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madmarchhare · 6 months

Text

Report from the Ministry of Internal Affairs

October 14th , 05:01:00, 1983

Volkov strode down the main street towards the ministry building, walking with a broad yet humble gait over the freezing pavement completely unbothered by it. It was that time of day when the sickly light of day just began to assail the night, tinging it purple-pink before it would later fall into the chill blue of autumn.

The street was reasonably wide, long rectangular flower plots made of concrete and filled with cold soil, the wildflowers in them having withered from the cold, watched by the young poplars and birch that were planted equally down the lane, leafless and thin glistening with dew and overeager frost. She came to the ministry building itself after a short time, it taking rather little time for her to walk anywhere with her stature. The building was rather typical in construction compared to the uniqueness and speciality of much of the rest of the city. It was a three storey building, the first floor being mostly reserved to an entrance hall and cleaning staff and supplies, the second being where Volkov and others worked, with one half being for the other half of the directorate. She had never been to the top floor, as it was primarily the office of the MVD Minister, and that was as much as she was allowed to know. In appearance it was both grand and unassuming. It was rectangular, lacking any rounded corners or a peaked roof, covered in clean white plaster and a great number of windows, the space around them slightly embossed from the buildings façade with coulombs set on the corners of the building.

She was stopped at the guard point at the front of the property, just in front of the top of a set of stairs, the whole building being on a slight raise in the terrain. It was staffed by militsiya[1] dressed in their grey uniforms, lined with red. They were a new officer, one who Volkov had not encountered before, having greyish skin and a somewhat clammy appearance smelling of salt water. He went over the documents she handed him, his fellow guard standing with his hands in his coat as he watched the street, a great convoy of construction vehicles trundling down the lane, bar tall lorries which had to avoid the tram cables.

“Everything seems to be in order Comrade Volkov,” he asserted reaching up to hand her back the documents as he nodded to her, his peaked hat rocking over his fish-tail like ears, looking up at the woman with monocolour eyes.

“Thank you very much Praporshik[2],” she bade, nodding kindly to the man and his partner in turn before walking to the building entrance. The entrance hall was well lit, a pair of armed militsiya lingering at each corner of the room, stood in black boots gripping AK-74u’s in black, wool line gloves, hugging the carbines to their chests. Volkov saw her friend, Svetlana Yakovlevna[3] sat at the reception desk. Volkov gave her a warm wave, but only received a flippant acknowledgement in return, the woman appearing listening closely to a phone set she pressed against her hear, writing something down. She didn’t let it bother her and instead continued on to the stairs and climbed up to the second floor, making sure to mind her head. The second floor was busy, the sound of hushed conversation coming from the main office hall.

She turned into the room, seeing the other fifty workers stuffed into the room dressed in their best clothes, having taken some extra time to groom themselves. “Lyudmila!” Volkov heard someone call, turning to the sound of her name. A smile crept across her face as she saw her friends gathered in a corner of the room, striding over to them. She towered over the three of them, not that any of the three minded.

One, Rin Shigemitsu[4], was a bakeneko[5], having emigrated from the NJK[6]. He stood at about 5’6” though slouching from a wounded leg to 5’5”. He had calico coloured hair which he let grow rather long, each eyebrow a different colour, along with electric yellow eyes. He wore a tired, pale coffee coloured suit with padded shoulders, specially ironed for today, along with a pair of polished boots.

Next to him was a creature that was about 5’11”, made of a twisting, undulating mass of coiling white nerves vaguely resembling a human shape stuffed into a grey suit. They hovered rather than stood, regarding the other three silently watching with a pair of suspended unblinking eyes that ever only seemed to exist from the front. They tended, when a voice was unnecessary, to sign using their hands which were always covered in white gloves. Generally everyone called him Molcha.

Finally was Aleksandra Constantinova Slava[7], she was a tall, box-shouldered woman, about 6’ wearing a green suit jacket over a long cream dress. She had a harsh, cocky face set in a shot-fox grin, fitting as she was part fox herself, colouring her chin length hair. She had been the one to call Lyudmilla’s name looking her over with an appraising expression. “Good morning Alek,” she greeted her friend with a warm smile, bending over slightly to get closer to eye level.

“Morning,” she answered simply, not turning her eyes away from the door.

“I saw the Supervisor at the metro last night,” Lyudmilla remarked, receiving a curious look from Alek and Rin.

“Really? Did you ask him who the new hire was like?” Alek asked interestedly, turning to her friend as her attention shifted from the door. At this Volkov took on a slightly sheepish expression.

“Ah, no. I forgot to ask,” she admitted regretfully, receiving an exasperated look from Alek.

“Ah come on, that’s what everybody’s curious about!” she grumbled crossing her arms over her chest in agitation.

“It’s not like she’d have got an answer. The man isn’t the type for a chat,” Shigemitsu commented, limping forward.

“He seems quite nice,” Volkov chipped in, defending her supervisor in his absence. Shigemitsu clicked his tongue in polite disagreement.

“He makes me uneasy. I can’t read the man, he’s never said a single word to be that wasn’t related to work, and I’ve never seen him once outside this building. If it weren’t for other’s hearsay I’d think he was a house spirit for this place, more likely than him being the only human in the department as standing,” Shigemitsu continued in a hushed tone, careful to not let himself be heard.

Almost at the mention of his word Iveshnya walked through the entrance of the office, accompanied by a pair of stern faced men who appeared to be Soviet officials and a KGB[8] officer looming behind them. Iveshnya wore a similar suit as the day before, this time with a plain white shirt with French cuffs, worn with cufflinks bearing the Naval ensign of the Soviet Military Maritime Fleet[9]. In addition to that he wore a few medals on the left breast of his jacket. The first was a set of three medals, gold silver and bronze respectively, each a circle with a raised rim, a red five pointed star in the middle with a hammer and sickle with rays coming from the star surrounded by a laurel wreath. The ribbon was an irregular pentagon, made of red and edged in green with either one, two or three yellow stripes down the centres’[10], the only other one was a medal of a similar size with a much simpler design, simply a raised rim on a silver medal covered with Cyrillic that could not be read hung from a red and blue striped ribbon[11].

He regarded the room with a severe look, instantly quelling the clamour to silence, as if he had just snuffed out the wick of a candle. “Good morning comrades,” he droned in a flat tone, standing to attention in a bored sort of way, yet still perfectly stood as he was watched by the other three men. “Today, in addition to a tour of this directorate for members from the Supreme Soviet and from the central party, we will be receiving a new member for this department from Moscow,” Iveshnya spoke clearly and precisely, watching the room with his dead fish eyes. He let his words sit for a moment before beginning again, “Mr. Deriabin,” he called, not turning his head as he did. The Muscovite came forward, nervously side stepping the officials by the door.

The most distinct feature of the man as he walked in was the tick white fur that crowed his neck, almost shaped like a diamond as it blended into where one would expect a man’s ears to be. Instead of course a pair of rabbit ears stood to attention on the top of his head. His face was mostly human in structure, though covered with white fur and with rabbit-like eyes that glanced curiously but warily across the room. He was dressed in a black suit that harshly clashed with his own fur, pressed out in the front by the thick fur on his chest, a slit in his trousers for a triangular shaped tail. It made the man cut a somewhat effeminate figure as he stood before the hall on digitigrade feet.

“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” he greeted in a firm voice, but one you could tell was not his normal tone. Iveshnya glanced at the lagomorph to his right before continuing.

“I shall leave you to get acquainted with your new Comrade as the Ministers and I continue on. Miss. Slava, I trust you will help Mr. Deriabin with any troubles he encounters?” Iveshnya ordered, catching Alek off guard.

“Yes, Comrade Supervisor!” she asserted, rapidly summoning her confidence. The man gave an unemotive nod in acknowledgement then turned to leave, the other ministers doing the same. As he came astride of Deriabin he softly gave him an order.

“You will report to my office at the end of the day,” walking on before the man had a chance to respond. The ministers left and continued down the hall, leaving the room in silence until they could no longer hear their footfalls. As soon as they were out of earshot the room descended on the fresh blood like sharks. Alek was quick to weave her way through the crowd to get an introduction in.

“Hello Mr. Deriabin, it is nice to meet you,” she greeted, grabbing his hand and shaking it firmly.

“Ah, you too, Miss…?”

“Aleksandra Constantinova, as you likely heard I am here to help you if you have any problems,” she asserted confidently, not at all presenting the air that she’d suddenly had the role dropped onto her at just that moment. Not that she was upset at Iveshnya for the role, particularly as Deriabin was as easy on the eyes as she had hoped the new hire would be. “Now what should we call you?” she asked kindly, smiling up at him with distinctly sharp yellowish teeth.

“Oh, call me Zablud, but Za or Sha is fine,” he answered, a nervous smile coming across his face. He was paraded through the room like a new Tsar being bombarded by greetings and questions in equal measure, only just managing to issue a few of the former himself before he was dragged elsewhere. Eventually, as the others were beginning to retreat back to their work, Alek brought her Duraibin back to her friends.

“Last but not least,” Alek smiled as she showed the man off to the three like some prized game she had just hunted. Za looked nervously up at the towering creature that was Volkov, feeling quite suddenly like prey as she looked kindly down at him, trying her best to not inspire the feeling in the man.

“Lyudmila Yurievna[12], it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Volkov greeted warmly, offering a clawed hand. He shook her hand with a smile, trying to smother his internal screams of terror as he did so. Volkov noticed, unlike her friends, but didn’t press him on it, simply letting go of his hand and standing slightly further back for his sake, but not far enough to be commented on.

“Likewise,” Za agreed with a glancing at her a second longer before looking at the other two strangers he was to be introduced to. Molcha nodded to him and stepped forward, shaking his hand.

“They call me Molcha, it is a great pleasure to meet you Mr. Zablud,” he said, speaking with a distant, harsh voice, as if it was coming from a badly tuned radio, and spoken in a refined diction, as if one was speaking to an old Tsarist or a language teacher. Za exchanged his greeting then turned to Rin, the bakeneko watching the man suspiciously.

“Shigemitsu,” he said simply, watching the man coldly to the slight irritation of Alek but not necessarily surprise. He was known to be rather prickly to new people… not that that pervaded him from acting that way to people he had know a long time either. If Deiabin was affected by the coldness he didn’t show it, simply offering a slight smile to the man. Alek glared at Shigemitsu but the man simply turned away with a sour expression, moving over to his desk.

“Sorry about him… he is a nice guy when you get to know him. Anyway, I think it would be a good idea to show you some of your duties here, so if you’ll follow me,” Alek apologized to Za before gesturing for him to follow her. Volkov and Molcha waved them off before turning to get to their own work.

As Volkov walked back to her desk she came up to Shigemitsu, “Are you alright? Why were you so cold to him?” she asked earnestly, a mildly concerned look on her black face.

He glanced up to her, a sour expression on his face as he limped forward, “I’m worried why he’s here… Its not exactly normal to get someone sent over from Moscow to out here in the middle of nowhere now is it?” he answered bluntly not explaining any further. Volkov looked at him with a pensive look seeing his point.

When the day was over, Deriabin made his way to Iveshnya’s office. It was dark outside, the hall lit solely by the dead lights overhead. He stopped outside the door, shuffling on his feet slightly before rapping his knuckles on the door. “Come in,” Iveshnya droned, his voice cutting, though muffled, through the thin plywood door. Deriabin opened the door, stepping into the small room. The first thing he saw was Iveshnya, wearing a dry expression on his face as he went through a stack of documents in front of him, sat in front of his desk. The walls were covered with maps, from topographical, military installations and more, with photographs of party leaders and leaders of the MVD and KGB placed between them. Along with that, there was a small chair in front of the desk close to Deriabin, which Iveshnya idly gestured for him to sit in. As soon as he sat in the chair Iveshnya piped up, “would you care for a cigarette?” not looking up from his documents as he asked him.

“Oh, uh, yes,” Deriabin replied, Iveshnya reaching into a drawer and pulling out a pack of Soyuz-Apollo[13] cigarettes, which just so happened to be Deriabin’s favourite brand, but one he could not get often. Iveshnya opened the pack and tapped a cigarette out, holding out his arm for Deriabin to take it from the pack. “Thank you,” Deriabin said, slightly more at ease, “… are you not having one?”

“No, I don’t smoke,” he replied flatly, confusing Deriabin slightly. “Now, Zablud Oleninivich Deriabin[14],” Iveshnya resumed, not allowing the man time for his confusion, “as you were no doubt informed, this is a unique posting. The directorate for information was established by the MVD in conjunction with both the KGB and the GRU[15] as a way to keep watch of anything and everything they don’t want to be seen by any… foreign or possibly harmful elements that may enter the Soviet Union,” he continued, lifting his eyes from his document that he allowed to rest on the desk as he stiffly inspected the white rabbit in front of him.

“Yes, of course,” Deriabin replied, holding his unlit cigarette between his fingers as he rested his hands on his legs, sitting up straight as he looked tensely at his supervisor. Iveshnya met his gaze with a dismissive look through half lidded eyes. He shoved a nickelled lighter over the desk to Deriabin who picked it up from the table with a wary look before lighting his cigarette, puffing on it nervously.

“So then of course there comes the question of why they sent you,” Iveshnya blurted out just as Deriabin took a long drag, sending him into a coughing fit as silver smoke spewed from him like a broken log burner.

“P-pardon?” he wheezed out, but his superior ignored him and continued.

“You, as far as the report I have received tell me, are nothing but an amateur, having worked only briefly within the MVD office in Moscow following a fleeting failure within the militsiya. You have never once ventured outside Moscow, bar from a single visit to Leningrad where you slept with over a quarter of the city, regardless of sex, while in a drunken stupor,” Iveshnya continued, humiliation and fear twisting Deariabin’s expression, only his thick fur preventing his face turning blood red from blushing.

“… And yet,” Iveshnya continued, “my superiors both here and in Moscow insisted upon you, singing your praises. So you will remain as long as you can fulfil your duties well, which, I am sure you will,” he finished, whatever scepticism that was in his voice being overshadowed by the silent threat that pressed itself at the rabbit’s throat.

“Of course, comrade supervisor,” Deriabin replied, almost quailing as he spoke, stock still in his chair. He watched him with a flat expression on his face for a moment or so before glancing away.

“Well then lets leave that for now. On a separate matter, have your sorted out your commute as yet?” Iveshnay asked simply.

“Ah, not as yet,” he answered somewhat sheepishly.

“Hm, you’ve met Mr. Shigemitsu I assume?” Deriabin nodded, “I believe both he and you live in the same building so I recommend that you go back with him. He has a car, a SMZ S-3D[16] he received due to his leg. You should be able to catch up with him today if you go now, it takes him quite a while to get to the carpark with his leg how it is, and he refuses to have a cane,” he explained calmly, as if the whole thing was common knowledge.

Deriabin looked at his superior with a bewildered look, unable to stop himself before he asked, “How do you know all of this?” Iveshnya regarded him at the edge of his sight.

“I don’t think that is your business, Mr. Deriabin,” Deriabin’s thoughts could not help but think ‘but it’s somehow yours?’ but his common sense stopped him from saying it aloud. “You are dismissed, I hope to see you tomorrow Mr. Deriabin,” Iveshnya said in a flat tone, signalling that Deriabin was no longer welcome in the office. The man clearly wanted to say something more, not least ask how to get to the carpark, but Iveshnya, without even moving, was making it quite clear that he would not be asked any questions.

“Of course, Comrade Supervisor,” he eventually muttered back, bowing out of his chair before leaving through the door, not turning his back to his superior, as if he was a wild animal. As soon as he stepped out of the office, he felt the tension he had ignored buckle his legs, struggling to stand up. He was a far more intimidating man than Volkov.

He pulled himself back together after a moment and began to make his way out of the building, stopping at the front desk to ask where the carpark was located. The woman at the front desk told him that it was a complex further into the city. When he eventually got there, after going through the checkpoint and walking through the dimming streets, hearing the long echoes of constructions as the sites wound down for the evening, he saw the entrance. It was a reasonably large, and ultimately like the city it was built in, uninhabited complex. It was generally intended as a cooperative garage[17] when the city was completed, though far better built than its contemporaries, swapping the kit made metal barns for solid concrete garages that were slightly larger than normal, though only slightly, and covered in pleasant pastel colours that looked drained in the autumn evening, grey-black overhead.

He saw Shigemitsu ahead, opening the door to a garage close to the entrance for the cooperative. Deriabin sped up slightly to reach him, stopping just near the entrance. “Ah, Mr. Shigemitsu,” he called out, causing the bakeneko to stop still as he went to open the door to his car.

He glanced up at Zablud, a tired expression on his face, “What are you doing here?” he questioned somewhat irately.

“Ah, Mr. Iveshnya told me that we are both live in the same building, and that I should go back with you, as you have a car,” Zablud replied somewhat sheepishly, unsure weather or not to be apologetic.

Sigemitsu’s expression broke into an infuriated mess within a moment, gritting his sharp teeth, “Iveshnya you…!” he began to curse under his breath but stopped, partially because he knew it wouldn’t help much, but also out of a wariness for the new recruit, and why he had been sent. Ironically, in much the way Iveshnya was.

“… Fine, get in. Not like I have much of a choice anyway,” he grumbled, opening his own door and getting in, taking a moment with his wounded leg. Zablud grinned nervously and bent down to open the door of the car before stepping down into the low vehicle. It was painted shock green, a colour repeated on the metal dash, contrasted slightly with the grey carpet and seats. He glanced over to Shigemitsu as he got himself seated, seeing him move to start the vehicle, all the controls being placed on the steering wheel and dashboard. After a moment the engine sputtered into life, the two-stroke creature roaring its two-voice call into the night as Shigemitsu pulled the car forward out of the garage, an uninterested look on his face. When he got out of the building into the paved row it sat on he got out after a moments struggle, to Zablud’s confusion until he pulled close his garage door and locked it.

He turned back and got back into the driver’s seat with a blank look, “I could have done that for you,” Zablud commented, attempting to be kind to his impromptu chauffeur, but instead got an incensed look from the man.

“I don’t need your help,” he bit as he set the car into drive and sped it forward… Well, as fast as it would go. It was a rather slow car, having a max speed of about 55 Km/h or 34 Mph. But, more than that, it was loud, its engine echoing through the cities streets as it went. Shigemitsu attempted to muffle it by blaring a radio through the car, though not that the car came with one as standard, so he simply used a portable model that sang out opera over the engine noise. Zablud stared out of the window as they drove, trying to avoid his superior in the small car, watching the increasingly empty scenery as they left the city limits, black plains of tall grass swaying in the heavy winds. The taste of good tobacco still lingered on his teeth, unfortunately made him remember his meeting with Iveshnya, the severe unemotive expression on the man looming large over his thoughts.

He reached into his jacket, fishing around for a moment until he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, hoping to smoke out the taste. They were a Bulgarian brand, Tu-134 after the airliner, and what he usually bought as they were cheap. Before he pulled one out he turned to Shigemitsu and asked, “do you mind if I smoke?” Shigemitsu glanced at him, still keeping one eye on the empty road.

“Lean out the window, I don’t want any smoke in my face,” he answered. Zablud nodded and turned to the window as he pulled out a cigarette from the sky-blue coloured pack, placing it between his lips as he undid the screw that held the windows still before pulling back, wind diving through the opening as soon as the opportunity availed it. He covered the cigarette with his hand and felt for the lighter Iveshnya had given him, trying to push him out of his mind as he lit the cigarette and puffed on it, leaning his head near the window so that the dancing wind could drag the smoke up and out of the car.

After about three hours or so of driving they came to the outskirts of a city. It was where both Shigemitsu and Zablud lived, along with a few other members of the directorate. They were spread out in various cities and villages around Nizki-Gorod until housing in the city was complete, though, it was not guaranteed. The building where the pair lived was close to the city centre, set around a large lush courtyard. What Zablud now paid more notice too was the small steel garage set near the building, as he now guessed that it belonged to Shigemitsu. He was correct.

Shigemitsu stopped the car just ahead of the garage and opened his door, “get out, you can get to your apartment while I put my car away,” he snapped, dragging himself out of his car before limping over to the garage door.

“Thank you… I appreciate it,” Zablud thanked smiling nervously at the man, but got no reply in return as he put his car away. He let his smile fall from his face as he grabbed another cigarette from the pack in his coat and lit it, taking quick, nervous drags from it, smoke puffing from his rabbit like cheeks and twisting around his ears before being dragged away by the wind. He ascended the steps to his floor with his hands in his pockets, the narrow stair cold with the late night air. His room was one the second floor, a single bedroom, but largely similar to Iveshnya’s as both were Kurshchevka’s. He lingered outside his door, smoking, now slower as he thumbed-over his keys in his pocket. As he glared down at the bottom of his door, fretting over his meeting, he glanced at the door of his neighbour.

He had not greeted him yet, as he had been out when Zablud had arrived, but he hoped to make a good impression. He glanced at his neighbours door for a second longer then plucked his keys from his pocket, just as Shigemitsu began to walk down the hall towards him. He wondered what it was for until he stopped outside the door of his neighbours, both men wearing questioning looks until it dawned on them, surprise clear on their faces as they each stood outside their apartments.

[1] Милиция. The name for the police forces of the Soviet Union, a force that worked under the authority of the MVD. Their ranks were generally parallel to the structure of the Red Army.

[2] A rank in both the Soviet army and the militsiya. It is roughly equivalent to a Warrant Officer Class 1 or OR-7/OR-8 for NATO Armies.

[3] Светлана Яковлевна.

[4] 凜重光, when read the Russian way, first name then surname.

[5] 化け猫 Lit. ‘Changed Cat’. A type of Japanese yōkai(Supernatural entity or spirit) more specifically a kaibyō, or supernatural cat. They possess among other abilities, the ability to transform into human form. They are often confused with Nekomata, another cat spirit.

[6] The Peoples Republic of Japan (日本人民共和国), Nihon Jinmin Kyoukakoku. A fictious Soviet satellite state that incorporates Hokkaidō, Tōhoku and Kantō regions in addition to Niigata prefecture, but excluding Tokyo, its surrounding area and a large area to the south of it. To its south is a western aligned Japan, retaining a constitutional monarchy akin to current Japan, and control of Tokyo.

[7] Александра Константинова Слава

[8] Комитет государственной безопасности. The ‘Committee of State Security’ responsible for carrying out internal security, along with the MVD, foreign intelligence, counter-intelligence and secret police functions.

[9] Советский Военно-Морской Флот. The official name for the Soviet navy, commonly nicknamed the ‘Red Fleet’ in the West.

[10] The ‘Medal “For Impeccable Service”’(Медаль “За безупречную службу”) was a decoration in the Soviet Union given for long service to those deserving in the armed forces, MVD or KGB. It was composed for three classes, First, Second and Third for twenty, fifteen and ten years service respectively, with Third class being first given, then following on sequentially.

[11] The ‘Medal “For Distinction in the Protection of Public Order”’ (Медаль “За отличие в охране общественного порядка”) was a decoration in the Soviet Union given to officials and civilians in recognition for distinction in defending public order or preventing crime.

[12] Людмила Юрьевна Волкова

[13] Союз-Apollo, a state-brand cigarette in the Soviet Union created in commemoration of the successful Soyuz(Союз) Apollo mission in the 1970’s.

[14] Заблуд Олениневич Дерябин

[15] Главное разведывательное управление. Main Intelligence Directorate, was the foreign military intelligence arm of the Soviet army.

[16] A Soviet car manufactured by Surpukhov Motor Works (Серпуховский Мотозавод), informally known as “motor-wheelchair” or “Invalidka” (инвалидка). They were known as such as they were given, either for free or sold at a heavy discount, to the disabled in the USSR through their welfare system and could not officially be bought by the non-disabled. It was given on a five year lease then had to be returned and later replaced by a new one. The S-3D model here was manufactured from the 1970’s, featuring a body 2.6 meters long, weighing 500kg due to its all-steel construction and powered by a two-stroke IZH-P3 air-cooled engine that had 18 hp.

[17] Кооперативные гаражи. An organization established to allow Soviet Car owners to store their vehicles. It required residents to apply to become a member of the cooperative and pay a fee to store their care on a plot. Garages were not normally built, and a separate kit to build a steel shack-garage had to bought as well. It was the only truly safe option in Soviet cities, however, as auto-theft or parts theft was common.

@thewormsheep @muaviinu @guesst @ghosticosmic @simplelobster @adanaac @truegoist @xatsperesso @toomuchhobbies-toolittletime @sleepy-gry

Part I |

#original writing #creative writing #writing #yokai #writeblr #HMAD #hope like it #please do tell me if you see any spelling mistakes

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endusviolence · 2 months

Note

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

#transgender #trans history #transsexual #transphobia #Magnus Hirschfeld #holocaust #holocaust denial #book burning #j.k. rowling #jk rowling #just in case you missed what i mean by all this: go fuck yourself anon :)#trans people have always existed #and we will always exist #if you really wanna pick a fight with me over well-documented history then you better bring in some sources to back your shit #queer history #queer #lgbt+#lgbta+#lgbt #lgbt history #edit: i finally got around to those damn image IDs. i am so very sorry for totally forgetting that's my bimbo moment of the month #also real quick i thought about adding an image of the actual building but the only one i can find has a Nazi parade in front of it #it was taken the day of the book burning raid and honestly if i were to include it then i'd add it to the first few paragraphs #and i think the story's better told when you uphold the hope Magnus Hirschfeld and all the researchers he worked with had #also keeps being brought up: yes Hirschfeld was a eugenicist. it was a popular belief set that was only discredited after WW2 #Hirschfeld died in 1935. he literally didn't live long enough to see science turn against those beliefs and practices #considering how he changed his mind on transitions i like to think he would've changed his mind on eugenics too if he'd lived

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