Meet The Author!

***
Pose reference from "Whole House Mad meme", except I don't use the meme word "Damn bro you got the whole house laughing" inside. I draw them wearing post-1945 uniform, as I want to see the alternate universe if they are still alive after 1945, or the alternate universe where they are all reuniting after death.

I also feel like that's how my 12 OCs react if they see the one who wrote the entire tragedies 😅

In other words, "Dark Tears in Red Music" blog finally comes to the end. For those who follow my journey since February/March (my first time to publish the blog), I thank you all and hope you enjoying the stories :)

And for the newcomers, feel free to visit! The main stories has finished, so there is a lot of time to explore... There might be side stories added later, but I cannot promise would be frequent like in the past.

P.S: Don't worry, I am still continue making fanmade MVs, shitpost and other worldbuilding story. And I open the comment section here, so feel free to ask related to worldbuilding :)

Adieu To The Past

EPILOGUE

Stripping The Weapons

Moscow, July 1946

Upon arriving at the Kremlin, Boris hurried toward the Yellow Palace. Guards, recognizing Boris Alexandrov’s striking resemblance to his father, immediately opened the gates and ushered him in without a word of questioning. As he entered the ground-floor corridor, Voroshilov descended the stairs with his aide to greet him cheerfully.

"Comrade Boris! You are just like your father; always arriving ahead of schedule," Voroshilov praised, shaking Boris’s hand.

"Oh, forgive me. I thought I was late," Boris said, breathless. Voroshilov smiled faintly, almost childlike, "A man like you could never be late for the Yellow Palace! Not the son of the highly disciplined Comrade Alexandrov himself. Shall we head upstairs?" He immediately turned back up the staircase toward the second floor, followed by Boris and the aide, heading for Voroshilov’s office.

Deadly Wish

[November 1945]

"Alexander Vasilyevich, please! Just listen to me this once! You must agree to be taken to the hospital and rest until your heart recovers!" the doctor pleaded, even clasping Alexandrov’s deeply wrinkled hands tightly in his own.

Lying weak in bed, Alexandrov still managed to shake his head and declare firmly, "No. I cannot rest while my plan to hold a concert in Germany remains unfulfilled. The German people need to be comforted; their suffering is far greater than mine."

"But you won't be able to alleviate their suffering if you are suffering like this yourself!"

"Just give me some painkillers. Or blood pressure medication... anything at all. But I am not going to the hospital," Alexandrov snapped bluntly. 

Outside the room where Alexandrov was resting, his civic wife Lyudmila and his sons Boris, Vladimir, and Yuri wore worried expressions. The two older men had been arguing about the hospital visit for half an hour; eventually, Yuri grew tired of eavesdropping and decided to go inside the bedroom to read a storybook. Then, the sound of the door opening from within made the three eavesdroppers straighten up. The doctor emerged looking weary, fixing a pleading gaze upon Lyudmila.

Some Alternate Universes That Make Me Giggle

Author Notes: This section may be updated sometimes whenever I find any incorrect quotes sounds good for my OCs lol.

AU Pretend we worked in a hospital but none of us are medically trained

Vasily: "Here comes the anesthesia!" (lift a steel chair)
Anatoli: "Hey Anton, take my photo! The light behind me looking good!" (Pose in front of x-ray light)
Oleg: "A schizophrenic patient asked me to help fighting their demons. Thankfully I am black belted so here we go."
Dmitry: "Ok so I have writing the tutorial of how to heart transplant. Sorry, it's my first time..."
Stepan: (Playing dead in the morgue to scare everyone who try to enter)
Maxim: "Don't forget to shake the medicine bottle syrup before consuming. And do it like this!" (starts to twerk while holding the medicine bottle)
Andrei: "Guys, I can't read this next tutorial that Dima wrote. What should we do next after taking out the aorta???"
Semyon: "Internal bleeding, nurse? I thought that's how supposed to be?"
Ivan: "Whoa, you have cancer? That's good! I have Virgo!"
Vadim: "Their heart rate is down!" (taking out tequila from stash)
Alexei/Vitaly: "Hey I just got your test result, sir. Congrats, your results are all positive!" (yes, both will answer the same)
Fyodor: "Huh? Patient's temperature suddenly dropping? Move outta my way." (bringing a large bowl of boiling water)

****

P.S: Don't tell Elena Ostrucheskaya

Renounce Prose

(Taken from my 2013 Archive)

There was a wooden house in the village near the river.

Inside this house lived a father, a mother and a boy.

The father is a fisherman who work behind the house.

The mother is a mute, so she must brought a board and chalk to talk.

The boy still loved them no matter what. 

Until one day a war struck in that village.

The father chosen to be partisan and leave the family with a bullet wound on his chest.

The village also suffered by famine.

The mother and the boy flee from their home to find any luck.

Years later, they finally found a new home and new kind neighbor to help them.

But the luck won't last long, as the mother had strange illness.

The boy worried and sought help, to no avail.

And the mother died in her illness, leaving him with the neighbor.

The neighbor do loved him, but he doesn't trust them.

"Everyone I loved dies unnaturally. I'll just hurt others. I'm destined to be alone"

The boy lived alone on his communal and being independent, despite the neighbor worrying him.

The boy renounced having to accept any love around him.

 

To Be Or Not To Be Conscripted

(Taken from my 2013 Archive. Originally, the story was about Alexandrov Ensemble artists are getting conscripted in Belarus just for the drama. But I decided to change and edited it as normal concert tour)

[Particle 1]

[January 1936]

After hours of composing for the choir, Alexandrov rose from the piano bench upon seeing the clock hands pointing to twelve. "Alright, let's take a break for lunch. See you later!"

Before the choir members could ask a single question, Alexandrov smiled in farewell and left the room, carrying his yellow folder. Instinctively, they all shrugged in unison before filing out of the rehearsal room.

The Scandal

[Paris, Late July 1937]

On that bustling festival night, Semyon was seen walking with Ivan. Although they were just strolling, the two of them frequently remarked on how the Grand Prix festival was even more spectacular than the October Revolution festival. They briefly stopped at a pastry stall to watch fresh pastries and cream puffs coming out of the oven, then moved on to a clothing boutique where Maxim, Andrei, and Stepan were trying on colorful shirts. They exchanged a quick wave before continuing their walk around the festival grounds. After two hours of walking, Ivan began yawning frequently.

Messy Alternate Universes

Of course, during the building of my OCs between 2013-2016, there are some alternate universes and scrapped stories I made. And I want to share it to you all, because this is still part of my journey.

Attending The Funeral of Youngest Brother

Worst Vision

April 1938

Meanwhile, in another apartment in the Moscow area, Semyon was washing dirty dishes in the kitchen alongside a 10 years old girl with long red hair. They were laughing and joking with one another as a father and daughter. Once the dishes were done and his hands dried, Semyon play tags with the little girl, as she learn casting her basic magic toward him. After dodging the spells and managing to catch her, he tickled her until she cried out between giggles, "Stop it, Papa! I can't laugh anymore! Ahahaha!!"

Dear Cousin

June 1954

Dear Dimochka,

I hope this letter arrived to you soon. Although by the time you are reading this, we may never meet again and can only write or call each other. Because I have decided to join my family back to Bristol and bring Petka too. Father and mother has moved to Bristol by two months ago, and I only stayed here for a while because there are some documents I have to finished before leaving the hospital.

Alexei, Vitaly and Nina's Dynamic

Warning: Scene in "Late May 1941" section may be uncomfortable for readers (implied assault from woman toward man, and heavy manipulation). It's advised to skip immediately to "31 July 1941" if you don't want to read it.

Messy Sketches and Drawing Part 5

These are the old concept and researches I made when first time joining National Novel Writing Month held in 2013. Like relationship maps, the other characters involved, building lore for 4 main OCs. Note that this is old version, which may clashed with the canon I've posted all of this time. I just want to share as I don't want to forget the journey from just liking a "Red Army Choir" into "Alexandrov Ensemble".

Messy Sketches and Drawing Part 4

These are the rest of messy sketches and drawings that I think it needed to be explained or addressed.

Because it's mostly clashed with the canon story I wrote in here.

Lively Graveyard

(Taken from my 2013 Archive and translated with translation machine. May or may not be accurate from real history and fictional stories, and I'm too lazy to rewrite)

[1st Particle - Alexander Alexandrovich's Funeral]

1942

For the first time, tears fell from the eyes of the Alexandrov men—and not merely a drop or two; each of them repeatedly wiped away tears with a damp white handkerchief. The women bearing the same surname wept just as profusely. They shed these tears within the cathedral, standing not far from a priest who could only stand motionless, unsure of what to do other than gaze at the fully sealed coffin awaiting burial. The other guests, relatives and dignitaries close to the Alexandrov family had already left the cathedral to wait at the burial site.

Before Fugue

[November 1941]

"Snipers are everywhere. Be careful!" The captain shouted. Everyone nodded in agreement. They then made their way to a swampy forest. Just as they crossed the swamp, a shot rang out. The soldier at the very back was shot in the head. Everyone scattered to search for the sniper in the area.

Dmitry crept through the bushes, listening for any sound that might betray a sniper's presence. Another shot rang out, and he saw another soldier collapse. He realized his current position was dangerous.

He scanned the area keenly. Aha! The sniper's feet were visible. Light grey boots? No mistake about it, Dmitry thought. He took aim at the boots and fired. The owner of the feet screamed; sure enough, it was the sniper. Dmitry and the other soldiers immediately opened fire on him.

"A strange sniper. Exposing his feet while on duty," Dmitry wondered aloud.

"Who knows... You, guard that side!" the captain ordered. Dmitry promptly ran to the designated spot.

He circled the trees, watching for any movement. Suddenly, the atmosphere grew eerily quiet. Dmitry looked back, only to find his comrades gone. Torn between the panic of being left behind and the fear of the captain's wrath for abandoning his post, he simply crouched there in confusion.

Just as he crouched, a shell whistled over his head and exploded five meters away. Startled, he peered out from behind the trees. Enemy tanks and troops were advancing. He ran to catch up with his comrades.

"There's an attack in the northeast!" Dmitry shouted. Everyone ran in the direction Dmitry pointed. Sure enough, the enemy had arrived, and a firefight broke out. Dmitry and his comrades returned fire. Two bullets tore through the air, wounding both of Dmitry's shoulders. He was still alive, but his arms weakened. One of the soldiers he had met at the station hoisted him up.

"Come on, comrade! Let me help you." He dragged Dmitry to a tree, away from the crossfire. Dmitry’s vision began to blur as he steadily lost blood. Little did he know, there is another struck by a tank shell, and then everything went dark.

***

He desperately hoped for a swift death to claim him... He had hoped that the last blur would be the last thing he ever see before leaving this world.

Then his wish was granted! He saw a bright light, and there was Alexei right beside him.

"You sleepyhead. We’re here, you know!" Alexei teased. He blinked, realizing they were in a truck. They had arrived at the CSKA building. He could hardly believe his eyes. Was this the heaven his mother used to talk about, or had all that warfare just been a nightmare?

"Come on, get out! Do you want the driver to haul you all the way to the East?" Alexei teased again.

"You’re being unusually snarky!" he exclaimed. But he and Aleksei laughed it off, treating it as a joke.

They were welcomed by the leader of the Ensemble, wearing his signature friendly smile. It was hard to believe the war had passed so quickly, yet he was thankful to have survived—alongside his best friend Aleksei, of course. He walked with purpose until he came to an empty corridor and stopped abruptly. Standing before him was a young woman she had known for a long time. Darya!

He ran forward, arms outstretched for an embrace. Darya ran too, her face wet with tears. Just as they were about to embrace, he slipped and fell into a void. The girl was gone.

"Thank goodness, he’s alive!" a nurse said. He felt his body being lifted, then bandages being wrapped around both his shoulders.

"Where... where am I?" he asked. "At one of the field hospital, far from where you were found. It’s a tragedy other comrade who saved was killed by a bomb. Though it’s amazing... you were right next to him, yet you didn't suffer a single burn!" the nurse marveled.

"..."

"There, all done! Come on, get up; you're moving to that recovery tent over there."

Reluctantly, he walked toward the tent the nurse had pointed out. He cursed himself for hoping for too much...including the hope of dying in the war.

*Taken from 2013 archive I ever wrote

Disregarded Attention

[May 1936]

My eyes snapped open; I realised I had woken up in yet another unfamiliar place. I was in a train compartment, with three idiots I loved all still asleep. Dmitry and Vadim are leaning to each other across me. And the bald man Vasily had even brazenly propped his feet onto my lap, his head resting against the compartment window.

"You yokel," I shook my head toward Vasily. I slowly rose from the compartment seat, took Alexei's diary book from the backpack and stepped out to compose myself.

I found myself in the sixth carriage. Gazing out the window on the right side, while also reading what I've been missed for two weeks in the diary. My reflection was faintly visible in the glass, forcing me to reluctantly admit that I was beginning to hate the face staring back at me. It was a face so innocent, suggesting a respectable upbringing. It was the face of a dutiful Soviet youth, utterly unsuited to someone like me, who actually longed to escape this land of iron. My face ought to have been one of angry villain, not this guileless visage.

Piece of Peace, Letter and Bread

Sometimes I wonder; people often say that every family’s life is special. But what exactly makes it special? Is it their hobbies? Their status? Their neighborhood? Or their jobs?

My family’s life is pretty ordinary. My father runs a small-scale bakery in Stavropol, and my mother acts as his assistant while also managing the household. My twin sister and I are just ten-year-olds who love reading. We live in an ordinary home, too. There are no fancy decorations like statues or decorative lights outside our apartment building, just a streetlamp that flickers whenever the power fluctuates.

The bread isn't particularly extraordinary either... Though don't get me wrong, it’s not that my father’s bread tastes bad. It’s just that his isn't the absolute best in town. There’s a bakery up north that serves piping-hot bread to every customer, and another on the outskirts that offers a huge variety of loaves with a shelf life of over five days.

My father simply says that our livelihood is already ordained; all we have to do is put in the effort. What I admire most is that he never gave in to the temptation of making "fresh-baked" bread or using preservatives; instead, he kept experimenting to create naturally long-lasting bread with diverse flavors. He has successfully developed ten varieties of naturally durable bread so far, and they’ve become favorites among the people in the heart of the city.

But it isn't my father’s job that I want to talk about. While my story does involve bread, it’s what’s inside the bread which made our family life truly special.

Splinters of a Triptych

Moscow, June 1945

For now, Dmitry, Vadim, and Darya could say nothing but sip the hot tea that had just been served, when Vadim visited Dmitry’s new settlement. The sound of Elena sobbing and her mother consoling her in the other room was the only noise filling the apartment, deepening the gloom that weighed on each of them. Vadim rubbed his watery eyes and looked at Dmitry, who was sitting directly across from him.