Torture Cw - Tumblr Posts

The history book I'm reading has footnotes and I'm losing it. It shouldn't be funny but compared to other books which are really uptight and formal they just seem so relaxed [I'm reading The Worlds of Medival Europe 4th edition by Clifford R. Blackman]

Trigger warning: next picture has mentioned of torture

it's always the same pattern: humor, teasing, anything to mask the truth. it doesn't come so easily this time. any smart retort back is frozen with anxious anticipation, rhysand's focus zeroed in onto one thing. waiting, waiting, waiting. how many times has he asked her this? he's already expecting avoidance, some attempt to dance around the question yet again. and in truth, he could not blame her. for once, after fleeing from trap after trap, she has freedom. to think she may already know what she wants to do with it would only be setting him up for disappointment.

he carefully watches feyre as she moves around the kitchen. it must have been filled with dust when she arrived, now spotless besides the cans of paint that rest on the counter. it had been years since anyone stepped foot into this place, neglected when years were lost from him. he can remember the last time they were all here, the last time they spent a holiday together as a family. ( cassian drunkenly singing christmas carols as morrigan dances, amren complaining, azriel sneaking through the gifts. ) how something felt missing, even then. like he's been waiting for her all this time.

" no more secrets. " feyre's confessions unravel his own, as much as he wishes to linger on her words for longer. his truth is not so simple, an admittance of guilt, that could very well lead to her taking it all back. " we'll start where we left off, i suppose. that day, with your father ... i had just started working for amarantha. she was giving me tasks, to prove myself. how compliant i would actually be. everything up until then, i did. i put on a show for her, killed without even so much as flinching. and then she sent me to your house. that was the first time she trusted me on my own — with two other men, just in case. "

" however, it seemed simple enough. an older man, in debt for years, with no clear plan on paying it back. i was ordered to kill him, and then take everything he owned of value, if anything. i was surprised, compared to everything else ... it was straightforward. until — until i saw you. i quickly realized she knew he had daughters. she knew, and wanted them to watch. i couldn't do it. i refused. but, i had convinced the other two that he wasn't worth the time. he didn't have anything, anyways. i told them to just scare him, that a man like that wouldn't try anything again. so they did ... all i could remember was the look on your face. how terrified you were. "

" afterwards, i killed them to cover up my tracks. i told her that your father shot them, and that i finished the job. i knew she didn't believe me. she didn't say anything, but she made it clear later on. " a breath, he grimaces, arms crossing over his chest. " flashforward a couple years, i heard tamlin was throwing a party. i was bored, and admittedly drunk, so i thought i would have some fun myself and pay him a visit — but then i saw that same girl from years ago, with his arm wrapped around her. i thought my mind was playing tricks on me, that maybe i had finally gone mad from all of amarantha's torment. i waited until he left you alone to get a closer look, to ease my mind. but when we started talking, it didn't take long for me to confirm it. and even worse, that you had no idea just who tamlin really was. i wanted to ruin everything right then and there. i thought that i had to get you out of there as soon as possible, before you ended up in the same spot your father did. "

" but i was foolish. i hadn't realized amarantha was at the party, watching you with tamlin ... and then with me. she was jealous, and she wanted something to hold over tamlin's head. she asked me for information, and i knew the name you gave me wasn't yours. i never knew your full name, but i remembered it had to be archeron, so i told her what you gave me. clare beddor. i thought sending her on a wild goose chase would give me enough time to convince you to drop tamlin, leave the city and never come back again. " he flinches as he remembers. the screams induced from that one mistake, the smell of burnt flesh, the guilt he carries around to this day. " i had no idea she was a real person. i wouldn't have ... i would have never given her that name if i had known. she had her brought in, and when she saw it wasn't actually you, she was furious. she had her tortured, for days i could hear her screaming. and then — she finally got her hands on you. "

" i had no idea she was bringing you in. she did it all secretly, as if she knew i would try to stop it. and she was right. the second i saw you, i knew i would do anything to get you out alive. so i played my cards right, kept on her good side just so i could sneak you that gun. i was terrified. i knew you had never used one before, so when everything was happening ... i knew i would have to step in. when i picked up that knife, i didn't care what happened to me, as long as you made it. i thought i did it. i thought i saved you. but i was too slow, and she got to you so fast. by the time i could finally get back up, she shot you. i couldn't move. i didn't want to move, because i realized i didn't want to live in a world that you aren't in. if tamlin didn't step in, i would have let her end me there. but instead, i watched as he killed her, and then held you in his arms. tamlin, who did nothing the whole time, who sat by and watched as you were kept as a pet for days on end — " his voice breaks, tears freely streaking his cheeks.

" when they took you away, i thought you were dead. i was finally able to go see mor again, my family ... but i couldn't. i followed them to the hospital, and i sat there. i sat there for days. i paid off any staff members who tried to tell me to leave, and then i waited for any sign that you were okay. but to my surprise, tamlin told me. for the first time in days, i felt alive again. like i finally had a reason. he said i wasn't allowed to visit you, but i was planning on bursting through your room the moment he walked away. i didn't even know what i was going to say, i didn't even know if you wanted to see me — but a selfish part of me needed to see you. it didn't matter though. shortly after, i heard him propose. i heard you say yes. and i told myself that was all the closure i needed. i convinced myself that it was for the best. that if i let myself love you, that you would just be taken from me anyways. so i kept my distance. but i couldn't stop ... i couldn't stop being around you, and loving you, and wanting you. i still can't stay away. "

i bit back the flicker of a subtle smile, a natural reflex to the surprise and doubt in his tone — a reminder of how easy it was to slip back into frivolous and fluid banter with him. it was always an obvious defense mechanism for us both, allowing us to avoid delving deeper and acknowledging what remained unspoken. as if we knew each other inside and out, each trigger and quirk, and yet we still had so much to learn about one another. still so much to share and discover. i held up the microwave dinner i had pulled from the fridge just minutes before his arrival. “ i know how to use a microwave. ”

it would have been so easy to ignore his original question, just as i had plenty times before. but even as i turned my back to reheat the frozen dish, his words hung in the air between us. what do you want, feyre? months spent unknowing, running from the frayed inevitability, it had finally caught up with me. i could feel my entire body sigh with relieved surrender. “ i want to know everything. all of it. no more secrets, no more lies, no more games. ” i pulled his dinner from the microwave, placing it in front of him as i spoke, before sitting in the chair adjacent to him. the truth had to start with me. softly, i met his gaze — those eyes once again enough to upend me. “ i want to tell you how much i missed you. how you’re all i’ve thought about this week. how glad i am that you’re alright. how i can’t sleep without you. ”

🧲 >:)

Send 🧲 for a list of what my muse finds attractive about yours || @deciphertheriddler

“The Riddler? Oh, I dare say there’s one or two attractive things about him...” Roman mused, his tone becoming thoughtful as he pondered about the killer. Such bold action he’d taken, striking swiftly as he did brutally at the heart of corruption beating amongst the filthy veins of Gotham. Roman had been transfixed by the case ever since the news reported that the mayor had been slaughtered within the comforts of his own home, his head bashed in and wrapped up in duct tape for his poor little son to find. Roman was no stranger to death but the casual, even poetic manner in which the Riddler had dispatched his victims sung to him on a whole other level. His fascination only grew with the second murder, when he’d captured Commissioner Savage and locked his head in a cage full of rats. Killing your enemies was one thing, but drawing it out, making sure they knew damn well why they were being killed was not only an effective method of instilling fear but a work of art. Truly the trap in which the Riddler had designed to punish the corrupt cop was a marvel, such a simple yet effective act of torture he’d unleashed upon somebody he had a truly ferocious grudge against. This was no simple-minded slaughter done on a mere whim; it had to have been personal and Roman only wished he could have had been there to watch it all unfold instead of being treated to a short video hinting at the man’s slow, agonizing demise once the budding serial killer was done streaming. Torture. So many people couldn’t understand how wonderful it could be, couldn’t appreciate how necessary it was. The Riddler did though, executing his kills in karmic fashion that had rightly attracted the attention it did. Other people may have been fixated on his riddles, the puzzling manner in which he spoke during his videos but Roman paid attention to the things he did and liked what he saw. ”I’ve always liked it when people put their money where their mouth is, you know? The Riddler doesn’t just say things, he does them as well and honestly... he’s not wrong.” Roman chuckled as he sipped on a glass of red wine. “Clever guy. I bet he’s real witty too, you can tell by the sheer amount of thought he’s put into this. I dig the mask too, though I do find myself wondering... what sort of adorable face beneath could be hiding such wicked intentions?”

Roman is very much an avid reader, especially when it comes to historical methods of torture. The Judas Cradle, the Iron Maiden, the Wooden Horse, the Brazen Bull and more are all methods he’s tried recreating from time to time but mainly sticks with his ‘tried and tested’ original methods he’s come up with over the years. Scaphism is one particular method he’d love to try out sometime, to prolong his victim’s suffering and see how long it takes for one to die in Gotham’s considerably cooler climate.

I think a lot of people underestimate what Steph has gone through because of Black Mask.

First, he kidnaps and tortures her:

When she's unconcious, he leaves to cause more trouble. But while he's gone Steph wakes up and frees herself as seen up top.

She then takes cover and waits for Black Mask to come back. When he does, she catches him by surprise and beats the shit out of him:

She eventually gets a hold of his gun and points it at him, with killing intentions. But she stops herself because she remembers Bruce's teachings. Black Mask then takes back his gun and shoots her on the shoulder:

Black Mask tells her to go back to Batman and tells her to send his regards:

Later on Batman finds her and gets her to a hospital. They have an emotional conversation about her role as Robin. Steph asks him whether she was just a tool to get Tim back as his Robin. Batman does not deny that. Steph explains to him that it meant so much for her to be Robin, to be apart of the Legend. She then tells him that she is tired. Sadly, later on, she passes on:

Sometimes when Roman is feeling really vindictive, he'll make his victim look like either his mother or father depending on their gender. He may no longer own Janus Cosmetics but Roman is still very good at applying make up and transforming another person's appearance.

That feel when your muse is capable of committing the nastiest, most horrific deeds but simultaneously can be wholesome af. Roman would absolutely be the type of parent who'd stop in the middle of torturing somebody just because his child woke up crying due to a nightmare, clean himself up and go comfort them until they fall back to sleep again before heading back to the torture chamber and picking up the scalpel while being all "Sorry about that, remind me again where we left off?" as though nothing happened. 🥲

Being tortured to the point of passing out cold, then in a haze as they regain consciousness, see they are cradled in the lap of their tormentor. Skin clammy and crawling as a bloody hand cards through greasy, limp hair. The unwanted tender touch would be etched in their memory for the rest of their life. In months of agony, it was the one solitary moment of softness. Some part of them wants more, some part loathes themselves for it.

Ahhh, it hurts emotionally so bad - and that's why i love your comics! You have to think about them and can instanzly share empathy with the chars ♡

Sex worker/Charity worker Halstarion AU [set late 70's/early 80's]

---

AU TAG

To read them in order:

[Part 1- Meeting]

[Part 2-Embellish]

[Part 3-Theory]

[Part 4- Number]

[Part 5- Bruise]

[Part 6- Scenic]

[Part 7- Nice Things]

[Part 8-Pizza]

[Part 9- Want]

[Part 10- Tuesday] That's this one!

Some edits to his scar- obviously now it's a tattoo instead. To make it make slightly more sense in this context it includes Cazadors name and a crown symbol often used by traffickers, and it shows above the collar as they often do. I don't think they'd often spend that much on a full back tattoo, but I suppose he is rich, and astarion is special. Not entirely sure it's tasteful of me to go so hard for a game AU, but in for a penny in for a pound.

Watching this made Bryn's entire body crawl with utter hatred for those who stood next to him.

The Garlean uniform he wore felt as suffocating as the gas that filled the chamber the blue Miqo'te was trapped in, his silver eyes gleaming with anger and utter distaste as the gas filled the chamber, the thin, malnourished, and weak cat girl weakly beating against the glass. It was cruel, unusual, and it made the Hyur male feel gross. Like something was clinging to him he could never get rid of.

She collapsed back against the back wall as Bryn shifted, his boots thumping against the floor, turning towards the lead scientist, his eyes harsh as he reached up and shifted his Garlean soldier's hat, his short cropped black hair itching with his discomfort, but he couldn't show it. He had to stay his anger, and his disgust, had to play along. His mouth opened, about to ask something, anything, to try and figure out what was going on, when that horrible screech of nails on glass, his hands clenching as his eyes flicked back to the tube like container, his teeth grinding at the sound as he finally turned back towards the other two men with him, this time, to the Commander.

"All of this, just to make them more...obedient?" The last word stuck in his throat, nearly growled out, but he kept his expression neutral, reactions to her, not to the Commander or scientist, the smartly dressed leader of the Castrum eyeing Bryn for a moment before answering.

"No, not just obedience. Listen, Sergeant, and you might learn something." Like always, the Commander was dismissive, uninterested, more focused on the experiment, the future of the Garlean army, than his subordinate. And for once, the Sergeant was pleased that he did. Turning back, his six fulm frame strained his Garlean coat as he crossed his arms, staring at the poor Miqo'te as she struggled, and the scientist began to speak.

Cellular structure. It was more, it was way more than just obedience. It was so much more than anything he had expected, had received warnings about. No, this far surpassed that and left him shuddering with concern. The implications...the gas, if used outside of the Castrum, as a weapon... This could be worse than anything the Garlean's had thought to use against Eorzea. There was no way he could explain the pure relief that they had thought to use it like this, rather than as an agent on the field. Perhaps it wasn't possible to do that, the concentration of the gas too light in an open area, or some other reason, but the fact that it was only used here...

A blessing in disguise.

And he hated the fact that he had to think that way.

He saw the lead scientist looking over, and he could only manage a terse nod, before he focused back on Cyra and--

She was choking. She couldn't breath. His eyes went wide, taking a step forward, and then forcing himself to stop. He couldn't, Twelve damnit all! He could not do a single thing, it would help neither of them, and likely get them both killed. But watching her choke, claw at her throat, the way the scientist and the Commander both looked pleased at the way she suffered, he could feel his own throat closing up, his own body struggling, and his breath coming in a little faster, on the verge of feeling sick enough to be sick. She was turning into something else, into something feral, angry, full of rage as she went through whatever torture the gas caused, and he shifted on his feet again. And his mind...it began to wander.

To anything but here.

To anything but he convulsing woman in a tube that he had to watch in order to keep his cover. Fangs growing, body writhing, everything working to make her even more deadly as he shivered again, but this time, for a totally different reason. Phantom fur stood up on his body, his eyes glowed, and his hands clenched tight, the feeling of becoming something you didn't want, that you feared, that was dangerous and deadly all too familiar as he whispered out, "What have you done...?"

He didn't want an answer. He didn't get one. Instead he was greeted with the sight of Cyra clawing through her neck, his eyes going wide as blood poured from the wound, and he let out a cry of concern. It only grew worse, the Miqo'te clawing at her arms, blood running down her arms, painting the confined tube with it, as he started after the scientist, and then whipped around to the Commander.

He was pale. The Commander was pale with shock. He was staring at the Miqo'te, shaking, his lips whispering something over and over, something like "no", as Bryn grabbed him by his coat and shook him. "Shut it down!" His voice was a roar, of anger, of disbelief, of fear. And the Commander could only stare back and stammer incoherently back.

"I-I can't!"

"What do you mean you can't?!" He shook the man again, easily, the burly sniper's eyes flaring with utter rage, and the Commander looked fearful for a new reason.

"I only a-approved it! After it was approved, it's all in his hands!" The finger was pointed towards the lead scientist, the same scientist who was shouting at the glass and doing nothing, Bryn dropping the Commander and whipping around towards him.

"SHUT IT DOWN!" He knew, just like they did, that if she died, it would be an issue, for them all, especially for them. And if he didn't shut it down right now and get her to a medic, Bryn was going to kill them both. Personally and slowly. Mission be damned.

Preestablished plot and story starter for @musesofawolf (Bryn)

The chemical that filtered into the tank had burned her throat, her lungs, and left her with a choking cough. She curled her hand into a fist, weakly raising to strike the glass only to smack it with a gentle thud. She knew it was useless, but the fear that shocked her brain forced her to do anything to return to untainted air. The second growl had a bit more volume to it as her chest heaved with the effort. Tilting her head back had her falling into the opposite side of the tank with a metallic thump as her head slapped the surface. She winced, feeling the pain radiate from the point of contact as her vision filled with an explosion of color. One clawed hand clutched at her throat as the gas continued to filter into her sealed space.

The panic writ on her face had been clear even if she couldn't keep her sight focused on the group that stood before the containment unit. With quivering limbs that required so much work just to move, she leaned herself back into the glass with another thud as her head struck it again. Rather than beat at it with her fist, she tried digging her sharpened fingers into the hard surface. All it had done was create an insufferable screech that left her reeling. Her eyes began to burn as the chemical mist had filled most of the bottom of the tank where she had sat.

"This is the second step. I'll spare you the proper terminology," the man held his hands (and clipboard) behind his back as he answered. "This, gas, is what we use to alter the cellular structure of the subject. The compound in the bag was designed to allow the body to more willingly accept the changes that happen over the course of the next ten minutes. The speed at which the change happens can be painful, and without the liquid compound...the gas would kill the subject." He hummed.

The man rocked on his heels ever so slightly as he turned his eye just enough to see the two men standing at his side, appreciating his work. He grinned as he watched the creature in the tube succumb to the pain of the chemical that had nearly filled the tank entirely.

Cyra could see spots in her vision as the lower oxygen had put her dangerously close to passing out. The burning and choking air had her pulling on the skin of her neck with those pointed fingers nearly breaking the surface of the skin around her throat. She let out a louder scream, another wordless cry for the agony to end before she could feel the growing ache in her bones as their poison began to permeate her body. She closed her eyes tight as the gas had begun to burn in her blurred vision. That was when the unquenchable fear had rippled through her. The instinct to survive had begun to win out over all other emotions, and trade that fear for anger and wrath. The bristling of her fur had the Garlean scientist humming with delight.

Oh how he adored watching that primal need take over all rational thought in his many previous attempts to secure her survival. The way his subjects writhed, and lashed out at the container had always sent a pleasured chill down his spine. But to see it happening to his magnum opus was beyond being just a treat. He unwrapped his arms from behind his back, pulling the clipboard securely into his arm, and taking the pen from his pocket to begin scribbling notes.

The Miqo'te's gasping breaths had now been laced with low rumbles as the monster they were making her become began clawing its way to the surface. Her last moments of rational thought had been filled with the hope that if she squeezed her own throat hard enough, that the burning air would stop. Anything to stop the harsh air from covering her in the shroud of anguish that came with every breath.

She gagged, feeling the pressure of her hand on her own neck tighten as the chemical hiss ceased, and sealed the vents to the tube. Every minute, they would reopen to allow for a short flow of oxygen before cycling in more of the transformative gas. Pain pulsed through her skin. She felt it radiate out from her chest as every single fiber of her being began shifting. She felt the bones in her face shift and change to further alter the shape of those already dangerous fangs that lined her jaw. Strangled cries escaped between the suffocating gasps as her body convulsed in response to the overwhelming sting that flitted across her body. No longer did her movements feel weak or hindered by that sedative. With the pain of that invisible chemical, her reactions were nothing more than an animalistic need to survive.

"Centrus lux Primus...you have certainly outdone yourself this time." The scientist whispered to himself in awe as he watched the writhing body in the container. He glanced at his watch with a grin before turning his attention back to the show.

Cyra felt her ribcage tremble with each slowing gasp, tears spilling from her closed eyes as the searing heat under her skin rose with every painful shift of her limbs. In that fear of death, her body shook with a nearly electric reaction. The sharpened fingers around her throat jerked with that tremor, digging the growing point of her finger into the flesh on the back of her neck. Her shoulders flexed, dragging that natural knife around to the front, splitting skin and muscle alike as it sliced with ease. The girl hadn't even realized that the warmth that washed over her left side had been the blood that now poured freely from the vicious wound.

In another quaking convulsion, her bloodied claws caught the flesh on the outside of her other arm, dragging seeping paths through her flesh as the pained flailing body painted the interior of the container with red. The scientist, Centrus, felt his face grow pale as the life of his subject began pooling inside the airtight unit. He knew the risk this experiment posed. At the same time, he knew what would happen to him if it failed.

"No, no-no!" He shouted as he slammed his hands on the exterior of the glass. "What are you doing?!"

He continued to yell in shock and anger at the woman behind the glass. Her movements had begun to still.

voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

After that initial shuddered gasp of air, hazy vision had once again returned to her. Though the scene had been too blurred to recognize one shape from another, she felt that her eyelids had been resting open for the entirety of the time she had been dead. She still could not move her limbs, or respond to those muffled questions that frantically passed between the bodies gathered around her. After a painful amount of seconds had passed, she took a second trembling breath and closed her eyes. Cyra coughed, spitting out the blood that had pooled into her lungs from the gaping wound around her neck. She would live, but just barely.

He had grabbed the scientist, the rage palpable on his face, his eyes dancing with so much anger that they glowed a dangerous silver, sparing no bit of strength as he shook the light, un-warred man, the blasted Garlean barely seeming to understand at first until it clicked, and he was moving, Bryn dropping him and striding towards the tube that trapped Cyra, kept her from help, left her alone, weak, and bleeding.

He was there just in time to see her reach out and claw at the glass, his hand pressing against it, as if trying to reach her through the glass, his eyes on hers as he growled out under his breath, hoping she could read his lips. "Hang on. Almost there. Just hang on!"

And her answer was for blood to bubble out of her lips.

Her arms were torn to shreds, her neck just as bad, that life giving substance pouring from the wounds, leaving her weaker and weaker as he slammed a fist against the glass in anger. What went wrong? What the hell happened!? She had done it, yes, but no one willingly tried to claw out their throat and arms. Not someone with fire in their belly, ready to fight. No, this was a reaction, to the gas, the pain, something in it had drove her to this! And the person who had authorized it...who had given him the mission to teach her, protect her, and now was taking it away.

He could see her life bleeding from her eyes, see the way she was fading, fast, drip drip down the drain, We bleed a lot, don't be afraid to use that. No she was dying dying dying, right in front of them, heartbeat slowing and arms weak, barely leaning against the glass as he blue fur was covered in red, his fist slamming against the glass again and--

He spun, and is if he took a step and then just teleported the rest of the way, he was at the Commander's throat, a hand around it, slamming him back against a wall, the Commander squirming in his grasp, choking, until that icy, steel cold voice slid over his ears, Bryn's entire visage dripping danger. "You better hope, Commander, start praying, that she lives. Because if she does not, if I am unable to finish my mission, I will personally request the honor to execute you." He leaned closer, his voice a whisper, as he hissed out, "You put her in my care, and I take that seriously, sir. And you hurting her--"

He heard the click, the hiss, the opening of the chamber, and he dropped the Commander and was there in a second, clawing at the door, trying to swing it open and--a burst of energy, of aether, of *something*, surprising him, jolting back, then back at it again, swinging it open as he yelled, "Bandages! NOW!" He didn't have to wait long, one of those scared helpers shoving them at him, the Commander behind them coughing, grasping his throat, as Bryn pressed the bandages to her neck, her arms...

She wasn't bleeding...he had missed her eyes closing, her body going slack, the lack of breath and blood, but suddenly, he was acutely aware of it, that signs of life had left her. The bleeding gone, somehow, someway, his hands darted to her chest, ripping through the pitiful rags she wore, one hand darting to her neck, holding two fingers there, feeling...

No pulse.

His hands were over her chest, overlapping, and with his palms, he began. Short, sharp presses down against her chest, over her heart, her ribs cracking under the force he used, wincing at the sound, but not stopping. Forcing her heart to beat. And confirming, that somehow, she wasn't bleeding. But he couldn't stop to wonder how. Couldn't slow. Going, going, going, under his breath whispering, "No you don't, you don't get to die. You don't get to die here."

27.

28.

29.

30-

She gasped, she breathed, she sucked in a gasp of air and the dread that had built up turned in relief, and he let out a gasp of his own. She was alive. She was alive.

His hands lifted from her chest, shaking, bloodied, sticky. Wiping them on his uniform, he looked up and growled at one of the assistants, his voice that deadly calm that left no questioning it. "She needs water, a cloth to clean her with, and clothes. Get them. Now."

She was alive. How many had not returned? How many had failed to recover? Succumbed to their wounds? How many had bled out under the very hands still coated with her blood?

At least this way, you will have a fighting chance. To save yourself. Or save someone else.

He slung off his coat, his Garlean uniform, and drapes it over her, hiding her bloodied and broken body, rising slowly, hands still shaking slightly, blaming the chill of the Castrum now that he just had an undershirt on his top half, shuddering softly as he glanced at the Commander, and Centrus, and the assistants, lifting his head slightly, before he spoke firmly to the man still on his hands and knees, recovering from Bryn's hand around his throat, "If you want her to live, to actually learn anything, never do this again."

Will I.M.P torture a target if the client pays for it?

Yes and no.

Torture is a pretty big investment of time and a huge risk; to do it right requires a lot of intimacy (non-sexual), and a lot of time. The risk of someone coming to save the target, or avenge them, just goes up and up the longer they spend with them. Not to mention the risk of the target themselves getting free and doing some damage.

If the money was there, Blitz would do it. He has before. He struggles with it a lot--while he enjoys killing, the torture dynamic is harder for him to maintain, harder for him to enjoy. He is good at inflicting pain when it's necessary, but the drawn-out infliction of it, the head games, the destruction of the victim's hope? That fucks Blitz up.

If torture was really necessary, if IMP needed the money that badly, Blitz would take the contract, but fulfill it alone. He wouldn't want to risk Moxxie, Millie, or Loona on something like that. And it would be expensive--the longer he's there with the victim, the less time he has to go out and fulfil other contracts. So there's the expense of that, and then the ridiculous fees he'll add on just because he hates doing it so much. But if the client's pockets are deep enough?

Blitz is good at it.

Even if he hates it.

He's good at it.