beautyiswhatwedesir
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Please read part 1 & part 2 first to understand thr story.
looksmax.org
Shami’s Car hummed quietly under the moonlight, parked beneath a canopy of trees a few hundred feet from the golden-lit mansion.
Gandy Heaven loomed ahead like a palace for the genetically blessed. Arched balconies. Gilded columns. PSL energy radiated from the marble.
Clavicular ducked behind the car, flipping open a matte-black laptop—stickers peeled off, but one still read “Bonesmash 4 Life.”
“Alright, bro,” Clavicular muttered, tapping fast, “guards wear black gloves. Butlers, white. If we want to get in without triggering the mog alarm, we gotta white-glovemaxx our way in.”
K Shami stood beside him, adjusting a cheap tux jacket they bought from a cosplay store in Inceltown
. He was bouncing on his heels with nervous ADHD energy.
“We jump the fence?” Clavicular whispered, checking his hair in the car mirror while holding the laptop.
“No,” K Shami said, “that’s gymcel tactics. Cope-tier. We finesse it.”
He pointed to the back entrance on Clavicular’s digital layout of the HQ.
“We carry a fake trash bag. Say the door shut on us while we were dumping it.”
Clavicular paused, then put a hand on K Shami’s shoulder.
“Damn, bro... NTmaxx moment. That’s elite-tier evasion.”
Thirty minutes later...
Two figures in white gloves dragged a large black trash bag toward the metal back gate of Gandy Heaven. They looked nervous but walked with just enough PSL posturing to avoid suspicion.
A High-Tier Normie guard, 6’1”, buzzcut, square jawline but with nasolabial folds peeking out—opened the service door.
His eyes narrowed.
“Why didn’t I see you two on rotation?” he asked, folding his arms.
K Shami put on his best pseudo-Chad voice.
“Sir, we took out the trash—side alley. Door auto-locked behind us. Whole staff’s been rotated this week, right?”
Clavicular chimed in with a casual shrug
We’re new. Transferred from St. Moritz PSL Chateau division.”
The guard’s brows furrowed. He didn’t say a word. Just stared.
Tension.
Pressure.
K Shami held the trash bag with a slightly arched back to push his traps out subtly—hardmaxx illusion. Clavicular tilted his chin like he was about to mog the door itself.
Finally, the guard exhaled.
“Never happened before... but fine. Go inside. Dump it in the chute downstairs. Then report to main hall staff.”
“Yessir.” Both said
They stepped past him, heartbeats racing, eyes darting. But they were in.
Inside Gandy Heaven.
Polished floors reflected designer loafers and Louboutin heels.
Whispers of old money, faint cologne trails, and PSL8-tier facial genetics danced around the halls.
K Shami and Clavicular exchanged glances.
They made it in.
They were surrounded by the elite—but their target was clear.
The cold tiles of the Gandy Heaven kitchen reflected the dim amber glow of one wall lamp. Most of the staff had clocked out. The only sounds were the soft hum of the fridge, the occasional drip from a faucet, and the ticking of Clavicular’s phone.
He crouched behind the marble island, eyes locked to his screen, cable snaking out from the wall router into a discreet hacking stick—a custom-made PSL-bypass device.
He muttered to himself,
“Firewall’s more reinforced than Jordan Barret’s cheekbones...”
He cracked a smile as the decryption loaded. Then—click.
A floorplan flashed open on his screen: Gandy Heaven’s Internal Layout—each room labeled, and in the center of the deepest level:
The Ascending Books.
“Got it,” he whispered. “Sending map to K.”
Out in the hallway, K Shami walked in calculated loops near the baroque stairwell, checking his phone like he was reviewing catering schedules. Every move was timed to not seem out of place. His bowtie was slightly crooked—. A High-Tier Normie should never look this crooked.
But fate always tests the unready.
A tall, square-shouldered butler approached—HTN, PSL 5.9, with slicked hair and deep-set Hunter eyes. His white gloves were perfectly creased, and his tone was polite but suspicious.
“Ah... Good to see a new High-Tier Normie around. But your ratios seem a bit off...”
K Shami froze mid-step.
“Sir?”
The butler’s smile didn’t move past his lips.
“A quick check, if you don’t mind. Just something they teach us at the Academy. A tradition.”
“Sure...?”
“Tell me then—what book does David Gandy most enjoy reading?”
Boom. Instant sweat.
K Shami's mind raced: was it Hemingway? Socrates? Machiavelli?
Cope. He didn’t know. He froze, eye twitching.
One wrong answer and they’ll mog him.
Then… salvation.
From the far end of the corridor—through the cracked kitchen door—a hand waved. Clavicular.
In his other hand: his phone screen, bright in the dark, showed the cover of a book.
“The Second Sex” by Simone de Beauvoir.
Feminist literature.
K Shami turned slowly back to the butler.
“It’s... The Second Sex. He likes understanding the female psyche... helps him mog without even trying. Gandy was written by women afterall…”
The butler raised an eyebrow. A pause...
Then a nod
“Correct. Impressive. Few remember that. Carry on.”
He walked away with a slow stride, still slightly suspicious—but leaving.
K Shami exhaled hard and hurried toward the kitchen.
Inside, Clavicular leaned against the counter, eating a cold raw egg from the fridge like nothing happened.
“How did you even know the answer?” K whispered.
Clavicular didn’t look up.
“Because you’re male gaze, bro. You mog with the intention of being seen.”
“I’m female gaze. I’m perceived.”
“Cope, Jestermaxxer” K snapped. “I NTmaxxed before you did.”
Clavicular turned and shushed him, finger to lips.
Footsteps. Somewhere distant. Guards.
“Keep your ratios down and your SMV invisible,” Clavicular whispered.
They ducked back into the pantry, screen glowing faintly, blueprints open, hearts pounding.
They were inside Gandy Heaven.
And now… they were going for the Books.
To be continued.
K Shami and Clavicular way to ascension (Fanfiction) part 2
if you guys haven’t seen part 1 yet https://looksmax.org/threads/k-shami-and-clavicular-way-to-acension-fanfiction-part-1.1437910/ 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...
looksmax.org
Shami’s Car hummed quietly under the moonlight, parked beneath a canopy of trees a few hundred feet from the golden-lit mansion.
Gandy Heaven loomed ahead like a palace for the genetically blessed. Arched balconies. Gilded columns. PSL energy radiated from the marble.
Clavicular ducked behind the car, flipping open a matte-black laptop—stickers peeled off, but one still read “Bonesmash 4 Life.”
“Alright, bro,” Clavicular muttered, tapping fast, “guards wear black gloves. Butlers, white. If we want to get in without triggering the mog alarm, we gotta white-glovemaxx our way in.”
K Shami stood beside him, adjusting a cheap tux jacket they bought from a cosplay store in Inceltown
. He was bouncing on his heels with nervous ADHD energy.
“We jump the fence?” Clavicular whispered, checking his hair in the car mirror while holding the laptop.
“No,” K Shami said, “that’s gymcel tactics. Cope-tier. We finesse it.”
He pointed to the back entrance on Clavicular’s digital layout of the HQ.
“We carry a fake trash bag. Say the door shut on us while we were dumping it.”
Clavicular paused, then put a hand on K Shami’s shoulder.
“Damn, bro... NTmaxx moment. That’s elite-tier evasion.”
Thirty minutes later...
Two figures in white gloves dragged a large black trash bag toward the metal back gate of Gandy Heaven. They looked nervous but walked with just enough PSL posturing to avoid suspicion.
A High-Tier Normie guard, 6’1”, buzzcut, square jawline but with nasolabial folds peeking out—opened the service door.
His eyes narrowed.
“Why didn’t I see you two on rotation?” he asked, folding his arms.
K Shami put on his best pseudo-Chad voice.
“Sir, we took out the trash—side alley. Door auto-locked behind us. Whole staff’s been rotated this week, right?”
Clavicular chimed in with a casual shrug
We’re new. Transferred from St. Moritz PSL Chateau division.”
The guard’s brows furrowed. He didn’t say a word. Just stared.
Tension.
Pressure.
K Shami held the trash bag with a slightly arched back to push his traps out subtly—hardmaxx illusion. Clavicular tilted his chin like he was about to mog the door itself.
Finally, the guard exhaled.
“Never happened before... but fine. Go inside. Dump it in the chute downstairs. Then report to main hall staff.”
“Yessir.” Both said
They stepped past him, heartbeats racing, eyes darting. But they were in.
Inside Gandy Heaven.
Polished floors reflected designer loafers and Louboutin heels.
Whispers of old money, faint cologne trails, and PSL8-tier facial genetics danced around the halls.
K Shami and Clavicular exchanged glances.
They made it in.
They were surrounded by the elite—but their target was clear.
The cold tiles of the Gandy Heaven kitchen reflected the dim amber glow of one wall lamp. Most of the staff had clocked out. The only sounds were the soft hum of the fridge, the occasional drip from a faucet, and the ticking of Clavicular’s phone.
He crouched behind the marble island, eyes locked to his screen, cable snaking out from the wall router into a discreet hacking stick—a custom-made PSL-bypass device.
He muttered to himself,
“Firewall’s more reinforced than Jordan Barret’s cheekbones...”
He cracked a smile as the decryption loaded. Then—click.
A floorplan flashed open on his screen: Gandy Heaven’s Internal Layout—each room labeled, and in the center of the deepest level:
The Ascending Books.
“Got it,” he whispered. “Sending map to K.”
Out in the hallway, K Shami walked in calculated loops near the baroque stairwell, checking his phone like he was reviewing catering schedules. Every move was timed to not seem out of place. His bowtie was slightly crooked—. A High-Tier Normie should never look this crooked.
But fate always tests the unready.
A tall, square-shouldered butler approached—HTN, PSL 5.9, with slicked hair and deep-set Hunter eyes. His white gloves were perfectly creased, and his tone was polite but suspicious.
“Ah... Good to see a new High-Tier Normie around. But your ratios seem a bit off...”
K Shami froze mid-step.
“Sir?”
The butler’s smile didn’t move past his lips.
“A quick check, if you don’t mind. Just something they teach us at the Academy. A tradition.”
“Sure...?”
“Tell me then—what book does David Gandy most enjoy reading?”
Boom. Instant sweat.
K Shami's mind raced: was it Hemingway? Socrates? Machiavelli?
Cope. He didn’t know. He froze, eye twitching.
One wrong answer and they’ll mog him.
Then… salvation.
From the far end of the corridor—through the cracked kitchen door—a hand waved. Clavicular.
In his other hand: his phone screen, bright in the dark, showed the cover of a book.
“The Second Sex” by Simone de Beauvoir.
Feminist literature.
K Shami turned slowly back to the butler.
“It’s... The Second Sex. He likes understanding the female psyche... helps him mog without even trying. Gandy was written by women afterall…”
The butler raised an eyebrow. A pause...
Then a nod
“Correct. Impressive. Few remember that. Carry on.”
He walked away with a slow stride, still slightly suspicious—but leaving.
K Shami exhaled hard and hurried toward the kitchen.
Inside, Clavicular leaned against the counter, eating a cold raw egg from the fridge like nothing happened.
“How did you even know the answer?” K whispered.
Clavicular didn’t look up.
“Because you’re male gaze, bro. You mog with the intention of being seen.”
“I’m female gaze. I’m perceived.”
“Cope, Jestermaxxer” K snapped. “I NTmaxxed before you did.”
Clavicular turned and shushed him, finger to lips.
Footsteps. Somewhere distant. Guards.
“Keep your ratios down and your SMV invisible,” Clavicular whispered.
They ducked back into the pantry, screen glowing faintly, blueprints open, hearts pounding.
They were inside Gandy Heaven.
And now… they were going for the Books.
To be continued.
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