naim reid lawyer

OR

its unyielding grip around naim’s neck, holding him down against concrete so mercilessly that he feels as if his skull is being ground to dust against it. it effortlessly holds aloft a weight ryan couldn’t manage, even straining with both hands. it’s deadened, emptied eyes watch impassively as naim struggles and claws and gasps for air. that impossible weight held high and waiting to crash down, poised to turn naim’s head into a pulpy red smear. naim’s strength is clearly no match for this creature and his fear is what fuels it. so he does the thing that now feels so unnatural his entire body screams in warning—he reaches up and cups it’s mimicry of ryan’s face with a tender, gentle hand.

it freezes. it looks down at him with an expression halfway between wonder and fear. naim takes the window of opportunity to prise the lighter from his pocket with a trembling hand, and strike back.

much like the scene at the screen door, this blink-and-you-miss-it moment delivers leviticus’ theme neatly and precisely. the entity loses its power in this moment because naim isn’t giving it what it wants. he doesn’t run so it can give chase, doesn’t struggle so that it can overpower—he stands staunch against his own fear and shows the thing affection, tenderness, love. it crumbles, and naim delivers his blow.

✴︎˚｡⋆ leviticus moodboard (reqs are open)