessity, sealed with calculated promises and cold ambition. and yet, against all odds, it endured. from it came a child, aleksander’s heir, the son who would have carried the dragomir name and bloodline into a new age.

but fate, as always, was cruel. tragedy struck without mercy, and your son was taken..caught in the crossfire of grudges and enemies that both your families had sown long before you ever met. grief hollowed the home you built together. the silence that followed was unbearable, filled with words left unsaid and blame that cut deeper than any wound. you could not forgive him for saving you instead of your son, and he could not forgive himself for failing you both.

so you ran. for centuries you vanished into the shadows, leaving him to drown in guilt and frustration. and ever since, he has hunted you across continents, chasing the ghost of the woman he once called his wife.

if is not love that drives aleksander anymore. it is unrelenting obsession turned to purpose that feeds his madness.

[ dm me to discuss! thank you! ]

_{i am a demanding creature. i am selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable. but i am  your servant. when you starve i will feed you;  when you are sick i will tend you.}

_{i crawl at your feet; for before your love, your  kisses i am debased.}

_{......for you alone i am weak}

name:

the dragomirs had been synonymous with control for as long as the earth remembered. their name carried weight, history, and blood. they did not always hail from south korea. this particular line had its beginnings in the frozen tundras of russia, long before the land ever bore a name. in those endless winters, where the air itself could kill, the dragomirs thrived.

but the hans were a vampiric bloodline from the korean peninsula that existed long before the rise of the unified kingdoms. it is said that cruel kings bearing a striking resemblance to aleksander dragomir had risen and fallen with the passing of dynasties.

refusing to take part in the endless struggle for land they fractured from the main royal line, the hans fled north to russia and pledged themselves to the dragomirs. for centuries they served as loyal vassals until a quiet storm began to stir within their ranks. through patience and cunning, the hans slowly turned the tides of power, and in time, the clan that once commanded them became theirs to command.

they ruled their territory not through compassion, but through a kind of cold mastery that bent both vampires, beasts and men alike to their will. aleksander dragomir, the head of the family, is a paragon of cruelty refined into art. every motion he makes is measured, every word he speaks weighed like an executioner’s blade.

type: ex-wife

summary: the one who had always slipped through aleksander’s grasp no matter how selfishly he reached for her. she was livia visentin-dragomir before she was anyone else, before the many lives that followed and ended in the same unbroken cycle. it was always her shadow that haunted eternity with him, always her essence that lingered just out of reach.

through the rise and ruin of decades, he had chased her across time, and she had fled with the same defiant grace. what bound them together was not love nor mercy anymore, but a shared wound that never healed... a void both had tried to fill with everything and everyone else, only to find it unchanged, unending.

and now, in this age where even eternity feels exhausted, there is nothing tender left between them. the years have soured into silence, grievances left to decay until only bitterness remains. what they once called devotion has curdled into cruelty. until the only language they still understand is pain.

in the end, that is all they know how to do.

hurt each other.

name: nathair mae

type: Мой маленький ворон

summary: a source of information and indulgence. aleksander had first stumbled upon the judanian five years ago, in the midst of another hunt for his ex-wife. every lead had run cold, every trail had faded, until chance brought him to nathair. the man’s network in babel was vast and discreet, a web of whispers and favors that even the tower’s watchful eyes struggled to penetrate. yet what truly kept aleksander returning was not the usefulness of the connection, but the peculiar scent that lingered in the 'rib cage'. it pulled at something deep within aleksander, something cracked open and unwilling to close again.

theirs was an equal exchange, at least in the beginning. protection from the tower’s relentless oversight and from the cainanite forces in return for information, names, and truths that continued to evade aleksander.

and somewhere along the way, necessity turned to familiarity, and familiarity into want. indulgence became habit, desire became a language the two became fluent in.

𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙗 𝙩𝙤 𝙖 𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧

[ open ]

type: lost soul in need of a purpose

genre: corruption

gender: any

rank/species: human

summary: you’ve heard of aleksander’s penchant for brutality but you've also heard of his line that stretches so far it’s said to wrap around the world twice. some say he creates out of need, others whisper it’s the work of a void he cannot fill. whatever the truth is, it doesn’t stop you. you still seek him out, drawn to the promise of something more than the fragile heartbeat that anchors you to your fragile humanity. perhaps it’s exhaustion that drives you, a weariness of being mortal, or perhaps your motives are darker.

either way, aleksander han offers what few dare to imagine. transformation and power. yet nothing he gives is free. his gifts are carved from pain, from surrender and from the slow unmaking of everything you once were. still, as you stand before him, you know the cost means little compared to what awaits on the other side. and for that, you are willing to pay.

[ dm me to discuss! thank you! ]

[ ᴍᴏꜱᴄᴏᴡ, ʀᴜꜱꜱɪᴀ , 1800 ]

–
sunlight spilled across the frozen expanse beyond the dragomir estate. it crept slowly from behind the shroud of overcast clouds, threading through the gray in soft golden streaks. the beams struck the untouched snow and scattered into a thousand reflections, dancing like shards of light across the whitened earth. from the safety of a tinted window, a little boy sat and watched. he could sit there for hours, captivated by the way the world seemed to shimmer, unreachable yet beautiful, dangerous yet tender. he was far from the curse that waited beyond those walls, the curse that would burn through his skin should he ever wander too close to the sun.

still, he returned to the same spot each dawn before bed, just to witness the slow transformation of night giving way to day.

“father, why can we not go out during the daytime?” his voice was light, curious, filled with the kind of innocence untouched by the darkness that ruled their blood.

“it is the price to pay for a life that will stretch across centuries, my child.” it had been five years, and aleksander was still learning how to speak softly. yet he knelt beside the boy, lowering himself until their eyes met, placing a careful hand atop his son’s head. the gesture felt strange, unfamiliar, like touching something fragile for the first time. when the boy looked up at him, wonder gleaming in those wide eyes, aleksander found a smile tugging at his own lips…a foreign, hesitant thing.

“what is centuries?” the boy asked.

“one day you will understand. for now, don’t you think you should join your mother? her embrace awaits you.”

“how about you, father?”

“in a bit. now run along.”

the boy nodded, the faintest smile playing on his lips before he turned and hurried down the darkened corridor. his small footsteps echoed softly against the stone, swallowed by the quiet of the estate.

aleksander remained by the window, his gaze drifting back to the pale horizon. he could hear faint laughter from somewhere down the hall, and something within his chest stirred. it was strange, he thought, how two creatures like them. monsters by every right, could bring into the world something so untainted. something that made even the pristine snow beyond seem dull in comparison.

he watched the light swallow darkness and whispered to himself, a vow only the walls would ever hear. he would do everything, anything, to protect that innocence.

—

[ ꜱᴇʀᴀᴘʜ, ʙᴀʙᴇʟ | 2025 ]

aleksander dragomir-han had known gentleness once. affection, perhaps even love. so long ago that it now felt like a story borrowed from someone else’s life. sometimes he remembered it, the ache blooming faintly in the hollow of his chest where something fond used to dwell.

sometimes he dreamed of it still...the echo of laughter carried through vast halls, soft and fleeting, belonging to a mother and her child.

if love had a color, he thought, it would be an emerald just a shade lighter than his own eyes. a color that had once stared up at him with wonder, trust, and warmth that could melt the coldest of nights. eyes that had looked at him as if he were the whole world.

damien visentin-dragomir.

even now, the name lingered like a haunting. he could never forget that brief season, those five fragile years that had burned brighter than any of the centuries he endured afterward.

now, he sits somewhere far away from moscow, in silence thick enough to press against his bones, with madness coursing through his veins like slow acting poison that killed him from the inside. and somewhere between the flicker of memory and the stillness of eternity, aleksander realizes that all the centuries he spent chasing shadows have left him with nothing but an emptiness as vast and endless as the void that follows after a dying star.

[ ᴍᴏɴᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ ꜰɪɴ. ]