#Ready Mix Concrete Calculator

[shreyanaik]

Use JK Lakshmi Cement's Concrete Cost Calculator to get accurate estimates for your construction project. Calculate Ready Mix Concrete volume and cost instantly with this smart tool.

[concretesuppliersau]

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[rogueshadow1124]

TRAINING DAY

[Task force 141 x reader]

Summary: New recruit Y/N is assigned tasks with different members of task force 141.

Word count: 1122

Warning: none?

The sprawling training facility was alive with the hum of machinery and the sharp clatter of boots against concrete. The space was vast, purpose-built to simulate everything from urban warfare to hostile environments. It was here that Task Force 141 was about to put their newest recruit—Y/N—through the paces.

Y/N stood in the center of the room, her stance relaxed but her eyes sharp. Dressed in tactical gear, she looked every bit the part of a seasoned operative. However, her reputation for sarcasm and a no-nonsense attitude had preceded her. She cracked a grin as Captain Price strode up to her, his expression a mixture of amusement and sternness.

“Morning, Captain,” Y/N said with a smirk. “I hope you’re ready for a workout, because I’ve been told I’m a bit of a handful.”

Price raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard,” he said, his tone even. “But let’s see if your skills match your bravado. Today’s drills will push you hard. You’ll be working with each member of the team in various scenarios. Let’s get started.”

Price led Y/N to the first section of the training area, where a series of obstacles and mock enemy positions were set up. The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and adrenaline.

“Alright, Y/N, you’re up first with me,” Price said, gesturing towards a simulated hostage rescue scenario. “You’ll need to secure the hostages and eliminate any threats without causing collateral damage.”

Y/N nodded, her expression turning serious. “Got it. Time to show you why I’m the best thing since sliced bread.”

As the simulation started, Price observed closely while Y/N navigated the environment with impressive skill. She moved with precision, taking out enemies with calculated shots and avoiding unnecessary risks. Her commentary, however, was a mix of humor and grit.

“You know, Captain, for someone who’s seen as a legend, you sure do know how to pick the worst spots for a rescue. It’s like you’re trying to give me a headache.”

Price chuckled. “Just keep moving and focus. We don’t have all day.”

Despite her banter, Y/N completed the task efficiently, securing the hostages and neutralizing the threats with minimal fuss. Price gave a nod of approval.

“Not bad. You’ve got a knack for this. Next up, Ghost.”

Ghost, ever the enigmatic figure with his skull mask and silent demeanor, awaited Y/N for the next exercise. The task with Ghost focused on stealth and reconnaissance.

“In this exercise, you’ll need to infiltrate an enemy compound and retrieve classified documents,” Ghost instructed through his comms. “Avoid detection at all costs. Ready?”

Y/N smirked. “Stealthy and deadly—that’s my middle name.”

As the simulation began, Y/N slinked through shadows, using every inch of cover to her advantage. Ghost’s occasional instructions were concise and to the point, guiding her through the compound. Despite the intense focus required, Y/N couldn’t help but crack a few jokes.

“If I had a dime for every time I had to dodge a laser sensor, I’d be able to retire by now. Wait, are we done yet?”

Ghost’s response was a silent nod as Y/N successfully extracted the documents without setting off any alarms.

“Impressive,” Ghost said, his voice carrying a hint of approval. “You’re stealthier than a cat on a prowl. Let’s see how you fare with Soap.”

Soap’s exercise was a combination of tactical maneuvers and combat scenarios. The environment was a chaotic battlefield, with simulated enemies and objectives to complete.

“Alright, lass,” Soap said, flashing a grin. “In this one, we’re gonna be in the thick of it. We need to clear these positions and hold them against enemy forces. Don’t be afraid to get your hands dirty.”

The firefight began, and Soap’s energy was infectious. He moved with a blend of aggression and precision, pushing forward while coordinating with Y/N.

“Soap, if you keep yelling like that, I might just mistake you for one of the enemy,” Y/N quipped as she fired her weapon. “And I have to say, you’ve got quite the flair for dramatic entrances.”

Soap laughed, his enthusiasm unabated. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Just make sure you keep up!”

The exercise tested Y/N’s ability to handle high-pressure situations while working as part of a team. Her quick thinking and combat skills shone through as she and Soap cleared the positions and secured their objectives.

“Nice work, rookie,” Soap said, clapping her on the back. “You’ve got some serious chops. Now, let’s wrap it up with Roach.”

Roach’s scenario focused on marksmanship and precision under varying conditions. The targets were set up at different distances, and the challenge was to hit them all within a strict time limit.

“In this one, it’s all about accuracy,” Roach explained. “You’ve got to hit all the targets quickly and efficiently. No pressure.”

Y/N’s response was a smirk as she took her position. “Pressure is my middle name. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Roach watched closely as Y/N lined up her shots. Her focus was intense, and she hit each target with impressive accuracy. The time limit was tight, but Y/N managed to complete the drill with seconds to spare.

“Good shooting,” Roach said, a rare smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve got a solid shot. That’s it for today.”

As the training session concluded, the members of Task Force 141 gathered around Y/N. They exchanged looks of mutual respect and approval.

“You’ve done well,” Price said, a hint of pride in his voice. “You’ve proven you’ve got both the skills and the attitude to make it with us. Keep up the good work, and remember, this is just the beginning.”

Y/N nodded, her smirk softening into a genuine smile. “Thanks, Captain. And don’t worry—I’ll be sure to keep you all on your toes.”

The team chuckled, and Y/N felt a sense of camaraderie with the elite group. The training had been intense, but it had also been a chance to prove herself and bond with some of the best operatives in the field.

As she walked out of the facility, Y/N knew that she had earned her place among Task Force 141. The blend of sarcasm and skill had served her well, and she was ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.

In the world of high-stakes missions and dangerous operations, Y/N had found her footing. With the support and guidance of Task Force 141, she was poised to make a significant impact. The training grounds had been the proving ground, and she had emerged stronger, sharper, and more determined than ever.

[liviscorner]

this is part one of a series that I hope to continue🥲

**Chapter 1: Shadows in the Night**

EMME

The moon hung high, casting a silvery glow over the quiet streets of Washington, D.C. I moved with purpose, my senses sharp, every step calculated. I had been tracking a Hydra operative for weeks, and tonight, I felt closer than ever to my goal.

My past experiences had honed my instincts, and I trusted them implicitly. I took my missions seriously, always pushing myself to be better, faster, stronger. But beneath my confident exterior, I harbored a well of insecurity, a nagging doubt that I would never be enough.

As I approached a narrow alleyway, something caught my attention—a flicker of movement in the shadows. My hand instinctively went to the weapon at my side, my body tense and ready. I could sense that I wasn't alone.

"I know you're there," I called out, my voice steady and authoritative. "Step into the light."

A figure emerged from the shadows, his face half-obscured by the moonlight. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized him: Bucky Barnes, the infamous Winter Soldier. His reputation preceded him, and I knew I had to tread carefully.

"You're not Hydra," Bucky said, his voice low and gravelly.

"Neither are you," I replied, my gaze unwavering. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," Bucky countered, his eyes narrowing. Despite the tension in the air, I couldn't help but feel a connection, as if our paths had crossed for a reason.

"I'm tracking someone," I admitted, my tone cautious. "A Hydra operative. He's been moving through the city, and I need to stop him."

Bucky nodded, his posture relaxing slightly. "We're after the same target. Maybe we can help each other."

I studied him for a moment, weighing my options. I had always worked alone, relying on my skills and instincts to get the job done. But there was something about Bucky's presence that made me want to take a chance.

"Alright," I said finally, my expression softening. "But don't get in my way."

A ghost of a smile played at the corners of Bucky's lips. "I won't."

Together, we moved through the shadows, our movements synchronized as if we had been partners for years. I felt an odd sense of comfort in Bucky's presence, a feeling I hadn't experienced in a long time. We navigated the darkened streets, our senses attuned to every sound, every shift in the wind.

As we closed in on our target, the tension between us began to ease. We exchanged brief glances, silent acknowledgments of our shared purpose. I found myself drawn to Bucky's strength and resilience, qualities that mirrored my own. And despite my initial reservations, I felt a growing sense of trust in him.

Our pursuit led us to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, a labyrinth of rusted metal and decaying machinery. We moved with caution, our footsteps barely audible on the concrete floor. As we approached a dimly lit corridor, the sound of voices reached our ears.

Bucky gestured for me to stay back, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger. I watched as he assessed the situation, admiring his focus and determination. The Hydra operative stood at the far end of the corridor, his back turned to us as he spoke into a communicator.

"Now," Bucky whispered, and we sprang into action.

The battle was swift and brutal, a flurry of fists, kicks, and the crack of bone. Bucky and I fought side by side, our movements a seamless dance of precision and power. Within moments, the Hydra operative lay unconscious at our feet, his communicator shattered on the ground.

Breathing heavily, I turned to Bucky, my eyes filled with a mix of admiration and gratitude. "You're good," I said, my voice tinged with respect.

"So are you," Bucky replied, a small smile breaking through his usual stoicism. "Maybe we make a good team after all."

I nodded, feeling a warmth in my chest that I hadn't felt in years. For the first time in a long while, I felt a glimmer of hope, a sense that I wasn't alone in my journey. And as I looked into Bucky's eyes, I knew that this was only the beginning of something extraordinary.

---

[storiednhappy]

Campfire Darkness

In partnership with @jaxsthugs

Chapter 1: The Struggle Begins

Camp squatted in the corner of the construction site, the city’s oppressive skyline a constant reminder of his insignificance. The air was thick with the stench of diesel and sweat, mixing with the acrid smell of concrete dust. His eyes, hollow and fierce, scanned the chaotic scene before him. The clatter of machinery, the barked orders from supervisors, and the ceaseless roar of progress felt like the grinding gears of a machine that was slowly chewing him up.

The foreman, a perpetually sneering brute, singled him out again. "Hey, skin and bones! Get your worthless ass over here and move these beams!" His voice was a jagged saw, cutting through Camp's thin veneer of patience.

Camp clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, his anger a simmering cauldron ready to boil over. He was tired—tired of the exploitation, tired of the endless grind that left him perpetually hungry and hollow. He had dreams once, but they were ground to dust under the relentless weight of this urban wasteland.

During a rare break, Camp retreated to the edge of the site, crouching low and trying to find a moment of respite. He stared at his reflection in the grimy surface of his hard hat. The tattoos snaking up his arms seemed to writhe under the harsh lights, each one a testament to a battle fought and lost.

It was in this quiet moment that he noticed something out of place. Across the street, a decrepit figure rummaged through a pile of discarded electronics, his movements deliberate and unhurried. There was an air of methodical purpose about him that piqued Camp's curiosity.

“Hey, old man, what are you doing?” Camp's voice was rough, a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

The man looked up, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. "Looking for potential," he replied cryptically, his voice a rasp that seemed to cut through the ambient noise.

Camp frowned, his curiosity warring with caution. "Potential for what?"

The old man smiled, a cold, calculating expression. "Potential to change everything."

The promise in the man’s words stirred something deep within Camp—a dark, desperate hope. "Why would you help me?"

The man's gaze seemed to pierce through Camp, seeing the anger and desperation hidden beneath the surface. "Because I see something in you that others don't. A spark that can be forged into a fire."

Against his better judgment, Camp felt drawn to the man’s words. The promise of power, of control, was too tempting to resist. "Alright. Show me."

The man led Camp through a labyrinth of alleyways and derelict buildings, each step taking him further from the familiar misery of his daily life. They arrived at a nondescript door, hidden in the shadows of the towering buildings. Inside, the space was a chaotic mess of wires, circuits, and strange devices.

“Welcome to my laboratory,” the man said, his voice laced with a sinister satisfaction. “Here, you will begin your transformation.”

The procedure was not offered with hope or kindness, but with a cold, detached efficiency. Camp was strapped into a crude contraption, his body subjected to a torrent of electrical energy and chemical infusions. The pain was excruciating, each surge of power tearing through him like claws ripping through flesh.

Camp’s screams were swallowed by the oppressive walls, his body convulsing violently as the transformation took hold. The old man watched impassively, his interest purely clinical.

When it was over, Camp collapsed to the floor, his body a mass of twitching muscles and searing pain. But beneath the agony, he felt something else—power. Dark and raw, coursing through his veins like a black tide.

The man leaned over him, his eyes glittering with a perverse satisfaction. "You survived. Good. This is just the beginning. With your new abilities, you can take what’s rightfully yours."

Camp staggered to his feet, his reflection in the cracked mirror almost unrecognizable. His once-lean frame was now muscular and imposing, his eyes burning with a new intensity. The anger and frustration were still there, but now they were tempered with a cold, hard resolve.

He turned to the man, a new purpose driving him forward. “What do I do now?”

The man smiled, a cruel twist of his lips. “Now, you reshape your destiny. Show them the power they’ve overlooked.”

With a grim nod, Camp stepped out into the night, the city’s lights casting long shadows over his path. The struggle was far from over, but now he had the power to fight back—power that he intended to use, no matter the cost.

[crimson--corvid]

Three and a half months ago...

The cold, bitter air of the night by the sea pierced its skin, not that the chill could sink its teeth into the Beast's undead flesh. Blackened, talon like fingers gripped the concrete slab facade of the Seaside Casino, Elysium to Kindred and home to Prince Novak of New Jersey. Its sole target. Its mind could think of nothing more than finding him, dethroning him, and ending him.

Somewhere inside of it, something small cried for it all to end. The thoughts of Zsasz's compelled face mixed with the lifeless and bloody Leo, both ghouls he had lost his control around. Guilt pressed at the bars of the mental cage he was locked within, but did little to free him from the clutches of his own beastiality.

Things were different this time, as it crawled its way up the side of the building, out of sight from the guards and ghouls patrolling the large casino grounds. His Beast had been calculating, conniving, unruly, and authoritarian in his previous bouts of frenzy, but since the diablerie of Knight Commander Cooper, his mind had...changed. He had taken in parts of the wicked hunter's soul, as well as his Strigoi powers, and now, his Beast was wicked and cruel -- vicious and unpredictable. He was hopeless in controlling it this time, despite the decades of experience he'd accrued in his unlife.

It followed the air ducts along the rooftop of the casino, remembering the layout of the building from the inside. Novak's suite and office was located at the upper back of the post-modern architecture, with full-length windows overlooking the bay leading into Gotham City. A rather risky layout, given his deathly allergy to sunlight.

It navigated through the venting, slipping past the last barricade of trained staff and Kindred. Peering through the ventilation grates, it spotted guards touching their ear pieces, then walking away from their posts. Its hearing picked up on Novak's voice through the small, ear-sized speakers.

With the guards gone, it dropped down onto the floor in front of the double doors leading into the suite. It was ready to burst through the doors by force, but found them unlocked.

Novak waited inside, smile wide and flanked on either side by a ghoul, both freshly drained and in stupors. "Ruru!" Novak greeted with excitement in his voice, standing up and opening his arms wide. "I knew you'd be by. Say, you look a little different." He put a curled finger to his lips, which had curved into an impish smirk. "Have you been working out?"

"Novak..." it growled, voice guttural and rough."You stripped me of my right to fight my enemies." Teeth and fangs were bared as it continued, "You locked me away. HUMILIATED ME..." Every single moment of insult and injury to Ruairí's pride and family replayed in its thoughts, lacquered with a tinge of bitterness. All the destruction, all the death at its hands -- Novak was at the root of it.

The ghouls both roused from their stupefaction, blinking the bleariness from their eyes and looking in its direction. As soon as they saw its claws and fangs, they began to scoot away from Novak in caution.

Novak's expression persisted, unwavering in its taunting confidence. "Guilty as charged, but all with the best intentions." He clasped his hands together in a feigned pose of innocence.

It struggled against the sudden push of Ruairí's stubborn curiosity, relenting and asking, "Why?"

"Tell me, all this chaos you've wrought... Doesn't it just make you feel...alive again? You can sense it... The horizons are opening up into new futures. This much fury, boiling you away inside, and with such new power! I couldn't look away even if I wanted to!" His eyes widened with elation and joy as he gestured widely in Ruairí's direction. "I mean, look at you! Isn't this enlightening? Getting to look at your putrid soul from the outside in? I'm eating it up! You can't believe how bored I was before you came along."

It growled out a bellowing roar of discontent, "Rrrrrrrghhh you did this...out of boredom...?"

Novak looked somewhat disappointed that it hadn't caught on sooner. "My, my. You hadn't guessed? Yes! I want a return to the good old days!" He tossed his arms out again, taking a few steps backward and toward the full length window behind him. "I want war. I want the blood of kindred and kine alike pooling in the streets! Think of it! Reshaping New Jersey again and again and again! Never a dull moment!" He tipped his head down into a devilish grin, yellow eyes peering at the Beast before him. "So come on, let's get this started. Or do you need me to go further? I could kill a ghoul or two. Or perhaps even track down that fling in Bristol."

The rage and fury of insult sank into its mind, clouding all else behind a wall of red, unbridled monstrosity. It tucked down into a crouch, ready to pounce, but he fought from within to try and stop it. It would give in. It would give Novak exactly what he wanted. It would start a war.

"Come on, Red Raven... Live up to your tales..." Novak said lowly, enticing and taunting. After a second more, he repeated, shouting out, "COME ON."

Feet pushed off the ground in a single, huge leap, and it tackled Novak at the waist. The two ghouls dove away, their screams merely distant echoes in its furious mind. Novak's back crashed through the glass of the windows, and the two of them burst out into the August night air, plummeting down into the waters below.

As they fell, lights of the night reflecting off the shards of glass all around them like stars, his mind began to clear, and he was at the forefront again. A memory came to mind. A note, written on a piece of paper and tucked against his chest for travel to the states from Bristol.

"You have a lovely soul, Ruairí Byrne. Try not to lose it..."

Present Day...

Two men emerged from a black coupe parked by the Gotham riverbank, dressed in nice suits and wearing sunglasses in the already dark night. "Damn. Never thought we'd be doin' Tony," the one in blue said with a scoff.

"Right?" replied the one in maroon, "Seemed like he'd fit right in. But no one steals from the Black Mask." He popped the trunk, where a lumpy rolled up rug had been bound with nylon rope and stuffed.

"Good riddance."

They each took a hold of one end of the rug, waddling their way to the edge of the water. "The current's shit tonight!" Maroon grumbled out in exertion.

"Well it's a good thing no one's around. Tide'll grab him by mornin. Hurry up!" They swung the carpet like a long, heavy length of rope, then tossed it into the waters with an unceremonious sploosh. "Goodnight, ya son of a bitch." Blue panted, resting his hands against his knees. "Why'd he have to be such a fat fuck, ey Pau--" As he stood and looked to where Maroon had been, there was nothing but a loafer in the mud. "... Pauly?"

Two sets of black talons gripped around Blue's face, pulling him back into the shrubs with a scream that cut abruptly off into silence.

Two fresh meals, now nearly empty and unconscious at his feet. It seemed as though the night welcomed him back with open arms.

ᴇ ɴ ᴅ.

[imgtoxai28]

Royal Glamour at Racing Circuit

Twilight settles over the Corniche Circuit, casting a golden hue over the Red Sea as the floodlights flicker on. The paddock glows beneath the electric skyline of Jeddah, humming with a quieter intensity — a mix of anticipation and calculated precision. Mechanics move with urgency, while camera crews and elite guests drift between garages and hospitality suites. The atmosphere is charged, not just with speed, but with spectacle. Prince Mateen and his wife arrive just before qualifying, stepping from a sleek black SUV into the soft, warm night. This time, the princess opts for a tailored navy jumpsuit with a subtle satin sheen, cinched at the waist with a gold buckle. Her sleeves are rolled just so at the forearm, revealing a delicate stack of bangles. Her look is refined but ready — F1 meets fashion week. she let her hair down in soft curls with wearing a matching coloured shawl, catches the light, and her heels click confidently on the paddock concrete. Prince Mateen mirrors the sleekness beside her: charcoal slacks, a crisp white shirt open at the collar, and a slim-fit blazer in deep forest green — a nod to the circuit’s Saudi setting. A vintage chronograph watch peeks from his cuff as he shakes hands with team owners and FIA officials. His presence, understated yet commanding, adds to the cosmopolitan glamour of the evening. As night deepens and engines roar louder in the distance, the couple lingers near the Aston Martin pit wall. The princess studies the track monitors intently, lips pressed in concentration, while Mateen chats with a former world champion nearby. When the cars scream by on a hot lap, their hair and fabric flutter in the wake — the moment cinematic and unforgettable. Cameras flash. The grid looms. And in this ballet of speed and elegance, the royal couple once again becomes the axis around which admiration turns — timeless, worldly, and absolutely of the moment.

[imgtoxai27]

Royal Glamour at Racing Circuit

Twilight settles over the Corniche Circuit, casting a golden hue over the Red Sea as the floodlights flicker on. The paddock glows beneath the electric skyline of Jeddah, humming with a quieter intensity — a mix of anticipation and calculated precision. Mechanics move with urgency, while camera crews and elite guests drift between garages and hospitality suites. The atmosphere is charged, not just with speed, but with spectacle. Prince Mateen and his wife arrive just before qualifying, stepping from a sleek black SUV into the soft, warm night. This time, the princess opts for a tailored navy jumpsuit with a subtle satin sheen, cinched at the waist with a gold buckle. Her sleeves are rolled just so at the forearm, revealing a delicate stack of bangles. Her look is refined but ready — F1 meets fashion week. she let her hair down in soft curls with wearing a matching coloured shawl, catches the light, and her heels click confidently on the paddock concrete. Prince Mateen mirrors the sleekness beside her: charcoal slacks, a crisp white shirt open at the collar, and a slim-fit blazer in deep forest green — a nod to the circuit’s Saudi setting. A vintage chronograph watch peeks from his cuff as he shakes hands with team owners and FIA officials. His presence, understated yet commanding, adds to the cosmopolitan glamour of the evening. As night deepens and engines roar louder in the distance, the couple lingers near the Aston Martin pit wall. The princess studies the track monitors intently, lips pressed in concentration, while Mateen chats with a former world champion nearby. When the cars scream by on a hot lap, their hair and fabric flutter in the wake — the moment cinematic and unforgettable. Cameras flash. The grid looms. And in this ballet of speed and elegance, the royal couple once again becomes the axis around which admiration turns — timeless, worldly, and absolutely of the moment.

[imgtoxai25]

Royal Glamour at Racing Circuit

Twilight settles over the Corniche Circuit, casting a golden hue over the Red Sea as the floodlights flicker on. The paddock glows beneath the electric skyline of Jeddah, humming with a quieter intensity — a mix of anticipation and calculated precision. Mechanics move with urgency, while camera crews and elite guests drift between garages and hospitality suites. The atmosphere is charged, not just with speed, but with spectacle. Prince Mateen and his wife arrive just before qualifying, stepping from a sleek black SUV into the soft, warm night. This time, the princess opts for a tailored navy jumpsuit with a subtle satin sheen, cinched at the waist with a gold buckle. Her sleeves are rolled just so at the forearm, revealing a delicate stack of bangles. Her look is refined but ready — F1 meets fashion week. she let her hair down in soft curls with wearing a matching coloured shawl, catches the light, and her heels click confidently on the paddock concrete. Prince Mateen mirrors the sleekness beside her: charcoal slacks, a crisp white shirt open at the collar, and a slim-fit blazer in deep forest green — a nod to the circuit’s Saudi setting. A vintage chronograph watch peeks from his cuff as he shakes hands with team owners and FIA officials. His presence, understated yet commanding, adds to the cosmopolitan glamour of the evening. As night deepens and engines roar louder in the distance, the couple lingers near the Aston Martin pit wall. The princess studies the track monitors intently, lips pressed in concentration, while Mateen chats with a former world champion nearby. When the cars scream by on a hot lap, their hair and fabric flutter in the wake — the moment cinematic and unforgettable. Cameras flash. The grid looms. And in this ballet of speed and elegance, the royal couple once again becomes the axis around which admiration turns — timeless, worldly, and absolutely of the moment.

[imgtoxai26]

Royal Glamour at Racing Circuit

Twilight settles over the Corniche Circuit, casting a golden hue over the Red Sea as the floodlights flicker on. The paddock glows beneath the electric skyline of Jeddah, humming with a quieter intensity — a mix of anticipation and calculated precision. Mechanics move with urgency, while camera crews and elite guests drift between garages and hospitality suites. The atmosphere is charged, not just with speed, but with spectacle. Prince Mateen and his wife arrive just before qualifying, stepping from a sleek black SUV into the soft, warm night. This time, the princess opts for a tailored navy jumpsuit with a subtle satin sheen, cinched at the waist with a gold buckle. Her sleeves are rolled just so at the forearm, revealing a delicate stack of bangles. Her look is refined but ready — F1 meets fashion week. she let her hair down in soft curls with wearing a matching coloured shawl, catches the light, and her heels click confidently on the paddock concrete. Prince Mateen mirrors the sleekness beside her: charcoal slacks, a crisp white shirt open at the collar, and a slim-fit blazer in deep forest green — a nod to the circuit’s Saudi setting. A vintage chronograph watch peeks from his cuff as he shakes hands with team owners and FIA officials. His presence, understated yet commanding, adds to the cosmopolitan glamour of the evening. As night deepens and engines roar louder in the distance, the couple lingers near the Aston Martin pit wall. The princess studies the track monitors intently, lips pressed in concentration, while Mateen chats with a former world champion nearby. When the cars scream by on a hot lap, their hair and fabric flutter in the wake — the moment cinematic and unforgettable. Cameras flash. The grid looms. And in this ballet of speed and elegance, the royal couple once again becomes the axis around which admiration turns — timeless, worldly, and absolutely of the moment.

[imgtoxai228]

Royal Glamour at Racing Circuit

Twilight settles over the Corniche Circuit, casting a golden hue over the Red Sea as the floodlights flicker on. The paddock glows beneath the electric skyline of Jeddah, humming with a quieter intensity — a mix of anticipation and calculated precision. Mechanics move with urgency, while camera crews and elite guests drift between garages and hospitality suites. The atmosphere is charged, not just with speed, but with spectacle. Prince Mateen and his wife arrive just before qualifying, stepping from a sleek black SUV into the soft, warm night. This time, the princess opts for a tailored navy jumpsuit with a subtle satin sheen, cinched at the waist with a gold buckle. Her sleeves are rolled just so at the forearm, revealing a delicate stack of bangles. Her look is refined but ready — F1 meets fashion week. she let her hair down in soft curls with wearing a matching coloured shawl, catches the light, and her heels click confidently on the paddock concrete. Prince Mateen mirrors the sleekness beside her: charcoal slacks, a crisp white shirt open at the collar, and a slim-fit blazer in deep forest green — a nod to the circuit’s Saudi setting. A vintage chronograph watch peeks from his cuff as he shakes hands with team owners and FIA officials. His presence, understated yet commanding, adds to the cosmopolitan glamour of the evening. As night deepens and engines roar louder in the distance, the couple lingers near the Aston Martin pit wall. The princess studies the track monitors intently, lips pressed in concentration, while Mateen chats with a former world champion nearby. When the cars scream by on a hot lap, their hair and fabric flutter in the wake — the moment cinematic and unforgettable. Cameras flash. The grid looms. And in this ballet of speed and elegance, the royal couple once again becomes the axis around which admiration turns — timeless, worldly, and absolutely of the moment.

[imgtoxai231]

Royal Glamour at Racing Circuit

Twilight settles over the Corniche Circuit, casting a golden hue over the Red Sea as the floodlights flicker on. The paddock glows beneath the electric skyline of Jeddah, humming with a quieter intensity — a mix of anticipation and calculated precision. Mechanics move with urgency, while camera crews and elite guests drift between garages and hospitality suites. The atmosphere is charged, not just with speed, but with spectacle. Prince Mateen and his wife arrive just before qualifying, stepping from a sleek black SUV into the soft, warm night. This time, the princess opts for a tailored navy jumpsuit with a subtle satin sheen, cinched at the waist with a gold buckle. Her sleeves are rolled just so at the forearm, revealing a delicate stack of bangles. Her look is refined but ready — F1 meets fashion week. she let her hair down in soft curls with wearing a matching coloured shawl, catches the light, and her heels click confidently on the paddock concrete. Prince Mateen mirrors the sleekness beside her: charcoal slacks, a crisp white shirt open at the collar, and a slim-fit blazer in deep forest green — a nod to the circuit’s Saudi setting. A vintage chronograph watch peeks from his cuff as he shakes hands with team owners and FIA officials. His presence, understated yet commanding, adds to the cosmopolitan glamour of the evening. As night deepens and engines roar louder in the distance, the couple lingers near the Aston Martin pit wall. The princess studies the track monitors intently, lips pressed in concentration, while Mateen chats with a former world champion nearby. When the cars scream by on a hot lap, their hair and fabric flutter in the wake — the moment cinematic and unforgettable. Cameras flash. The grid looms. And in this ballet of speed and elegance, the royal couple once again becomes the axis around which admiration turns — timeless, worldly, and absolutely of the moment.

[imgtoxai229]

Royal Glamour at Racing Circuit

Twilight settles over the Corniche Circuit, casting a golden hue over the Red Sea as the floodlights flicker on. The paddock glows beneath the electric skyline of Jeddah, humming with a quieter intensity — a mix of anticipation and calculated precision. Mechanics move with urgency, while camera crews and elite guests drift between garages and hospitality suites. The atmosphere is charged, not just with speed, but with spectacle. Prince Mateen and his wife arrive just before qualifying, stepping from a sleek black SUV into the soft, warm night. This time, the princess opts for a tailored navy jumpsuit with a subtle satin sheen, cinched at the waist with a gold buckle. Her sleeves are rolled just so at the forearm, revealing a delicate stack of bangles. Her look is refined but ready — F1 meets fashion week. she let her hair down in soft curls with wearing a matching coloured shawl, catches the light, and her heels click confidently on the paddock concrete. Prince Mateen mirrors the sleekness beside her: charcoal slacks, a crisp white shirt open at the collar, and a slim-fit blazer in deep forest green — a nod to the circuit’s Saudi setting. A vintage chronograph watch peeks from his cuff as he shakes hands with team owners and FIA officials. His presence, understated yet commanding, adds to the cosmopolitan glamour of the evening. As night deepens and engines roar louder in the distance, the couple lingers near the Aston Martin pit wall. The princess studies the track monitors intently, lips pressed in concentration, while Mateen chats with a former world champion nearby. When the cars scream by on a hot lap, their hair and fabric flutter in the wake — the moment cinematic and unforgettable. Cameras flash. The grid looms. And in this ballet of speed and elegance, the royal couple once again becomes the axis around which admiration turns — timeless, worldly, and absolutely of the moment.

[imgtoxai230]

Royal Glamour at Racing Circuit

Twilight settles over the Corniche Circuit, casting a golden hue over the Red Sea as the floodlights flicker on. The paddock glows beneath the electric skyline of Jeddah, humming with a quieter intensity — a mix of anticipation and calculated precision. Mechanics move with urgency, while camera crews and elite guests drift between garages and hospitality suites. The atmosphere is charged, not just with speed, but with spectacle. Prince Mateen and his wife arrive just before qualifying, stepping from a sleek black SUV into the soft, warm night. This time, the princess opts for a tailored navy jumpsuit with a subtle satin sheen, cinched at the waist with a gold buckle. Her sleeves are rolled just so at the forearm, revealing a delicate stack of bangles. Her look is refined but ready — F1 meets fashion week. she let her hair down in soft curls with wearing a matching coloured shawl, catches the light, and her heels click confidently on the paddock concrete. Prince Mateen mirrors the sleekness beside her: charcoal slacks, a crisp white shirt open at the collar, and a slim-fit blazer in deep forest green — a nod to the circuit’s Saudi setting. A vintage chronograph watch peeks from his cuff as he shakes hands with team owners and FIA officials. His presence, understated yet commanding, adds to the cosmopolitan glamour of the evening. As night deepens and engines roar louder in the distance, the couple lingers near the Aston Martin pit wall. The princess studies the track monitors intently, lips pressed in concentration, while Mateen chats with a former world champion nearby. When the cars scream by on a hot lap, their hair and fabric flutter in the wake — the moment cinematic and unforgettable. Cameras flash. The grid looms. And in this ballet of speed and elegance, the royal couple once again becomes the axis around which admiration turns — timeless, worldly, and absolutely of the moment.

[imgtoxai68]

Royal Glamour at Racing Circuit

Twilight settles over the Corniche Circuit, casting a golden hue over the Red Sea as the floodlights flicker on. The paddock glows beneath the electric skyline of Jeddah, humming with a quieter intensity — a mix of anticipation and calculated precision. Mechanics move with urgency, while camera crews and elite guests drift between garages and hospitality suites. The atmosphere is charged, not just with speed, but with spectacle. Prince Mateen and his wife arrive just before qualifying, stepping from a sleek black SUV into the soft, warm night. This time, the princess opts for a tailored navy jumpsuit with a subtle satin sheen, cinched at the waist with a gold buckle. Her sleeves are rolled just so at the forearm, revealing a delicate stack of bangles. Her look is refined but ready — F1 meets fashion week. she let her hair down in soft curls with wearing a matching coloured shawl, catches the light, and her heels click confidently on the paddock concrete. Prince Mateen mirrors the sleekness beside her: charcoal slacks, a crisp white shirt open at the collar, and a slim-fit blazer in deep forest green — a nod to the circuit’s Saudi setting. A vintage chronograph watch peeks from his cuff as he shakes hands with team owners and FIA officials. His presence, understated yet commanding, adds to the cosmopolitan glamour of the evening. As night deepens and engines roar louder in the distance, the couple lingers near the Aston Martin pit wall. The princess studies the track monitors intently, lips pressed in concentration, while Mateen chats with a former world champion nearby. When the cars scream by on a hot lap, their hair and fabric flutter in the wake — the moment cinematic and unforgettable. Cameras flash. The grid looms. And in this ballet of speed and elegance, the royal couple once again becomes the axis around which admiration turns — timeless, worldly, and absolutely of the moment.

[imgtoxai67]

Royal Glamour at Racing Circuit

Twilight settles over the Corniche Circuit, casting a golden hue over the Red Sea as the floodlights flicker on. The paddock glows beneath the electric skyline of Jeddah, humming with a quieter intensity — a mix of anticipation and calculated precision. Mechanics move with urgency, while camera crews and elite guests drift between garages and hospitality suites. The atmosphere is charged, not just with speed, but with spectacle. Prince Mateen and his wife arrive just before qualifying, stepping from a sleek black SUV into the soft, warm night. This time, the princess opts for a tailored navy jumpsuit with a subtle satin sheen, cinched at the waist with a gold buckle. Her sleeves are rolled just so at the forearm, revealing a delicate stack of bangles. Her look is refined but ready — F1 meets fashion week. she let her hair down in soft curls with wearing a matching coloured shawl, catches the light, and her heels click confidently on the paddock concrete. Prince Mateen mirrors the sleekness beside her: charcoal slacks, a crisp white shirt open at the collar, and a slim-fit blazer in deep forest green — a nod to the circuit’s Saudi setting. A vintage chronograph watch peeks from his cuff as he shakes hands with team owners and FIA officials. His presence, understated yet commanding, adds to the cosmopolitan glamour of the evening. As night deepens and engines roar louder in the distance, the couple lingers near the Aston Martin pit wall. The princess studies the track monitors intently, lips pressed in concentration, while Mateen chats with a former world champion nearby. When the cars scream by on a hot lap, their hair and fabric flutter in the wake — the moment cinematic and unforgettable. Cameras flash. The grid looms. And in this ballet of speed and elegance, the royal couple once again becomes the axis around which admiration turns — timeless, worldly, and absolutely of the moment.