#can you imagine the shit haarlep deals with

[emmg]

Im not sure if your requests for fics are open and if not I'm sorry, but i can't stop thinking about it.

How bad in bed Raphael is .. Always too fast, using too much force and selfish

how Tav ends up unsatisfacted almost all the time.

and

i can't stop thinking about her risking in play a very dangerous game with him just to get her satisfaction.

Her using a rope on his arms in their bed. She knows he can destroy bedframe with one single move and even kill her for humiliation, but shes still willing to try it and ride him into oblivion on her own way just to get what she wants/needs. aaaand somehow he allows it even if for pure curiosity

My requests are always open for shameless Raphael smut 😌

I'm here to sin hehe, to tie this devil to a bed, and to really drive home that he sucks in bed lmfao

--------------------------------

"It's all," she murmurs, tugging at the rope with each word, "about"—another tug—"negotiations." 

She leans back on her heels for a moment, surveying her handiwork with a mixture of pride and amusement. Raphael is sprawled out beneath her, his wrists securely tied to the headboard. His expression, however, is far from impressed, which only makes her giggle—a stupid, high-pitched sound she can't quite suppress. 

The rope she's used isn't rough. If anything, it's smooth, thinned out, soft enough to resemble silk, delicate enough that it won’t even leave a trace on his skin. Gods forbid anything should mar him. 

Her bag—somewhere nearby—holds a scroll of Hold Monster. The thought of using it on him crosses her mind, just for the satisfaction of seeing him restrained by something more substantial. But she hesitates. She knows too well what that would bring. His anger, explosive and consuming, would be something to behold. He'd break her jaw, force her to collect her scattered teeth from the floor, and make her push them back into her gums. Then, he’d demand she smile for him, say thank you, and promise never again. 

No, she thinks, maybe not today. Another time, perhaps. 

Just getting him here had been an exercise in patience she didn’t know she possessed. 

"You taught me that," she says, sliding lower until she’s straddling him. Her hands balance on his chest, fingers splayed wide, while her knees part, thighs spreading wide as she settles herself right on his hips. There’s a weight to it, the feeling of her body pressed against his, and for a brief second, she savors the control. 

Raphael pulls lightly at the restraints, and she winces, seeing how easily the bindings stretch under his casual strength. He could tear through them like paper if he wanted to. 

"And what could you possibly give me, little mouse?" he asks, his voice dripping with irritation, the wrinkle on his nose deepening—an unmistakable sign that she’s displeased him. It’s a small gesture, but she’s seen it enough times to know what it means. She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can get a word out, he’s already talking again, adding, "...that I cannot simply take, if I so wish." 

How about a fucking orgasm, she thinks bitterly, biting back the retort that wants to rush out. That’s one thing he can’t take from her, not if he tries—not that he ever does. Raphael is a devil who expects to be serviced, pampered, catered to while he lies back and spews poetic nonsense. Or worse, when he works. She refuses to think about the absurd, borderline humiliating number of times she’s warmed his cock while he sat there in his armchair or at his desk, arms around her not for affection but so he could continue scribbling on parchment. 

His so-called “thrusts” are barely worth acknowledging. They’re half-hearted at best, just these lazy, mechanical movements—like he’s checking off a box. They barely even register—there’s no passion, no urgency, just... motion. And when he finally comes? She’d bet real money that it has absolutely nothing to do with her. Nope, it’s not her body that gets him off. More likely, it’s because he managed to jot down some impressive bit of legalese, or came up with a loophole so mind-numbingly complex that he’s practically orgasming over his own brilliance. 

It’s like he’s having a cerebral climax, and she just happens to be there, a glorified seat warmer while his genius does the heavy lifting. 

She’s fucking tired of it. Tired of him coming right as she finally starts to feel some heat between her legs, tired of him waltzing into the room in the middle of the day, gloating about some deal he’s made in his grandiose, self-important way, before casually ordering her to kneel and open her mouth like a good little girl—his trousers already halfway down, his tail swishing behind him.  

He comes quickly, sighing heavily as if the whole thing was a chore, wiping his face like it took some great effort on his part, then settle into one of his plush chairs. He bids her to climb into his lap, pulling her close, his lips already seeking hers. And despite her frustration, she does enjoy this part—because his tongue is wonderful. It’s long, flexible, and sinful. It twists and flicks inside her mouth, slithering in a way that makes her body ache. It dips just far enough down her throat to make her want it somewhere else—between her legs, deep inside her—but she never has time to ask for it. By then, he’s already hard again, guiding her hand to his cock. 

Her fingers always wrap around him without protest, her palm slick with spit, precum, and the sweat clinging to them both. She strokes him slowly at first, feeling the veins throb beneath her grip, feeling the way his cock pulses and leaks as her pace quickens. Her thumb brushes over the head, smearing the wetness that beads there, teasing him, feeling the twitch that tells her he’s close again. 

And when he is, sometimes he lets it spill into her hand, the hot mess coating her fingers. Other times, when he’s in one of his moods, he shoves her down again, muttering something about waste not, want not, forcing her mouth back on him to swallow every last bit of his release. He watches, intent, as she chokes down every spurt, making sure she doesn’t waste a single drop.

Once he’s finished, it’s always back to his lap, his tongue plunging into her mouth again, tasting the remnants of himself on her lips, dragging that slick, sinful muscle across her tongue until he’s satisfied. She takes the opportunity to spread her legs, rocking her clothed cunt against his thigh, grinding into him, the fabric soaking up her arousal as she desperately seeks some kind of friction. Without fail, he always just sits there, reclining back slightly for a better view, eyes feverish but never too wide. 

"Undress," he usually commands, and she does, peeling away her clothes until there’s nothing between them. Only then does she move back onto him, straddling his lap, slipping a hand between her legs, desperate to touch herself, to find release. But before she can do much more than graze her fingers across her swollen clit, he slaps her hand away, replacing it with his own. His fingers are rough, sliding straight into her soaked cunt with ease, and he watches her with that intense, smug gaze as she starts grinding against his hand, chasing her own satisfaction. 

Raphael’s ego is a delicate thing. He won’t let her come unless it’s by his hand or his cock. She’s learned to play along, wrapping her fingers around his wrist like she’s clinging to him, pretending she just can’t get enough. In reality, she’s guiding him, subtly readjusting his grip, pulling his hand back and forth until his fingers curl just right, stroking the spot deep inside her that makes her legs tremble. She maneuvers him so that his thumb brushes against her clit, the pressure building as she rides his hand, grinding down harder and harder, her wetness coating his fingers. 

It never takes long as by that time she's usually on the brink. Her thighs tense, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, and when she finally comes, it’s with a soft, breathy sigh that she tries to swallow back. Her cunt clenches hard around his fingers, and she soaks his palm, her release dripping down his hand. That’s when he leans in, lips grazing hers, drinking in her moan as if it were a gift, his smile so smug, so fucking self-satisfied, like he believes her pleasure is something he gave her, something she owes him. 

Then he’s gone, moving on as if nothing happened, likely to scribble in his books or ruin someone’s day, while she’s left there, wet and aching, never quite getting what she needs. 

She's tired of waking up in the middle of the night because Raphael doesn’t need sleep—at least not the way mortals do—and when he stirs, it’s never gentle. He’ll paw at her, peeling her nightgown up without a word, turning her over to rut into her from behind like an animal, or climbing on top of her, moaning so obnoxiously loud it makes her cringe. He’ll thrust blindly, stabbing at her with his cock, fumbling to find his way inside, and when he finally manages to hit his mark, it’s over in a pathetic three or four sloppy thrusts. Sometimes he doesn’t even make it that far—pulling out too soon and spilling himself across her stomach like she’s nothing more than an afterthought, lying there satisfied and smug while she burns beneath him, frustrated and humiliated, while his wings cut off her air. 

One of these days, she swears she’s going to take those fucking wings of his—those insufferable, leathery things he likes to flaunt—and hack them off. Toss them into the nearest trash heap or, better yet, send them to Cania, gift-wrapped, where Daddy Dearest can get a nice little surprise. Raphael wouldn’t step foot there unless forced—not with his father sitting on his icy throne, likely waiting to spit on him. Those wings, with their unbearable heat, suffocate her whenever he lets his true form slip, draping them around her like they’re some grand gesture of intimacy. All they do is smother her, like being wrapped in searing embers, burning her alive under his weight. 

Now that he’s finally beneath her, bound and relatively helpless, she’s going to take every last bit of control she can. 

She leans down, her lips brushing against his in a teasing, barely-there kiss. "Well," she whispers, "how about something nice?" 

Raphael's brow arches, suspicion creeping into his eyes as he mutters, "Something nice?" 

She slithers down his body, her fingers dragging over his chest, tap-tap-tap across his abdomen, grazing his cock so lightly that it’s almost a whisper of a touch. But it’s enough. She feels him respond instantly, his cock beginning to harden under her teasing. Her hand wraps around him, and she strokes him slowly—once, twice, until he’s fully hard, throbbing, his body taut beneath her. 

"Anything nice you can think of," she offers, making sure he watches as she leans down, her tongue flicking out to drag along the full length of his cock, from root to tip. She pauses at the head, taking it into her mouth and sucking, just enough to make him groan, before letting it slip from her lips with a wet, obscene pop. Her grips tightens, jerking him with more intensity, her hand gliding easily along the slickened shaft.

His hips buck helplessly into her touch, and she tightens her grip at the base of his cock, squeezing hard, watching as the veins swell and the blood surges through him. 

"I can think of a great many things that would be... nice," he breathes out, the word spat through clenched teeth like it tastes bitter. "I am not entirely sure they would be so for you, however."

"Oh?" she says absentmindedly, continuing her slow, teasing strokes, but her mind is elsewhere—focused on her own pleasure. She doesn’t care what he finds nice right now. This is about her. 

Positioning herself over him, she presses her soaked cunt against his thigh, grinding herself into him with each stroke she gives his cock. The rough texture of his skin drags against her wet, swollen lips, sending jolts of pleasure through her as she rubs herself harder against him. She’s getting wetter by the second, her arousal slicking his thigh as she grinds down, rocking her hips harder. Her lips part, a soft moan escaping her as she rides him, the heat building inside her. 

She lets go of his cock entirely, focusing on grinding her soaked cunt against his leg, fucking herself on him without any shame. It’s filthy, the wet sound of her arousal mixing with his ragged breathing, the way she’s using him like a toy, rubbing her aching clit against the rough skin of his thigh. She’s lost in it, in the way he can’t stop her, the way his body trembles under her as she takes what she needs. 

But then she hears it—his voice, raw and strained, cutting through the haze of her pleasure. Her eyes snap up, and she sees the restraints, stretched to their limit, barely holding him back. 

"Mouse," Raphael rasps, his voice rough with warning. "On. Now." 

She grins, wide and wicked, as she pauses just long enough to admire the wet trail she’s left on his thigh, the way his fingers are twitching above him, desperate for freedom. She straddles him again, taking his cock in hand, but instead of lowering herself onto him right away, she teases him. Rubbing the blunt head of his cock between her slick folds, dragging it over her swollen clit again and again, her hips rocking in slow, torturous circles. She feels the tension building inside her, her thighs trembling as she grinds harder, letting him feel just how close she is. 

When she’s finally at her limit, teetering on the edge, she shifts, lining him up, and sinks down, impaling herself on his cock with a breathy moan. The stretch of him inside her is perfect, filthy and raw, and as she takes him deep, her body shudders with the satisfaction she’s been chasing. She doesn’t move right away—just stays there, fully seated on him, feeling every twitch and pulse of his cock inside her. The heat of him is overwhelming, her cunt gripping him so tight, and she waits, letting the sensitivity settle for a moment. 

Slowly, she leans down, pressing her body flush against his, her breasts dragging across his chest, sensitive nipples brushing against the hard muscle beneath her. Her mouth finds his, lips parting as she captures him in a deep, lazy kiss, letting her tongue slide against his, tasting him. The position is perfect for her, the way her body fits against his. Maybe not for him—he can’t really thrust up into her like this, not with her keeping him pinned down—but for her? It’s everything. 

She rocks her hips slowly, just enough to grind her clit against his pubic bone. Each roll sends a delicious shiver down her spine, the pressure against her swollen clit building with every movement. Her nipples drag along his chest with every shift, the friction making her body hum with need. It’s all perfectly aligned—his cock buried deep inside her, her clit rubbing against him, her body grinding against his in slow, languid movements. 

She can feel his frustration beneath her, the way his muscles tense as he tries to move, but she doesn’t let him. This is for her. 

But soon, it’s not enough. The slow grind, the teasing build—it’s no longer satisfying the growing hunger inside her. She needs more, something faster, rougher, something that will break through the haze of pleasure fogging her mind. She pushes herself up, hair now slick with sweat, sticking to her face. As she rises, she catches a glimpse of herself reflected in his eyes: lips swollen and red, cheeks flushed with heat, a wild, lopsided smile stretching across, and too-bright eyes. The sight sends another wave of arousal through her, making her moan involuntarily. Maybe, she thinks with a flash of wicked amusement, there’s more than just narcissism behind him fucking Haarlep while making the latter wear his semblance.If she came across a copy that looked like her in this very instant, she'd fuck herself too.

She slams down onto him, harder than she means to—partly out of sheer desperation, partly because her legs feel weak, trembling with the effort. But the sudden force, the way he fills her so deeply, sets off sparks of pleasure, her cunt fluttering wildly around him. She does it again, unable to stop herself, riding him faster, her body shuddering with each thrust, her breath coming in ragged gasps. One hand rises to cup her breast, squeezing it roughly as she bounces on him, her mind fogged with nothing but need. 

But then she notices—he’s tugging at the restraints again. His muscles strain, the rope creaking as it stretches, nearly giving way. He’s close to breaking free, and the thought of losing control drives her into a frenzy. She can’t let the moment end, not yet. Leaning over him, she rides him harder, faster, her hips slamming down onto his cock with reckless abandon, one hand slipping between her legs, rubbing furiously at her clit. She’s so close, teetering on the edge, her body trembling as she chases her release. 

"Raphael," she whispers breathlessly against his lips, her voice soft and urgent, "Raphael, Raphael..." She knows exactly how to keep him in check, how to stroke his ego, to make him feel like this is all for him. "You feel so good," she purrs, her words dripping with just enough sweetness to keep him complacent, to make him think he’s doing her a favor, "so very good..." 

Her body quakes, thighs trembling as she grinds harder against him, her clit throbbing under her own touch, her cunt tightening around him as she pushes herself over the edge, moaning his name into his mouth like a prayer. 

It’s electric, a fire that leaves her trembling, every muscle slack and buzzing with the aftershock. It’s fantastic, mind-numbing, her body spent and melting into his. She rests against him, utterly content, feeling as though she’s detached from her own skin, floating. She doesn’t even realize she’s peppering kisses along his throat, whispering soft praises against his lips. His mouth parts, greedy for hers, but she doesn’t give it to him—just grazes her lips to his, letting him feel her breath without the satisfaction of a kiss. 

He thrusts upwards, but her body is too loose, too relaxed, too tired to respond properly. She feels good, so good, and so tired. Her hands drift up to push his sweat-slick hair back as she licks the salt from his chin, tracing her tongue up his jaw. She nuzzles the spot behind his ear, knowing it makes him shiver. Right now, in this moment, he’s beautiful, raw, and completely hers. 

But it doesn’t last long. The quiet rip of the restraints breaking snaps her back to reality. Raphael moves fast, flipping her over before she can react, making her yelp as he presses her into the mattress. Her body is pliant, and he wastes no time, pulling her hips up and plunging into her with a force that steals her breath. She moans, laughter bubbling up unexpectedly, the sound mixing with the sheets muffling her face. 

His hand presses into the small of her back, forcing her into an arch that feels almost too sharp, too deep, but she doesn’t care. The sensation is overwhelming, her body spent but still reacting to the raw need he’s pouring into her. 

"Such a greedy little thing," he growls, hips snapping into her with an erratic, almost violent rhythm. The force of him would be painful if she weren’t so wet, so utterly spent. Her cunt is slick and open, and each brutal thrust sends her sliding up the bed. Sometimes, he slams into her cervix, and she winces, hissing through her teeth, but he only takes that as encouragement. He hits it again—harder, rougher—like he’s proving something, trying to wreck her with each forceful snap of his hips. 

She feels him getting close, the way his body presses harder against her, pinning her to the bed as his rhythm starts to falter. The violent pace slows, replaced by deep, dragging thrusts that make her gasp as his breath whistles out. His head dips to her shoulder, and she feels his teeth sink into her flesh, drawing blood. He laps at it, tongue warm against the wound, kissing it softly afterward as if to soothe the sting. 

His lips press against her ear, the sound of his ragged breath so close, so loud it drowns out everything else. He’s wheezing into her ear with each of the last three thrusts before he finally groans, his release spilling into her, the tension snapping as he comes. 

He collapses against her, his weight pressing her deeper into the mattress, and she feels his cum leaking from her even before he pulls out. He’s murmuring something against her skin, but she’s too warm, too sated, too blissfully wrecked to make sense of it. Her body is buzzing, and she feels his hand lazily petting her side, fingers tracing over her ribs like he’s counting them, as if considering pushing his nails through her skin to snap the bone. 

His fingers pinch at her ass suddenly, making her yelp in surprise. 

"What?" she breathes, still dazed. 

"I said," Raphael repeats, his wet lips grazing her ear. He licks the shell of it, teeth closing around it before he continues. "I ought to teach you a lesson." 

Her eyes flutter shut, but not before rolling and almost getting stuck in her skull, a soft sigh wafting past her lips. "Yes," she whispers. "Yes, yes, yes..." 

[viennacherries]

Can I request headcanons for Haarlep, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor react to shy gn crush confessing their love?

thank you for the request!! this was cute and fun to do. did a little backstory for all of them cos how could i not <3

SFW

~~~

HAARLEP

Haarlep had not expected that he would actually come to care about them. At all.

The shy ones are his favourite to toy with, after all. They blush the prettiest from his teasing.

So imagine his shock, when he realised he actually enjoyed having them around.

Imagine his further shock when he realised he actually had feelings for them.

Disgusting! Incubi don't develop feelings! The very notion is absurd! And yet...

And then one day he's sitting with them and they seem quieter than normal. It's weird.

"What's wrong, little one? Has something happened?"

When they finally get the words out, Haarlep can't help but bark out a laugh. A little, quiet thing like them? Loves him? It's all rather adorable.

He'd hold them close. He's not going to tell them he loves them too (maybe one day), for now he just comforts them. Tells them how brave they are for telling him, and how he'll keep them safe.

They never have to do anything that makes them anxious again. Like, ever. He teases them for it, gets that delicious blush on their face, but he spoils them completely. His little love.

DAMMON

Dammon is a softie, and the minute he sees them from across the grove, teaching the tiefling children how to hold a sword, he is absolutely smitten with them.

When he thanks them for saving the grove he tells them that they're very brave. They go bright crimson and he's like "oh shit they're so cute fuck."

He gives them all the best deals on his merchandise, buys all of their random trinkets for much more gold than they're worth. It gets to a point where they're both blushing at each-other every time they interact.

When they confess their feelings, Dammon can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the both of them dancing around it for so long. It's so blatantly obvious to everyone else who sees them.

They think that's him rejecting him, start apologising and stuttering and he doesn't know what else to do except grab them and pull them into a quick chaste kiss.

"I love you too. How could I not? You're perfect."

They need a little reassurance, but he just holds them to his chest and whispers sweet things into their ears.

He gives them all the finest pieces of armour and weaponry he makes. He wants to keep them safe forever and this is the best way he knows how.

ROLAN

Rolan spends most of the time he knows them convincing himself that he doesn't have feelings for them.

Psh! He's far too busy for that! He's training to be an archmage, you know.

Cal and Lia tease him constantly though, because every time they're around his tail flaps around excitedly no matter how hard he tries to still it. They're completely clueless to his affections for them, of course.

The only ones who don't know they both have feelings for each-other are them. Everyone else has placed bets on who says it first. Most bets are on Rolan, because they're sure he'll blurt it out by accident while trying to insult the object of his affections.

Eventually they work up the courage. They come to find him while he's practicing his spells.

"What do you want?"

They stutter their way through their admission, absolutely sure they're about to be rejected, and when they finish he just stands there gawking at them. When they turn to leave, Rolan grabs their hand, goes bright red realising he's holding them.

"I... Well... I share your affections..." He's literally never sounded so awkward in his life.

The smile that breaks out on their face is absolutely breathtaking, and Rolan decides then and there that he's going to find a way to wow them when he confesses how deeply he cherishes them.

Perhaps a magic show? They seemed to like his last one...

ZEVLOR

Zevlor is incredibly interested in them from the beginning.

It only develops into him having feelings for them after they save the grove.

He sees how hard they worked to protect everyone, especially his people. A group they owe absolutely nothing to, and barely know.

The poor paladin didn't have a chance. Especially when he saw them at the tiefling party accepting everyone's praises with flushed cheeks and embarrassed smiles. When it's his turn, he presses a soft respectful kiss to the back of their hand and thanks them profusely. They go bright crimson and excuse themselves rapidly.

Zevlor is a gentleman. He finds them the next morning and invites them for a drink in Baldur's Gate. He wants to take them out for a meal, wine and dine them.

Both are halfway through a pint when they accidentally blurt out to him that they admire him. They look incredibly embarrassed.

It takes a few more dates, a few brushes of hands and Zevlor offering his jacket to them. But eventually they tell him that they think they've fallen in love with him. They stutter through their admission and avoid his gaze, face bright pink.

He takes their hand, places another gentle respectful kiss to the back of it.

"My dear. I am enamoured with you entirely. My heart is yours."

It's sweet, and romantic. They blush and lean up onto their tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He goes red in turn and they both chuckle together.

He enjoys his retirement very much with them at his side.

[waterbearable]

YALL i need to excitedly ramble abt the house of hope under the cut

god DAMN god damn what a fight holy shit!!!!! like. what a perfect fuckin way to cap all my shit off before endgame. i think a lot of the lead-up with stealing the hammer was also pretty fuckin great (i went in largely unspoiled outside of the understanding that Raphael is a Boss and He Sings Or Something). i love hope with all my fucking soul and i was not expecting her to be there and such an integral part. i'll have to see if i can take a diff approach w haarlep next time bc i did just kill him askldjfasjf, but once i stole the hammer it actually felt fuckin tense and stressful! like an ongoing escape! my party comp was wink+laezel+astarion+karlach which i think was a RIDICULOUS advantage for me. split the party for the actual hammer-stealing so astarion was the one to pick it up and RUN(fly) out of there. the fucking HELLFIRE BALLS. TERRIFYING TO DEAL WITH. you realize that 'hm there's no point to getting stuck fighting here' so you just run!!!

alright the actual raphael fight. fucking the boss music is so. so good. it's deeply satisfying to finally get to kill this motherfucker. i could tell that the fight was Hard but i think i went in w a smart party comp for once/got EXTREMELY lucky by convincing yurgir to fight with the group (yurgir's not exactly the hardest hitter when he's supporting you but damn, can't imagine having to fight him and all the other cambions that pop up). the soul pillars were cool and i think i was equipped to Deal with them after experiencing how the cazador fight worked? but honestly i was expecting to TPK a few times before finally getting it, and that didn't happen :0 like i think i have underestimated previously the sheer hitting power of a very martial group, even though i didn't get any bonus fire dmg from karlach. i did however get to make her a Fuckin Giant (went through the ansur fight so i got the giantslayer greatsword. chefs kiss.) just slicing her way through shit. tbh tho lae'zel remains mvp, she's not as much of a tank as karlach but the way i've specced her she gets more chances to hit than karlach and hits almost as hard. astarion continues to be my special guy for staying the Fuc out the way and sniping.

wink didn't get to do a lot of flashy shit, in part bc of how i've built them i think? they're mainly useful for AOE,psychic dmg, and condition-altering, but cloudkill wasn't really useful w how much close up fighting needed to be done. BUT i think they were deeply necessary to keep a TPK from happening--i mostly just had them using eldritch blast to focus on the pillars and leaving all their spell slots to counterspell raphael's incinerates/other nasty spells. tbh, it worked most of the time! wink also has psionic backlash which comes in Clutch (raphael's actual final attack was some fuckin hellfire 6th level bullshit that downed lae'zel once it hit and had a wide aoe, but bc i'd whittled him down low enough psionic backlash as a reaction was enough for his attack to insta-doom him) (sidenote: didn't do it here but i also love having 2 party members w counterspell+one that has psionic backlash bc you can cancel the spell AND punish them for casting it buahahaha)

hellfire is a FUCK and i think that raphael has some really powerful attacks that had i brought a diff party comp/had a diff tav the party would have been very wiped multiple times. i would LOVE to play this fight in tactician/honor mode bc while i could tell this was meant to be a challenge and while i will aBSOLUTELY leave it for last every time, i don't think it was the hardest fight i've had in act 3! fighting cazador was pretty rough tbh (and viconia but that was mostly due to how many motherfuckers were in that room).

(related sidenote: they don't actually need to do anything about this but i think. something could be done to make gortash seem a more formidable foe--or maybe that's the point, that he's a politics guy with widespread power rather than being a deeply powerful being himself. idk it's been a bit since i fought him but i would not consider his battle particularly difficult, at least when i hit it, i don't think i had even hit lvl 12 at that point. like i think from a challenge standpoint at minimum orin holds her own alongside the other late-stage bosses in a way that gort...doesn't, to me? the steel watch are Scary to deal with when hostile but idk. i'll have to think about it. if he's not as mechanically terror-inducing then he really should have an additional more roleplay/discovery focused quest that's hard to just High Persuasion your way out of.)