beautyiswhatwedesir
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if you guys haven’t seen part 1 yet
looksmax.org
The sun was setting, a golden wash over the cracked concrete of the city. Operation Ascend was fully in motion. K Shami and Clavicular, two self-aware looksmaxxers forged by rejection and theory, had done their prep. The softmaxx had been optimized, their fragrances were dopamine-rich, and they had both dry-scooped pre-workout just for aesthetic pump placebo. It was time.
Outside, parked crookedly between two scooters and a rental Tesla, sat thee Nissan Z. , red brake calipers, mirror tint. K Shami opened the driver’s door with a grin on his face.
“This... is the Mogmobile.”
Clavicular froze, blinked, and then smacked the back of Shami’s head.
“Bro. You're fucking retard. This is why you’re pure male gaze, you’re not even NTmaxxed.”
K Shami chuckled, rubbing his head with embarrassment. “Sorry, bro. Got carried away..”
“Let’s go.” Clavicular muttered as he slid into the passenger seat.
They drove, city lights flickering across their faces. The Z roared through intersections, past normie cafés, polyester-shirted mid-becks, and desperate gymcels walking like penguins from too much trap activation.
They passed a scene straight from a blackpill subreddit—a subhuman (barely 5’6, nasolabial depth at full blast, posture of a dying shrimp) trying to approach a pair of bored Beckys. He stuttered, offered them each a vape, and one of them laughed while the other said “Ewwww.”
JFL.
Clavicular looked out the window. “Pathetic.”
K Shami nodded.
But first—they had to make a stop.
Location: Hamza’s Apartment, Gymcel Recovery Safehouse
Hamza was a classic LTN gymcel, Face wasn’t doing him favors—midface too long, eyes downturned, but the dude had traps like boulders and delts that screamed lifting since lockdown.
He was on his couch, cuddled up with his low-tier Becky girlfriend—a small-framed girl with blonde hair and basic eyeliner. Nothing too wild, but enough to spark hunger in the hearts of softmaxxed pariahs.
They just want to cuck him for fun of it.
The moment Clavicular and K Shami stepped into the room—coated in Dior Sauvage Elixir and testosterone serum molecules—the energy shifted.
Hamza flinched. “What the fuck are you guys doing here?!”
Clavicular grinned like a villain in a mogger opera. “to cuck your ass.”
K Shami tried not to laugh but let out a guilty snort. “Just kidding… unless.”
Hamza’s Becky looked over at them. At first with confusion. Then curiosity. And then…
She bit her lip.
The camera would’ve zoomed on her pupils dilating as the scent of high SMV pheromones passed her nose. The softmaxxing—sharp jaw pump, trimmed temples, clavicle exposure—was working.
Hamza stood up, looking offended. a bit stunned too.. “You.. You…”
Clavicular leaned in, smirking. “That’s why she’s looking at us, not you. You do podcasts while we calculate. You journal. We jaw jews.”
The Becky giggled, stepping closer, brushing her shoulder against K Shami. “So… where are you two headed tonight?”
Hamza blinked in disbelief. His Becky—his Becky—was now giggling and biting her lip at the two softmaxxed infiltrators who had walked in like they owned the place. His pulse quickened, blood roaring in his ears. But by the time he stood up, it was already too late.
Clavicular moved first.
With Chad reflexes born from dopamine-drenched overconfidence and three months of NTmaxxing for TikTok edits, he spun around her and grabbed her cheeks with full palm confidence. She squealed—not with fear, but delight, stunned by the dominance and testosterone
Hamza stammered, “what the—?!”
That’s when he felt something cold snake around his chest.
K Shami, from behind, had already wrapped thin, carbon-steel wire around him, fast and silent. The grip tightened. Hamza was tied up, spun, and dropped right back on his own couch, legs shaking from betrayal and L-glutamine depletion.
His Becky was still giggling, now sitting on Clavicular’s lap while he whispered vague blackpill quotes into her ear.
she sniffed his neck
K Shami crouched beside Hamza. His face blank. Emotionless. he looked to Hamza dead in the eye as he took his shirt off…
He leaned in close.
And whispered.
“It’s over for your gymcel cope, Jeffery.”
Hamza’s eyes widened. He tried to shout, but the only sound that came out was a strangled “cope...”
One Hour Later
They stepped outside like kings leaving a conquered village.
The air felt lighter. Skin clearer. Hairline better. The girl was passed out inside, and the scent of mogging hung around them like invisible cologne.
Clavicular slid into the passenger seat of the Nissan Z, resting one hand on the dashboard like he owned it. K Shami hopped into the driver’s seat, sunglasses on, even though the sun was down.
Clavicular exhaled and muttered, “Now we got the fuel. Let’s get to Gandy Heaven.”
Time to take the Ascending Books. No more hopefuel. No more cope. We hardmaxx now.” Shami said.
The engine growled.
Rubber hit pavement.
Gandy Heaven was next.
to be continued
K Shami And Clavicular Way to acension (Fanfiction) part 1
K Shami paced barefoot across the cold tiled floor of Clavicular’s apartment a dimly lit loft that doubled as a looksmaxxing war room. Posters of Chad phenotypes, skull charts, and surgical diagrams lined the walls like blueprints of divine war. A neon sign blinked softly in the corner: “It’s So...
looksmax.org
The sun was setting, a golden wash over the cracked concrete of the city. Operation Ascend was fully in motion. K Shami and Clavicular, two self-aware looksmaxxers forged by rejection and theory, had done their prep. The softmaxx had been optimized, their fragrances were dopamine-rich, and they had both dry-scooped pre-workout just for aesthetic pump placebo. It was time.
Outside, parked crookedly between two scooters and a rental Tesla, sat thee Nissan Z. , red brake calipers, mirror tint. K Shami opened the driver’s door with a grin on his face.
“This... is the Mogmobile.”
Clavicular froze, blinked, and then smacked the back of Shami’s head.
“Bro. You're fucking retard. This is why you’re pure male gaze, you’re not even NTmaxxed.”
K Shami chuckled, rubbing his head with embarrassment. “Sorry, bro. Got carried away..”
“Let’s go.” Clavicular muttered as he slid into the passenger seat.
They drove, city lights flickering across their faces. The Z roared through intersections, past normie cafés, polyester-shirted mid-becks, and desperate gymcels walking like penguins from too much trap activation.
They passed a scene straight from a blackpill subreddit—a subhuman (barely 5’6, nasolabial depth at full blast, posture of a dying shrimp) trying to approach a pair of bored Beckys. He stuttered, offered them each a vape, and one of them laughed while the other said “Ewwww.”
JFL.
Clavicular looked out the window. “Pathetic.”
K Shami nodded.
But first—they had to make a stop.
Location: Hamza’s Apartment, Gymcel Recovery Safehouse
Hamza was a classic LTN gymcel, Face wasn’t doing him favors—midface too long, eyes downturned, but the dude had traps like boulders and delts that screamed lifting since lockdown.
He was on his couch, cuddled up with his low-tier Becky girlfriend—a small-framed girl with blonde hair and basic eyeliner. Nothing too wild, but enough to spark hunger in the hearts of softmaxxed pariahs.
They just want to cuck him for fun of it.
The moment Clavicular and K Shami stepped into the room—coated in Dior Sauvage Elixir and testosterone serum molecules—the energy shifted.
Hamza flinched. “What the fuck are you guys doing here?!”
Clavicular grinned like a villain in a mogger opera. “to cuck your ass.”
K Shami tried not to laugh but let out a guilty snort. “Just kidding… unless.”
Hamza’s Becky looked over at them. At first with confusion. Then curiosity. And then…
She bit her lip.
The camera would’ve zoomed on her pupils dilating as the scent of high SMV pheromones passed her nose. The softmaxxing—sharp jaw pump, trimmed temples, clavicle exposure—was working.
Hamza stood up, looking offended. a bit stunned too.. “You.. You…”
Clavicular leaned in, smirking. “That’s why she’s looking at us, not you. You do podcasts while we calculate. You journal. We jaw jews.”
The Becky giggled, stepping closer, brushing her shoulder against K Shami. “So… where are you two headed tonight?”
Hamza blinked in disbelief. His Becky—his Becky—was now giggling and biting her lip at the two softmaxxed infiltrators who had walked in like they owned the place. His pulse quickened, blood roaring in his ears. But by the time he stood up, it was already too late.
Clavicular moved first.
With Chad reflexes born from dopamine-drenched overconfidence and three months of NTmaxxing for TikTok edits, he spun around her and grabbed her cheeks with full palm confidence. She squealed—not with fear, but delight, stunned by the dominance and testosterone
Hamza stammered, “what the—?!”
That’s when he felt something cold snake around his chest.
K Shami, from behind, had already wrapped thin, carbon-steel wire around him, fast and silent. The grip tightened. Hamza was tied up, spun, and dropped right back on his own couch, legs shaking from betrayal and L-glutamine depletion.
His Becky was still giggling, now sitting on Clavicular’s lap while he whispered vague blackpill quotes into her ear.
she sniffed his neck
K Shami crouched beside Hamza. His face blank. Emotionless. he looked to Hamza dead in the eye as he took his shirt off…
He leaned in close.
And whispered.
“It’s over for your gymcel cope, Jeffery.”
Hamza’s eyes widened. He tried to shout, but the only sound that came out was a strangled “cope...”
One Hour Later
They stepped outside like kings leaving a conquered village.
The air felt lighter. Skin clearer. Hairline better. The girl was passed out inside, and the scent of mogging hung around them like invisible cologne.
Clavicular slid into the passenger seat of the Nissan Z, resting one hand on the dashboard like he owned it. K Shami hopped into the driver’s seat, sunglasses on, even though the sun was down.
Clavicular exhaled and muttered, “Now we got the fuel. Let’s get to Gandy Heaven.”
Time to take the Ascending Books. No more hopefuel. No more cope. We hardmaxx now.” Shami said.
The engine growled.
Rubber hit pavement.
Gandy Heaven was next.
to be continued
