#kind of rooting for them to be together... đ§
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Take a good look. These are my underwear. On average of 360 days a year, I wear matching underwear. I also shave my legs whether I'm dating or not. Even when I'm running late and can't do my brows, I make sure to put on body lotion. That's the kind of woman I am. What are you doing? Picking up the pieces of my shattered self-esteem. Forget about those tattered underwears you saw me in. Those aren't mine. Oh. My gosh, that's what all of this is about Man. Seriously. Haesung, I don't care whether you walk around in holey underwear or bikinis. I couldn't care any less. It's really fine. Huh? Why don't you care?
CALL IT LOVE ěŹëě´ëź ë§í´ě 2023, dir. Lee Kwang Young.
#kdramaedit#kdramadaily#kdramasource#call it love#kdrama#callitloveedit#userxlh#syaring#kim ye won#sung joon#.gif#kind of rooting for them to be together... đ§
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SAFE AND SOUND (1/2) ââ pazzi
â â summary: in which azzi fudd forms an unexpected alliance with paige bueckers as they fight for survival in the hunger games.
â â word count: 10.1K
â â warnings: nothing yet really, should all be in the next chapter lol
â â links: my masterlist, ao3 link
â â authorâs note: if i had a nickel for every time i wrote one of my ships going to the hunger games together, iâd have two nickels. which isnât a lot, but itâs weird that it happened twice đ§ obviously this is a hunger games au so if you havenât read the book or seen the movie or are not familiar with the premise, i donât know how well youâll be able to understand. alsoooo this part is lowkey very much buildup and not actual pazzi just mostly azzi; it was meant to be one whole part but it wouldâve been too damn long so i split it!
âAZZI FUDD.â
The words hang in the air, and for a moment, everything stops. The world around her seems to freeze in time. Lucia Bliss, the escort from District Nine, says the name with a certain flair, her voice high-pitched and breathy, as if this is a celebration instead of a death sentence. Luciaâs purple hair gleams under the harsh midday sun, her too-bright smile a sick contrast to the crowdâs silence.
Azzi stands rooted to the ground. Her heart slams in her chest, and her vision narrows as shock seeps through her bones. She canât move, canât breathe. Her body is disconnected from her mind, numbness spreading through her limbs. She vaguely registers the weight of the stares from the girls around herâsome wide-eyed with horror, others carefully blank. Azzi blinks. Is this real? She swallows hard, but her throat feels like sandpaper.
She never let herself think about this. Never allowed the possibility to take root. She spent the whole week worrying about her little brothers, Jon and Jose, her anxiety circling around them like a storm cloud. Jose, especially. Itâs his first Reaping, and heâd been so scared he couldnât sleep the night before. Azzi had promised him itâd be okay, that the odds were in their favor. Sheâd lied. And now itâs her name that hangs in the air.
Her legs feel heavy, like theyâve been weighed down with stones, but somehow, she forces them to move. One step. Then another. Each movement is stiff, mechanical, her body obeying while her mind is still reeling. The faces in the crowd blur into a mass of pale colors, and Azzi avoids looking at any of them directly. The sun presses down on her back, making her skin feel tight, suffocating, but she barely registers it. Her heartbeat thuds in her ears, a dull roar that drowns out everything else.
I have to do this. She repeats it in her head, over and over, as if it will numb the panic creeping up her spine. I have to get up there.
The platform is higher than it looks. It looms above her as she approaches, and the closer she gets, the more she feels the weight of the district watching her. Her hands tremble at her sides, but she keeps them balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She canât afford to show fear. Not now.
She steps onto the stage, the wooden floor creaking beneath her shoes. Lucia Bliss beams at her, all synthetic kindness and hollow enthusiasm, like sheâs completely oblivious to the fact that sheâs sending a sixteen-year-old girl to her death. Azzi wants to scream, to shout at her, to demand to know how she can smile like that. Instead, she stands there, stiff as a board, staring blankly into the crowd.
She doesnât look at her family. Not yet. If she lets herself see themâreally see themâshe knows sheâll fall apart. And she canât afford to break down, not in front of everyone. Not here. The numbness is the only thing keeping her from collapsing.
âNow, for the boys!â Lucia announces, with that same bright cheeriness, like this is all just a grand spectacle and not a nightmare come to life.
The second name is pulled, and Azzi barely registers the sound of the boyâs name. âKellan Ryder.â
Her eyes catch a glimpse of him as he stumbles forwardâa scrawny boy with messy red hair and too-thin arms. He looks no older than fourteen, maybe fifteen at most. His face is pale, his mouth set in a tight line as he walks toward the platform like a condemned man heading to the gallows. Thereâs no strength in him, no fire. Heâs shaking like a leaf, and Azzi knows his fate immediately. Anyone with a brain should. He wonât make it.
Kellanâs knees wobble as he climbs onto the platform, nearly tripping on the last step. His frightened eyes dart around, but when they meet Azziâs for a fleeting moment, she sees itâthe absolute terror, the resignation thatâs already settled in him. He knows heâs dead. And now, sheâs tethered to him.
Lucia claps her hands together, looking as if she expects the crowd to erupt into applause, but no one moves. District Nine never claps at the Reaping. Thereâs nothing to celebrate here.
Azziâs jaw tightens, her hands still clenched at her sides. What now? What happens next? She canât feel anything except a dull, creeping fear gnawing at the edges of her consciousness. Itâs been less than five minutes since her name was called, but it feels like an eternity has passed. She feels lost, unmoored, floating in a space where time no longer makes sense.
As the anthem blares across the square, she chances a glance into the crowdâjust for a second. Her gaze locks onto her family. Her mom is there, her face pale but strong. Azziâs dad stands right next to her, an arm around her waist. They wear the same firm expressionsâlike they may actually believe their daughter can make it through this. Azzi canât find Jon and Joseâtheyâre somewhere within the rest of the relieved crowd of boys who have been spared this year.
Lucia is speaking again, but Azzi barely hears her. The words are muffled, distant, as sheâs ushered off the stage and into the cold interior of the Justice Building. Her chest feels tight, her throat burning from holding back everything thatâs clawing at her insides, threatening to break free. She canât let them see her cry.
Inside the Justice Building, itâs quieter, but the silence only makes her pulse race faster. Sheâs taken to a small room to wait. The goodbyes. They give her only a few minutes with her family before sheâs whisked away forever.
Her mother is the first to come in, and the second the door closes behind her, the stoic mask sheâs been holding up crumbles. She rushes forward and pulls Azzi into a bone-crushing hug. Katie Fudd does not shed any tears, but Azzi can feel her shaking against her shoulder. Trembling, but trying to fight it.
âYouâre going to come back,â her mother says firmly, as if sheâs manifesting it into existence. And then, more choked: âPlease, Azzi. You have to come back.â
Azzi stands stiffly for a moment, then wraps her arms around her mother. She wants to promise that sheâll come back, that sheâll survive, but the words stick in her throat. How can she make a promise like that when she doesnât know if she can keep it?
âIâll try,â Azzi says instead, her voice hollow. Iâll try. Itâs all she can offer.
Her brothers come in next, Jon leading Jose. The second Jose sees her, he runs to her, clinging to her waist like heâs afraid sheâll disappear if he lets go. His face is streaked with tears, his breath coming in ragged sobs.
âYouâre gonna come back, right?â Joseâs voice is small, broken. Azziâs reminded that heâs only twelve. âYou have to come back.â
Azzi pulls away slightly, brushing the hair out of his face. âIâll do my best,â she whispers, her voice trembling. She canât say anything more than that. She wishes she could lie, give him something more hopeful, but the truth is all she has.
Jon is much quieter, and he stands back, his face hard as stone. But his eyesâhis eyes are full of pain, full of everything heâs trying not to feel. When he finally steps forward, he pulls her into a tight hug, whispering in her ear, âPlease try to come home.â
Azzi nods, her throat too tight to respond.
And then itâs her dad that gets her last, his arms wrapping around her softer, less firm. He rubs a hand along her back, rests his chin on top of her head. It makes Azzi want to cry. But she doesnât. She keeps the tears in. Tim tells her, âBe smart. Donât trust anyone.â And then he pulls away, meeting her gaze. His eyes arenât sad, they donât memorize the lines of her face as if this is likely the last time theyâll ever see each other. Instead, theyâre firm, a fire burning in them, a fire that believes Azzi has enough spark in her to win. âYouâre strong, Az. You find what youâre good at, and you stick to it. Just like shooting.â
Azzi nods, though his words donât truly reach her. Sheâs good at basketballâgreat, even. The best shooter in her district. But the Hunger Games isnât basketball. Itâs entirely different.
The goodbye is over too quickly, the Peacekeepers ushering her family out of the room, their voices echoing down the hall. As the door closes behind them, the reality of the situation hits her with full force. This is happening. This is real. Thereâs no way out of it. In just a few days, sheâll be in the arena, and all that will matter is survival.
Azzi takes a deep breath, her hands trembling. She has to survive. For her family. For her mom. For her dad. For Jon and Jose. I have to win.
But as the cold emptiness settles into her chest, she knows itâs not going to be that simple. Not even close.
THE ROOM in the Capitolâs Remake Center is pristine and clinicalâtoo clean, in fact. The walls are bright white, and the overhead lights are too harsh, casting everything in an almost sterile glow. The faint hum of machinery buzzes in the background, and Azzi sits stiffly on the plush chair in the center of the room, her back straight and hands clenched in her lap. She can feel the cold, unfamiliar air of the Capitol against her skin, a far cry from the familiar, earthy smells of District Nine. The whole place feels wrong.
Azziâs mind is still spinning from the events of the past day, from the Reaping to the train ride to the Capitol. Everything feels like a blurâone unending nightmare she canât escape from. The vibrant, colorful city thatâs supposed to be awe-inspiring feels nothing more than a glittering cage, trapping her in a world that doesnât belong to her.
A knock at the door startles her from her thoughts, and she straightens, her heart thudding a little harder in her chest. The door opens, and in walks a tall, slender woman with dark, shimmering hair cut into a sleek bob. Her skin is flawless, glowing in the artificial light, and sheâs dressed in an outfit thatâs both futuristic and elegant, all smooth lines and shimmering fabric.
She strides into the room with the kind of confidence Azzi has only ever seen in Capitol citizens, her heels clicking against the floor. When she reaches Azzi, she extends a perfectly manicured hand and offers a soft, warm smile.
âHello, Azzi. Iâm Seraphine,â she says, her voice gentle, as though she knows how jarring this experience must be. âIâll be your stylist for the Games.â
Azzi stares at Seraphineâs hand for a second too long before realizing sheâs supposed to shake it. Her fingers feel cold as she grips the stylistâs hand briefly, then pulls away, her eyes flickering nervously to the floor. She hasnât said a word since entering the Remake Center, and even now, her throat feels tight, like itâs closed off from the weight of everything around her.
Seraphine seems to notice Azziâs discomfort and doesnât push her to speak. Instead, she walks around the chair, studying Azzi with a critical yet kind eye, taking in her features as if sheâs a sculpture being examined for the first time.
âYouâve got very strong features,â Seraphine says, her voice soft as she moves to stand in front of Azzi. She lifts a hand, her finger tracing the air just in front of Azziâs face as if imagining her canvas. âA really beautiful face. Great symmetry. Your nose is perfectâstraight, but with just a little softness at the tip. And your lips,â she smiles, âplump and well-shaped, the kind people pay for here in the Capitol.â
Azzi doesnât know what to say. She swallows hard and forces out a quiet, âThank you.â
But the words feel hollow in her mouth. Two days ago, she probably wouldâve flushed at the compliment and grinned at the woman before her. But it doesnât matter now. Being beautiful wonât keep her alive. It wonât stop a sword or a spear. It wonât protect her when sheâs standing in the arena, staring down a tribute who wants her dead. She doesnât care about her looks. She cares about surviving.
Seraphine seems to sense the tension in her, but she doesnât comment on it. Instead, she steps back and claps her hands together, her expression shifting into something more professional. âWell, weâve got a lot to do before the Opening Ceremony tonight. The tributes from District Nine usually get an agricultural theme, but weâre going to make sure you stand out. Youâll need something that catches the eye, something that makes people remember you. The Capitol loves a good first impression.â
Azzi tries to focus on what Seraphine is saying, but her mind keeps drifting, her thoughts pulling her back to District Nine, to the faces of her brothers, her parents, their small home nestled in the farthest corner of the district. She feels like sheâs been dropped into an alien world, surrounded by people who donât understand what it means to fight for survival. Here, everything is about imageâhow you look, how you present yourself. But in the Games, none of that matters. At least, not to Azzi.
Seraphine motions for Azzi to stand, and she does so stiffly, her muscles aching from sitting so rigidly for so long. The stylist begins to circle her, appraising her figure and murmuring to herself. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, Seraphine snaps her fingers, and a team of assistants rushes in, carrying bolts of fabric and strange devices Azzi doesnât recognize.
Seraphine smiles softly, her fingers brushing against Azziâs shoulder. âWeâre going to make you look incredible. Trust me, Azzi. Iâve been doing this for years.â
Azzi doesnât respond. She lets the team of assistants work on her, trying not to flinch as they run strange tools across her skin, smoothing it, shaping it. They tug at her hair, pulling it back tightly from her face, and apply makeup to her cheeks and eyes. Sheâs never worn anything like this before, and the sensation of it all feels foreign, uncomfortable. The air smells heavily of perfume and hair products, nothing like the open fields and fresh earth of her home.
Seraphine watches closely, making small adjustments as the assistants work. âWeâll keep it simple but striking,â she says as she examines the fabrics. âDistrict Nine is about agriculture, the backbone of Panemâs food production. So weâll lean into that, but in a way that makes you look powerful. Strong. Like someone the Capitol will want to root for.â
Azzi barely nods, her mind half-absent.
The assistants pull out a long, flowing piece of fabric, the color a rich golden hue that shimmers in the light. Itâs embroidered with intricate patterns, resembling the fields of grain District Nine is known for. The material clings to her body, forming into a fitted jumpsuit that accentuates her athletic build. The design is sleek and modern, with a slight flare at the shoulders, giving her the appearance of strength, while the fabric flows behind her like a cape made of golden wheat.
Seraphine steps back, admiring the final look, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. âYou look incredible, Azzi. Absolutely stunning. This will make the audience remember youâbeautiful, but more importantly, formidable.â
Azzi stares at herself in the mirror, her reflection almost unrecognizable. The girl looking back at her is a Capitol version of herself, someone polished and made to look like she belongs here. But Azzi can see right through it. She doesnât belong here.
âHow do you feel?â Seraphine asks, stepping up beside her.
Azzi hesitates, her eyes lingering on her reflection. She looks strong, she looks like someone people might fear. But the question gnaws at her, the same thought thatâs been looping in her head since she arrived at the Capitol.
âBeing beautiful wonât help me in the arena,â she says quietly, her voice low, as if the thought escapes her without permission.
Seraphineâs expression softens, and she places a hand gently on Azziâs shoulder. âItâs not just about beauty. Itâs about presence. The Capitol citizens, the sponsorsâthey want someone they can believe in. If they believe in you, theyâll help you. Theyâll send you things you need. And that could be the difference between life and death.â
Azzi doesnât know how to respond to that. Sheâs never thought about it that wayânever considered that people watching her might care enough to help. She doesnât know if she likes that idea, though. It feels too distant, too detached. How can she trust that some faceless audience in the Capitol will care enough to keep her alive?
But she nods anyway, her jaw tight as she looks back at her reflection. âI guess.â
Seraphine gives her a reassuring smile, but Azzi can see the flicker of something else in the stylistâs eyes. Maybe a recognition of the bleakness that comes with the Games. Or maybe just sympathy. Either way, it doesnât change the reality.
And then Seraphine is clapping her hands again, signaling the rush of assistants and stylists bustling back into the room. They tidy up the last few details, adjusting the cape of shimmering gold fabric that flows behind Azzi, smoothing out any wrinkles in the intricate embroidery of her jumpsuit. The noise, the movement, all of it feels overwhelming, but Seraphine stays calm and poised, giving Azzi a reassuring smile before gesturing toward the door.
âCome, Azzi. We need to head downstairs. Your chariot awaits,â Seraphine says.
Azziâs legs feel unsteady as she follows her stylist. Thereâs a gnawing anxiety low in her stomach, a knot thatâs only been growing tighter since her name was pulled. She walks behind Seraphine, out of the room and down a long, marble hallway that echoes with the click of the stylistâs heels. The air feels heavier here, the anticipation hanging thick in the space around them as they make their way to the first floor.
The elevator doors open, revealing the Remake Centerâs ground floorâa massive, gleaming stable. The smell of horses hits her first, a sharp contrast to the sterile air of the upper floors. The space is wide and open, filled with row after row of chariots, each one assigned to a different district, waiting to carry their tributes into the Opening Ceremony. Itâs loud, too, with the sound of people bustling around, prepping the tributes, adjusting the horsesâ harnesses, and giving last-minute instructions.
Azziâs eyes dart around, searching for Kellan, her district partner. She spots him off to the side, standing next to one of the chariots, his eyes wide with fear and his shoulders hunched as if heâs trying to make himself as small as possible. He looks terrible, Azzi thinks, her heart twisting in her chest. Kellan is so youngâfourteenâthe same age as her little brother Jon.
In fact, Kellan couldâve been Jon. Couldâve been Jose. The thought makes her feel sick. Heâs just a kid. And now heâs about to be thrown into a fight to the death.
Azziâs stomach churns as she approaches Kellan, trying to think of something to say, something that might ease his nerves, but nothing comes to mind. What can she say? Youâll be fine? It wonât be that bad? It would be a lie. Thereâs no comforting truth here.
Lucia is already there, too, flitting around with her usual enthusiasm. Her bright purple wig bounces as she talks, gesturing wildly with her hands. Sheâs all Capitolâflashy and clueless, too caught up in the spectacle of it all to realize whatâs really at stake.
âAh, Azzi! You look fan-tastic!â Lucia exclaims, clucking her tongue and clapping her hands together. âSeraphine has really outdone herself this year.â
Azzi gives a stiff nod, but her attention is drawn to the figure standing next to Lucia.
Their mentorâCyrus.
A tall, grizzled man in his mid-forties, Cyrus won the Games when he was seventeen, Azzi knows that. His hair is streaked with silver now, and his face is lined with years of bitterness and lossâan expression sheâs come to recognize in former victors. Cyrus isnât the warmest person, but he knows what it takes to survive, and thatâs all that matters to Azzi now.
He steps forward, eyeing her and Kellan critically, his arms crossed over his broad chest. âYou both look good,â he says, his voice gruff, as if the compliment costs him something. âBut this isnât about just looking good. Itâs about making the Capitol love you. You need them on your side, or youâre dead in the water.â
Kellan swallows hard, his eyes darting nervously toward the chariots. Azzi can see his hands trembling slightly at his sides, and again, that pang of guilt hits her. He shouldnât be here. Heâs too young.
So is Azzi. So is every other tribute here.
Cyrus doesnât seem to notice Kallanâs behaviorâor if he does, he doesnât care. He steps closer, his voice dropping into a low, urgent tone. âWhen you get out there, you smile. You wave. You make sure they see you, like youâre already a victor. The crowd loves confidence. They love tributes who look like theyâll win, not ones who are scared to death.â His eyes flick to Kellan, lingering for a second too long. âSo you both smile. Got it?â
Azzi nods, even though the last thing she wants to do is smile right now. But Cyrus is right. They have to play the game, even here.
She turns her head slightly, trying to shake off the weight of the moment when somethingâor someoneâcatches her eye.
Just across the stable, standing next to another chariot with her district partner, is a girl. Sheâs tall for a girl, like Azzi is, with long blonde hair thatâs been braided back into a bun. Her outfit is clearly themed around District Sevenâlumberâand itâs made of rich brown leather, like freshly cut wood, with patterns that resemble tree bark. But what stands out most to Azzi isnât the outfit. Itâs her face.
The girlâs features are sharp but soft in all the right places. She has a defined jawline, high cheekbones, and a pair of piercing blue eyes that seem to flicker with something unspoken. Sheâs prettyâbeautiful, evenâbut not in the overdone, Capitol way. Thereâs something natural about her beauty, something real.
Azziâs breath catches in her throat as their eyes meet. For a moment, the noise of the stable fades into the background, and all she can hear is the pounding of her heart in her chest. The girl holds her gaze, her expression unreadable but intense, like sheâs studying Azzi just as much as Azzi is studying her.
This girl is another tribute. Another person Azzi might have to kill. But the thought doesnât stop her from staring a second too long, from letting herself get caught in the girlâs gaze.
Itâs only when Cyrus barks something at them that Azzi snaps her head back around, her cheeks flushing as she tries to focus. This isnât the time for distractions.
She forces her attention back to Cyrus as he continues giving them last-minute instructions. âSmile. Wave. Make them love you. Got it?â
Azzi nods, though her thoughts are still jumbled. She glances at Kellan, whoâs biting his lip nervously, his eyes darting around the stable like a rabbit caught in a trap.
And then theyâre being ushered toward their chariot. Azzi takes a deep breath, her legs feeling wobbly as she steps onto the platform, Kellan following behind her. The horses, sleek and muscular, are restless in front of them, their hooves clattering against the marble floor. She grips the edge of the chariot tightly, her knuckles turning white.
As the chariots begin to roll out, Azzi takes one more deep breath. She can hear the roar of the crowd growing louder, the excitement building as the tributes are about to make their grand entrance.
The moment they roll into view of the massive audience, the noise is deafening. The Capitol citizens cheer and shout, their brightly colored hair and outrageous outfits blending together into a sea of vibrant chaos. Azzi forces herself to smile, just like instructed, letting her dimples show through as she waves to the crowd, her arm moving mechanically as if on autopilot. She hates itâthe way their eyes are all on her, the way theyâre watching her as if sheâs nothing more than a piece in their twisted game.
Sheâs never wanted attention like this. The only way sheâd ever dreamed of being noticed was by playing basketball, maybe one day making it big enough to play in the Capitolâs professional leagues. But that was a stupid dreamâsomething far out of reach for someone from a District. Even if she won the Games, even if she became a Capitol darling, sheâd never be allowed to play. The basketball leagues are for Capitol citizens, not for tributes. Not for people like her.
Azzi keeps smiling, keeps waving, even though every second of it feels wrong. The crowdâs cheers grow louder, their excitement palpable, but Azzi feels nothing. All she can think about is the girl from District Sevenâthe girl whose eyes she can still feel on her, even now, as the chariots roll forward.
ITâS THE second day of training. Yesterday, Azzi found her strengthâthrowing knives. It was quick; the dagger was the first weapon she picked up and tried. And it just⌠worked. It surprised her at first, but as the blades left her hand, spinning in the air before sinking into the target with a solid thud, it felt almost familiar. The motion, the precision, the focusâit all reminds her of shooting a basketball. In her mind, itâs the same concept: aim, release, make the shot. Whether itâs a knife sinking into a dummy or a ball swooshing through a hoop, the goal is the same. And it comforts her in a strange way, turning something deadly into something sheâs used to, something she can control.
Now, Azzi stands several feet away from a dummy, gripping a knife, the handle cool against her palm. She lines it up with the target. Her muscles tighten as she flicks her wrist, releasing the dagger. It slices through the air, embedding itself into where the heart of the dummy would be with a satisfying thud. A perfect hit. She lets out a slow breath, allowing a small flicker of satisfaction to cross her face. The trainers donât miss it either, nodding with approval as they observe her from across the room.
Cyrus, her mentor, has been watching her closely since she got here. And, after Azzi informed him of her successes with the daggers last night and his compliments of her physique, the true muscle she has, itâs been clear heâs placing his bets on Azzi this time around. It seems thereâs just no point in trying with Kellan.
As for Kellan, he hasnât said much of anything since they were whisked away to the Capitol. Heâs just a boy, and Azzi has watched the fear in his eyes grow with each passing day. Cyrus has tried to train him, to offer him advice, but Kellanâs barely even listened. Itâs as if heâs already given up. Azzi sees it in the way his hands tremble whenever he holds a weapon, the way he flinches during combat drills, and the way he refuses to meet anyoneâs gaze. Heâs already dead in his mind, and Azzi knows that mentality will get him killed in the arena.
âFocus on yourself,â Cyrus had told her bluntly last night after dinner. âKellanâs not gonna make it. You need to accept that now.â
Azzi had nodded, the truth of Cyrusâ words sitting like a heavy weight in her chest. She tried talking to Kellan once, offering him a few words of encouragement, but he barely even acknowledged her. After that, she stopped trying. She canât afford to waste time or energy on someone whoâs already checked out. It isnât like she doesnât feel guiltyâshe doesâbut she has to survive.
She canât focus on anyone elseâs survival but her own.
Today, Cyrus has her focusing on something other than knives. âYouâve got those down,â heâd told her before the session. âLearn how to survive the elements now. Plants, food, water. You need to know whatâs safe and what isnât. Most tributes die from hunger, dehydrationânot all of it is blood and guts.â
So Azzi finds herself crouched in front of an information station, its holographic displays showing various plants, fruits, and fungi. She taps the screen, cycling through images of plants she might find in the arena, trying to commit them to memory. Which ones are edible, which ones are poisonous, which ones could be used to heal wounds. Itâs not as exciting as knife-throwing, but itâs necessary, and she knows it.
Sheâs absorbed in her study, staring intently at a particularly nasty-looking mushroom, when she senses someone approaching from the side. Her muscles tense instinctively, and she glances up, prepared to brush off whoever it isâuntil she sees Paige Bueckers standing next to her.
Paige Bueckers. District Seven. Azzi knows who she is. Sheâs memorized all the tributesâ names and districts by nowâitâs smart to know who sheâs up againstâbut Paige was the first one she committed to memory. Maybe itâs because of the way Paige caught her eye before the opening ceremony, their silent exchange of glances lingering in Azziâs mind longer than sheâd like to admit. Or maybe itâs because sheâs watched Paige train over the past two days and realized just how dangerous the girl really is. Azzi saw her with a sword earlier, moving with a deadly grace that sent chills down her spine. Paige might be one of the most skilled tributes here, and thatâs saying something.
Paige is tall, even a little taller than Azzi, and her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, a thin, black headband resting over it. Her sharp, blue eyes meet Azziâs as she stops next to her, wearing a grin that seems completely out of place in the tense, competitive atmosphere of the training center.
âAzzi Fudd,â Paige says, her tone casual, as if theyâre not preparing to kill each other in a matter of days. âDistrict Nine.â
Azzi glances back at the screen, her brows furrowing slightly. She doesnât know how to feel about Paige approaching her. She doesnât know what she wants. This could be some kind of strategyâget close to your enemies, make them lower their guard. Azzi isnât stupid. She knows better than to trust anyone here.
âBueckers,â Azzi replies, her voice neutral, not giving anything away. She keeps her eyes on the screen, scrolling through more plant images.
But Paige doesnât leave. She shifts her weight, bouncing slightly on her heels, like she canât seem to stay still. The grin on her face widens, and Azzi feels even more confused. Why is Paige so friendly? Why is she smiling like theyâre just two normal girls having a chat?
âSo, youâre, like, really good with daggers, huh?â Paige says, her voice light. âI saw you throwing earlier. Pretty impressive.â
Azzi doesnât look up. She sighs instead, her fingers hovering over the screen. âGuess so,â she mumbles. In the back of her mind, she knows she should probably be nicer. Paige might be trying to form an alliance, and with Kellan being a dead end, Azzi could use one. But trust is a luxury she canât afford right now, and Paigeâs enthusiasm throws her off.
Paige doesnât seem fazed by Azziâs short response, though. She keeps standing there, grinning like an idiot, her eyes twinkling with some kind of amusement. Itâs unnerving how at ease she seems, how⌠happy. Itâs probably a mask. Sheâs probably as terrified as the rest of them, and sheâs just getting through it in her own way.
Nevertheless, Azzi canât take it anymore. She turns her head slightly, locking eyes with Paige. âWhy are you talking to me?â she asks bluntly.
Paige blinks, her grin faltering for just a moment. For the first time, she looks a little unsure of herself. âUm⌠I donât really know, actually,â she admits with a small, nervous laugh. âJust⌠wanted to, I guess.â
Azzi narrows her eyes, studying her. She has no idea if the girl before her is being honest. But the sincerity in her voice catches Azzi a little off guard, and for a second, sheâs not sure what to say. This is the Hunger Games. No one talks to someone just because they âwant to.â Everyone has an angle. Yet Paige stands there, looking oddly genuine, like she really doesnât have a reason. Like she just wants to talk to Azzi, no strings attached.
For a moment, Azziâs walls start to crack. She considers the possibilityâhowever slimâthat Paige is just⌠a good person. It doesnât make sense, not in a place like this, but the warmth in Paigeâs smile makes Azziâs suspicion waver.
âWell,â Azzi finally says, her voice a little softer than before, âmaybe you shouldnât.â She doesnât look away this time, her eyes lingering on Paigeâs, almost like sheâs testing her.
Paigeâs grin returns, softer this time, but still there. âMaybe,â she says, âbut Iâm here anyway.â
Azzi shakes her head a little, gaze returning to the screen. She needs to focus on this, not the girl beside her.
Paige doesnât seem to be deterred, though, still watching Azzi with that easy smile, her eyes bright. âYouâre pretty serious, yeah?â she says, tilting her head, almost like sheâs teasing but not quite. âLocked in. I get it. Gotta be. But⌠weâre all here, y'know? Same boat.â
Azzi shifts her weight, feeling her jaw tighten. âI have to be serious,â Azzi mutters, her fingers swiping across the screen, though sheâs not really paying attention to the plants anymore. Her heart beats a little faster under Paigeâs gaze. âYou canât survive if youâre not.â
Paige leans in just slightly, and Azzi catches the faint scent of something sweet on her, like flowers. âI know that,â she says, her tone softening for a moment. âBut you might need some help in thereâif you wanna win.â
Azziâs shoulders tense. The suggestion makes her uneasy, and her instinct is to push back. Help. From anyone, it feels too dangerous. It feels like relying on someone she canât control. She barely trusts herself in this place, let alone a girl from another district who, letâs be real, could very well end up as an enemy.
âI donât need help,â Azzi says, her voice firmer than before. âEspecially not from people I donât know.â
Paigeâs smile fades a little, but thereâs no frustration in her expression. If anything, she just looks⌠thoughtful, almost curious about Azziâs reaction. Itâs like sheâs trying to figure her out, trying to see beneath the guarded exterior.
Azzi hates that. She doesnât want to be studied or analyzed, especially not by Paige Bueckers. Sheâs already doing too much of that herselfâconstantly assessing everyone, weighing their strengths and weaknesses, trying to predict whoâs a threat and who might just fade into the background.
âIâm not trying to get in your way, Azzi,â Paige says quietly, her voice losing some of its earlier lightness. âBut, yâknow, maybe we donât have to be enemies. Iâve seen you, and youâre good. Like, real good. And neither of us are Careers and both our district partners are kinda duds, so I just thoughtâŚâ
Azzi cuts her off, turning to face her abruptly. âThought what? That weâd be allies? Friends?â She shakes her head, ignoring the strange knot of tension building in her chest. Paige might be trying to help, but Azzi doesnât want it. She canât want it. Not here. âIt doesnât work like that. I donât work like that. Sorry.â
Paige stands there, still watching her, and for a second, Azzi thinks she sees something flicker in Paigeâs eyesâdisappointment, maybe, or understanding. But Paige doesnât push back. She just nods once, a slow, thoughtful thing.
âOkay,â Paige says, stepping back a little, giving Azzi space. Her smile returns, softer, but still there. âI get it. Just⌠keep doin' what youâre good at.â
Azzi feels a strange pang in her chest as she watches Paige step away, like maybe sheâs made a mistake. But noâshe canât think like that. She needs to stay focused, stay sharp, stay alone. Thatâs how sheâll survive.
Without another word, Azzi turns on her heel and walks away, her heart beating faster than before.
THE PINK dress hugs Azziâs figure, its soft blush fabric shimmering under the bright lights of the dressing room. Itâs not something sheâs ever imagined herself wearingânot this shade, not this tight. She looks almost like a Capitol citizen now, polished and flawless in her own right.
The dress has a high neckline and delicate straps that crisscross her shoulders, falling in elegant folds down to her ankles. Itâs simple, yet the color makes her stand out, glowing softly against her dark skin. Her hair is styled in loose waves, not unlike the Capitolâs obsession with effortless beauty, with the font pieces pulled back into braids. The makeup is light but dramaticâplump lips, accentuated cheekbones, and eyes that pop with a subtle pink shimmer.
Seraphine steps back, admiring her work with a satisfied smile. âYou look stunning, Azzi. Like a dream.â
Azzi nods, not fully meeting Seraphineâs gaze. She knows she looks good, but it doesnât feel like her. The face staring back at her in the mirror is a version of herself she doesnât recognize. Itâs not the Azzi from District Nine; itâs not the girl who shoots hoops with her brothers or helps her dad tend to the crops. Itâs someone elseâsomeone made for the Capitolâs stage. Someone for their entertainment.
âThank you,â she says quietly, though her voice lacks enthusiasm. Seraphine doesnât seem to mind. She knows by now that Azzi is serious, focused. Thereâs no time for compliments when the Games are looming.
Seraphineâs assistant adjusts the hem of Azziâs dress one last time before stepping aside. âYouâll knock them dead,â she says with a wink, though the words sit heavy with the weight of their meaning. Knocking them dead. Thatâs quite literally what Azzi will have to do soon enough.
As sheâs led out to the waiting area before the interviews, Azziâs mind begins to drift. She thinks back to the training evaluations, how she had scored a 10âone of only four tributes to do so. A 10 is good, she knows that, but the competition is fierce. Both the girl and boy from Two scored 10s and Paige managed a 10 as well. There are other tributes with 9s, plenty who will be formidable in their own right. But Paige? Paige is different. Sheâs unpredictable, unnervingly skilled. And something about her makes Azzi feel a pang of unease.
As Azzi settles into her seat backstage, waiting for her interview with Caesar Flickerman, she watches the other tributesâ interviews on the screen. The Careers are all flashy and confident, playing up their deadliness to the crowdâs delight. Caesar eats it up, grinning and laughing as they boast about their skills and charm the Capitol audience. The boy from District Four also stands outâtall, muscular, and intimidating. A strong swimmer, no doubt. Heâll be dangerous, especially if the arena is at all water-based.
But none of them hold a candle to Paige.
When Paige steps onto the stage, itâs as if the entire room shifts. She looks stunning, effortlessly cool, in a crisp white suit that contrasts sharply with the frilly dresses most of the other girls have chosen. Her hair is down, styled in soft, wavy locks, with the top half pulled back in a way that highlights her sharp features. She looks more masculine than the other girls, but somehow that works in her favor. Itâs not just that sheâs differentâitâs that she owns it. The Capitol loves different.
Azzi watches, unable to tear her eyes away, as Paige charms the entire crowd. Sheâs funny, confident, and just the right amount of cocky. Caesar practically beams at her, and the audience is eating out of the palm of her hand.
âYouâre quite the swordswoman,â Caesar says, raising his eyebrows in admiration. âI saw your score, Paigeâa 10! Thatâs incredible.â
Paige just grins, shrugging casually. âYou know, I try.â
The crowd laughs, and Cyrus begins to mutter under his breath. âDamn it,â he says, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. âSheâs going to have sponsors lined up around the block.â
Azzi knows heâs right. Paige isnât just skilledâsheâs magnetic. People want to root for her. Sheâs dangerous, yes, but sheâs also got this charm that makes you want to see her win, even if that means sheâll be killing people to get there.
Azzi swallows hard, feeling a knot form in her stomach. As much as she doesnât want to admit it, sheâs drawn to Paige, too. Thereâs something about her that pulls Azzi inâher confidence, her grace under pressure, her ease in the face of whatâs to come. Itâs not just attraction, though she canât deny that Paige is beautiful. Itâs more than that. Thereâs something about Paige that makes Azzi feel like sheâs⌠alive. Like sheâs not just surviving, but living fully in the moment, despite everything. Ironic, considering Paige could be the one to kill Azzi in that arenaâor vice versa.
And Azzi hates that she feels this way. She shouldnât be drawn to Paige. She shouldnât be thinking about how Paigeâs eyes had locked onto hers back at the opening ceremony, or how Paige had approached her during training, trying to talk like they were friends. None of it matters. Paige is just another tribute, another obstacle standing between Azzi and survival.
But still⌠thereâs something about her.
As Paigeâs interview wraps up, the crowd erupts in applause, and Caesar gives her a hug before she leaves the stage. Azzi watches as Paige walks off, her suit practically glowing under the stage lights. For a brief moment, Paige glances in Azziâs direction, their eyes meeting across the room. Itâs quickâjust a fleeting secondâbut Azzi feels her heart skip a beat before she looks away, reminding herself why sheâs here.
Just two interviews later, Azzi is taking a deep breath as the lights hit her, stepping forward onto the stage. The crowd is massive, louder than she imagined, and their cheers seem to echo in her chest. Her eyes land on Caesar Flickerman, whoâs grinning wide at her as she approaches him, his flamboyant suit sparkling under the stage lights.
âLadies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Azzi Fudd from District Nine!â Caesar announces, and the crowdâs cheers grow even louder.
Azzi sits down next to Caesar, her fingers resting awkwardly in her lap. Despite the excitement around her, she feels the familiar nervousness bubbling up inside. This isnât her elementâtalking, being the center of attention. Sheâd rather be on the sidelines, unnoticed, but here, thereâs no avoiding it.
âAzzi, you look absolutely radiant tonight!â Caesar says, his voice warm and enthusiastic. âTell me, how does it feel to be here in the Capitol, getting all this attention?â
Azzi smiles politely, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. âItâs⌠different,â she says softly. âIâm not really used to it. But itâs nice, I guess. Everyoneâs been very kind.â Very kind because they probably know Iâll be dead in a couple weeks.
Caesar nods, leaning in slightly. âI can imagine itâs quite a change from life in District 9. Tell me, whatâs life like back home?â
Azzi pauses, her mind drifting back to the open fields and the quiet days of working alongside her family. âItâs simple,â she says. âWe work hard, but itâs peaceful. Most of my days Iâm just spending time with my family, doing the chores or playing basketball. Itâs nothing like here, but itâs home.â
Caesar smiles warmly, sensing the connection she has to her district. âFamily, huh? I bet theyâre watching right now, rooting for you. Tell me, do you have a big family?â
Azzi shrugs a little. âNot too big, not too small, I think. Thereâs my parents, and then I have two younger brothers. And weâre still very close to my grandparents. I just⌠love my family, theyâre very supportive. Theyâre great.â She feels her throat get choked up by the end of the sentence, not wanting to think too much about her family, how much she misses them. Even though, truthfully, she knows she should be thinking about her family because that is what needs to be her motivation. She needs to win this for them, no matter how impossible it may seem.
The crowd gives a soft murmur of approval, and Caesarâs grin widens. âThatâs wonderful. Sounds like youâve got a lot of people cheering you on back home. And speaking of supportâŚâ He pauses dramatically, the audience clearly hanging on his every word. âAny special someone out there youâre hoping to impress? Perhaps a crush back home?â
Azziâs eyes widen a little at the question, feeling her face heat up. A crush. That is quite literally the last thing on her mind right now. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, not sure how to answer without sounding awkward.
âI, um⌠no,â she says with a laugh thatâs more nervous than she intended. âNot really. Iâve been focused on training, so⌠no time for that.â
Caesar laughs good-naturedly, waving a hand as if to brush off the question. âOh, I get it, I get it! Training comes first, of course. But Iâm sure there are plenty of admirers in the Capitol who are wishing they could get your attention.â
The crowd cheers in agreement, and Azzi canât help but smile a little at their enthusiasm, though she still feels her nerves fluttering in her stomach.
âBut letâs talk about something fun,â Caesar continues, changing gears smoothly. âYouâve been in the Capitol for a little while now. Whatâs your favorite part so far? The food? The fashion? The luxury?â
Azzi takes a moment to think, glancing down at her dress. Itâs true, everything in the Capitol has been overwhelmingâlavish and excessive compared to the modest life sheâs known back in her district. But thereâs one thing that stands out to her more than anything.
âThe food,â she answers with a small smile. âIâve never seen so much of it in my life. And itâs all so⌠colorful. I didnât even know you could make food look like that.â
Caesar chuckles. âColorful! I donât think Iâve heard that one before.â He hits his knee as he laughs, the audience giggling with him. âBut, yes! The Capitol chefs do love their extravagant dishes. Has there been anything in particular thatâs caught your eye?â
âHonestly, the desserts,â Azzi admits, her smile widening. âThere was this cake we had the other night, and it was shaped like a swan. Iâve never seen anything like it. It was so good.â
The crowd laughs once more, clearly charmed by her innocence, and Caesar claps his hands together. âA girl after my own heart! Who can resist a good dessert, right?â
Azzi relaxes a little more, finding it easier to talk now that the conversation has shifted to lighter topics. Caesarâs friendliness helps, and she realizes that, for the first time, the crowd isnât as intimidating as she thought theyâd be.
âYou know, Azzi,â Caesar says, his tone softening just a bit, âyouâve got this quiet strength about you. I think a lot of people are really drawn to that. You donât need to be loud or flashy to make an impact. And clearly you have made an impactâyou scored a ten in the training. I mean, come on!â
Azzi smiles a little bit at the validation, her dimples poking through. âThank you,â she says, nodding. And then she shrugs, her lips quirking up a little further as she adds, âI try.â
Caesar and the crowd chuckle at the action. âWell, youâve certainly done well,â he tells her earnestly, before adding, with a wink, âAnd I have to say, your smile is absolutely infectious. I think youâve got the whole crowd wrapped around your finger.â
The audience cheers again, louder this time, and Azzi feels her face heat up.
âWell, Azzi, itâs been an absolute pleasure talking to you tonight,â Caesar says, standing and offering his hand to help her up. âI think I speak for everyone when I say weâre all rooting for you.â
Azzi stands, shaking Caesarâs hand and giving the crowd a small wave as they erupt into applause. As she walks off the stage, back to where Seraphine, Lucia, and Cyrus are waiting, the adrenaline from the interview still buzzes through her.
Lucia beams at her as she approaches, her hands rushing to cup Azziâs cheeks. âYou were perfect, Azzi! Absolutely perfect.â
Seraphine nods in agreement. âThe crowd loves you. Youâre going to get so many sponsors, I just know it.â
Even Cyrus gives her a rare grin, clapping her on the shoulder. âYou did good out there, kid. Real good. I think youâve got them in the palm of your hand now.â
Azzi lets out a breath, the tension slowly leaving her body as she realizes sheâs done it. She got through the interview, and didnât just survive itâshe actually made a connection, made herself heard and liked. The Capitol might not feel like home, but for now, at least, she knows sheâs done everything she can to stand out in the best way possible.
THE MORNING is unnervingly quiet. Azzi walks beside Cyrus, the soles of her shoes barely making a sound on the sleek marble floors of the Capitol building. Theyâre headed toward the hovercraft, the final step before the arena. The place where everything will change. Each step closer feels heavier, the weight of whatâs coming settling into her bones.
Cyrus walks just ahead, his brow furrowed in thought. Azzi knows well enough that heâs not the type for overly emotional goodbyes, but thereâs a seriousness to him today that wasnât there during training. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and Azzi notices the faint lines of tension in his jaw. Sheâs quiet, still processing the fact that in just a few hours, sheâll be fighting for her life.
As they near the docking area, Cyrus stops abruptly, turning to face her. His eyes are sharp, cutting through the nervous haze thatâs settled over her.
âListen to me, Azzi,â he begins, voice low but firm. âThis is it. From here on out, itâs all strategy. Everything you do, every move you makeâit has to be calculated, smart.â
Azzi nods, her throat tightening as she listens.
âI know itâs not in your nature to trust easily, but in the arena, youâll need to be even more cautious,â he continues. âDonât form alliances unless itâs strategically sound. I donât care if they seem friendly or if they remind you of someone from back homeâtrust no one unless it gives you an advantage.â
His words cut deep, and she swallows hard. She hasnât really thought much about alliances, but itâs clear that Cyrus has. He knows this game inside and out.
âAnd whatever you do, keep your emotions in check,â Cyrus adds, his gaze hardening. âThe moment you start caring too much about anyone in there, youâve already lost. I know youâre good-hearted, Azzi, but thatâs not going to save youânot in the Games.â
She doesnât say anything, just nods again. The lump in her throat grows as the reality of whatâs coming washes over her.
âAnd the bloodbath.â Cyrus pauses, before his voice lowers slightly. âThe moment those platforms rise, itâs going to be chaos. Donât linger. Donât get caught up in the fight unless itâs unavoidable. Get what you need and get out. Do you understand?â
Azzi meets his eyes, the weight of his words settling deep in her chest. âI understand,â she says softly.
He studies her for a moment, and for the first time since they arrived in the Capitol, Cyrusâs tough exterior seems to soften. His hand reaches out, resting on her shoulder, and the squeeze he gives is firm, reassuring.
âI believe in you,â he says quietly, his voice sincere. âYouâre smart, and youâve trained hard. Iâm going to do everything in my power to help get you home.â
Her eyes well up slightly at his words, but she quickly blinks back the tears. She canât afford to be emotional right now. Thereâs no space for it.
âThank you,â she murmurs, barely able to get the words out past the lump in her throat.
Cyrus nods once, and then heâs stepping back, his hand falling away from her shoulder as they reach the hovercraft. Seraphine is already there, waiting for Azzi, her usual cheerful demeanor muted with the solemnity of the day. The metallic hiss of the hovercraftâs door opening sends a shiver down Azziâs spine. This is it.
Without another word, Azzi steps inside. Seraphine follows, offering a small, reassuring smile as the door slides shut behind them. The hovercraft hums softly as it lifts off, heading toward the arena.
Inside, the sterile, clinical atmosphere makes her stomach churn. A Capitol medic approaches her almost immediately, a small syringe in hand. Azzi barely flinches as the needle pierces her skin, injecting the tracker into her forearm. She knows itâs necessary. They need to know where she is at all times. Itâs standard procedure, but it still makes her feel like livestock.
Seraphine sits beside her, her usual flair for Capitol fashion stark against the dull surroundings of the hovercraft. She doesnât say much, just watches as Azzi rubs her arm where the tracker was inserted. The silence is heavy, filled with unspoken words, and itâs not long before they arrive at the underground facility just outside the arena.
Once inside, theyâre led into a small room where Azzi is handed her arena outfitâa black, water-resistant suit that fits snugly against her frame. Itâs durable, sleek, and clearly meant for endurance. The material feels odd against her skin, foreign compared to the simple, looser clothes sheâs worn most of her life.
She glances at herself in the mirror. The suit is practical, but its design tells her something about the arena. Water. The Capitol is hinting that water will play a significant role in the Games. Maybe a jungle, maybe a lake, or something more treacherous. Her mind races with possibilities, but she pushes the thoughts aside. Sheâll find out soon enough.
As she pulls the last of the suit into place, Seraphine watches her carefully, her eyes glassy. The usually confident stylist seems suddenly small, fragile, as if sheâs struggling to keep herself together. She steps forward, her hands gently smoothing the fabric of Azziâs suit, her fingers trembling slightly.
âYouâre going to be alright, Azzi,â Seraphine says softly, her voice cracking just a little. âYouâve been so strong. Youâre going to make it backâfor your family. I know you will.â
Azziâs chest tightens at the words. Seraphineâs sincerity, her belief that Azzi can survive thisâitâs almost too much to bear.
âThank you,â Azzi whispers, her voice barely audible.
Seraphine pulls her into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around Azziâs frame with surprising strength. Itâs brief, but Azzi feels the weight of Seraphineâs worry in that embrace. Itâs like sheâs saying goodbye.
When they pull apart, Seraphineâs eyes are red-rimmed, though sheâs trying her best to hold it together. âGood luck, Azzi,â she says, her voice shaky. âYouâre going to be okay.â
Azzi swallows the lump in her throat and nods. She doesnât trust herself to speak, so she just gives Seraphine a small, grateful smile.
The door to the launch chamber opens, and itâs time.
Azzi steps into the glass cylinder, her heart pounding in her chest. The last thing she sees before the platform begins to rise is Seraphine, standing in the doorway, her hands clasped tightly together as if in prayer.
And then the ground shifts beneath her feet, and sheâs lifted upward, the glass tube carrying her toward the surface. Toward the arena.
The first thing she notices is the intense humidity. The air is thick, almost suffocating, and it clings to her skin. As her eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, she realizes whyâitâs a jungle. Dense, tangled vines hang from towering trees, their massive roots weaving through the ground like some ancient network. The ground beneath her platform is slick with mud, and just beyond the edge of the platform is a large body of waterâa vast lake, its surface calm and unnervingly still. It stretches out as far as she can see, bordered by the dense jungle on one side and the metallic glint of the Cornucopia in the center.
Water. She was right.
Azziâs gaze darts to the other tributes. Thereâs movement all around her, platforms rising as the others are pulled into view. Some faces are familiar from the training center, others not so much. She spots the Careers firstâthe boy and girl from District Two, standing tall and confident, both of them dangerous and ready. Their eyes are already locked on the Cornucopia, clearly prepared to kill anyone who stands in their way.
A few spots down, she sees Kellan. His face is pale, his eyes wide with fear. He looks like heâs barely holding it together, his body stiff as if he might bolt the second the gong sounds. Heâs trembling slightly, and Azziâs heart tugs at the sight. Heâs not going to last long, not with that kind of fear weighing him down. But she canât afford to think about himâabout anyone, really. Cyrusâs voice echoes in her mind: Donât get too close to anyone.
She swallows hard, her gaze shifting back to the Cornucopia. The metallic structure gleams in the sunlight, stacked with suppliesâeverything theyâll need to survive. Weapons, food, water. But itâs a death trap. The Careers will get there first, and theyâll cut down anyone who tries to take something theyâve claimed.
Azziâs eyes flick to the jungle behind her. It might be safer to head for cover, to avoid the bloodbath entirely. But then again, if she doesnât grab something now, she could be left empty-handed, vulnerable. She forces herself to breathe deeply, trying to focus on her strategy. It has to be quick, precise. Sheâll grab somethingâanythingâand get out. Thatâs it. Nothing fancy.
The countdown begins, the metallic voice booming over the arena. Sixty seconds.
Azziâs heart races as the clock ticks down. She glances around once more at the other tributes, trying to gauge their movements before itâs too late. Some are already tensing, their eyes glued to the Cornucopia. Others, like Kellan, are frozen in place, terrified to move. Far across from her, Azzi thinks she sees a flash of blonde hair. Paige. She wonders if sheâs scared right now.
Thirty seconds.
Azziâs hands ball into fists at her sides, every muscle in her body tightening. The humidity, the jungle, the waterâit all presses in on her, but she pushes the fear down. She canât afford to freeze up. She wonât.
Fifteen seconds.
Her pulse pounds in her ears, the world around her narrowing to just the Cornucopia and the water at her back. She feels the weight of everythingâCyrusâs words, Seraphineâs hope, the Capitolâs eyesâbearing down on her. Itâs overwhelming, but she wonât let it break her.
Ten seconds.
The other tributes are crouching now, their bodies taut, ready to sprint the moment the gong sounds. Azzi glances at the Cornucopia again, her mind calculating every possible move, every route.
Five seconds.
Her heart hammers in her chest, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
Three.
She digs her heels into the platform.
Two.
Her hands tremble.
One.
The gong sounds.
The Sixtieth Hunger Games have begun.
#paige bueckers#paige bueckers fic#uconn wbb#uconn#wbb#wcbb#pazzi#pazzi fic#azzi fudd#uconn huskies#paige x azzi#hunger games#wnba#wlw#pazzi angst
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ok ok first of all Really Really love your harutakas and your shinayas and your kidomomos and since im pretty sure you've been asked abt your hrtk and shinaya headcanons already i just wanna ask you about any kdmm headcanons you may have đ§
i love kidomomo so fucking much ilove them
i think theyre stuck in a situationship for a long time. bc useless lesbians in silly harmless drama is always funny. thing is momo WANTS to say something but kido gets so flustered everytime she brings it up they fucking disappear. kido hearing momos confession after theyve faded wawawa and momo thinks kido maybe didnt hear and just sighs but KIDO HEARD bro... they heard u....
momo isnt sure if kido likes her back but she still wants to say it bc momo rly isnt the kind to stress abt waaaa but what if they dont like me back. shes like this is what i feel and im gonna tell everyone đ which also means everyone in the dan knows not only bc its fucking obvious but like momo told everyoneđ the only one surprised is shintaro. but for like a second bc hes like YOURE GAY??wait i just fucking heard myself of course youre gay
kido is like super fucking embarrassing abt the way they run from momo like kano and seto who know them rly well think they look like a clown bc of how flustered momo makes them but momo always receives it like wow kido is SOOOOO cool all cold and calculating :3 something something kidos self steem issues, cant believe someone would like them, especially someone so bubbly who could probably get anyone they want
if it goes for long enough momo would notice shes being avoided lol and shes like i just dont know what to do yknow and hibiyas like why are u telling Me this.
kano seto and mary. tease kido to hell and back. they are the most insufferable people ever. kano is annoying on purpose but seto and mary are more like omg u gotta be honestđ omg let urself be happy đ kano and kido probably have a nasty fight abt kano telling kido theyre self sabotaging and kido being like looks whos fucking talking LOLLLL also momomary best friends forever bffs necklaces and matching phone backgrounds etc etc mary keeps accidentally creating tension and situations bc she keeps accidentally slipping up telling kido and momo something one said about the other.
its very much...a cute thing like a friend group where 2 friends like each other and everyone knows and is rooting for them but they keep prolonging it and its at most frustrating and at best entertaining. its cute, its rly one of those very normal teenage things they get to do after everything they go through. they end up together tho and in the future are the no kids double income aunts with the best presents etc etc u know how it goes
i think the only ones out of the loop who thought they were already together are haruka and shintaro. yuukei quartet is kinda out of it bc theyre a bit older and kinda didnt care for the little silly drama and have problems of their own LOL but ayano and takane were filled in bc as a big sister!!! ayano has to know whats going on!! (insane abt the idea of her and shintaros siblings dating. probably gives kido a lot of actually useful advice abt being honest and not run away from feelings) (sort of a takane talk 2.0) and takanes like.... gossip central this bitch knows everything about everyone not that they do anything with that info to help anyone.
once dating theyd have a lot of discussions about pda. momo is pda inc and kido wants to die whenever momo even presses their shoulders together in public. they make it work tho also once together the dan nearly throws a fucking party like FINALLY
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Fact or Fiction: Does Hard Water Cause Kidney Stones?
Kidney stones are tiny yet extremely painful formations of minerals and salts within the kidneys, affecting millions of people worldwide. They vary in size and symptoms may range from nausea, sharp back pain to discolored urine. Amidst the factors that contribute to kidney stone formation, one question some have is, does the water we drink play a role? In this article, we dive into how kidney stones form and answer this question. Fact or fiction: does hard water cause kidney stones? đ Key Takeaways - Kidney stones are deposits of minerals and salts that form inside the kidneys. - Drinking hard water does not cause calcium kidney stones - The most important thing to prevent urinary stone disease is drinking adequate water (regardless of if it's soft or hard water). đ§ What are Kidney Stones? Kidney stones are deposits of minerals and salts that form inside the kidneys, creating hard crystals. These crystals vary in size and are very painful. Typically symptoms will begin when the stone moves around or enters the ureters. The most common symptoms may include sharp pain below your ribs on your back and side, pain or burning when urinating, discolored urine, blood in urine, nausea, and vomiting. As long as they are caught early, kidney stones rarely cause permanent damage. Depending on the situation, treatment may include proper hydration and pain medications or surgery depending on the circumstance. đ How Do Kidney Stones Form? Stones are typically formed when there are more substances such as calcium, uric acid or oxalate than the fluid in your urine can dilute. When urine becomes concentrated, this allows the minerals in the urine to crystallize and stick together. There are a variety of different types of kidney stones including calcium oxalate stones, uric acid, cystine stones, struvite stones. Calcium oxalate stones are the most common type of kidney stones. These stones can be formed due to inadequate fluid intake and inadequate calcium intake. This is because calcium binds to oxalate in the gut, hindering its absorption. When there is not enough calcium in the diet, oxalate and calcium do not bind in the gut. This leads to more absorption of free oxalate and therefore more oxalate excreted via urine. More oxalate in the urine leads to an ideal environment for kidney stones to occur. Research shows a diet low in calcium increases your risk for kidney stone formation. Risk Factors for Developing Kidney Stones While there are no definitive, "single" root causes for kidney stones, there are several factors that put you at higher risk for developing them. - History. If you have a personal or family history of kidney stones, you're more likely to develop kidney stones in the future. - Dehydration. When you don't drink enough water day after day this also increases your likelihood of kidney stone formation.Certain climates that are hot and dry may put you at higher risk for dehydration and therefore higher risk for stone formation. - Dietary habits. If you eat food that is high in sodium, sugar or protein this may also increase your risk for developing certain kinds of kidney stones. High sodium diets result in an increased amount of calcium your kidneys have to filter and increase risk for developing stones. - Medications or supplements. If you take certain dietary supplements, laxatives (if you used in excess), calcium antacids, and other medications such as those that treat depression can also increase your risk for kidney stone formation. - Obesity. An elevated body mass index (BMI) has been linked to increased risk for kidney stones. - Certain digestive conditions. such as short gut syndrome, inflammatory bowel disease and history of gastric bypass surgery cause changes to the way you digest that affect your absorption of calcium and water. This increases the amount of those crystal forming substances in your urine. - Certain medical conditions. Renal tubular acidosis, hyperparathyroidism, cystinuria, and recurrent urinary tract infections may also increase risk. đą What is Hard Water? Water that has a high level of dissolved minerals is called hard water. The minerals that typically contribute to water hardness are calcium and magnesium. However, ferrous iron, chloride and sulfate and trace amounts of metals may also be present. đ¤ Is There a Link Between Kidney Stones and Hard Water? You may ask yourself, if there is higher amounts of calcium in hard water, does this mean it can increase the likelihood of kidney stone formation? The simple answer is no, there is not enough evidence to support this at this time. As mentioned earlier, research demonstrates that inadequate calcium intake is correlated with an increase in stone formation. On the flip side of that coin, there is some research that demonstrates that high doses of calcium outside of meals times may also lead to increased stone formation. However, there is limited research to support a correlation between hard water consumption and kidney stones. Most hard water contains about 50 to 75 mg calcium and daily recommended intake of calcium is 1000-15300mg per day. It is unlikely that someone who drinks hard water would significantly over consume calcium to increase likelihood of stone formation. While there have been a few studies that have suggested a link between hard water consumption and kidney stone prevalence, most of these studies are outdated and do not demonstrate causation. In fact, whether you drink hard water or soft water the most important thing is that you drink plenty of water to prevent dehydration. This will significantly reduce your risk of developing kidney stones. đ Ways to Prevent Kidney Stones So, how do we prevent kidney stone formation? Well, we can prevent them from forming by decreasing our risk factors. There are some we may not be able to control such as family history or certain medical conditions. However, we can certainly address other modifiable risk factors such as fluid intake and diet. See below for ways to reduce your risk of kidney stones. - Stay hydrated. Drinking plenty of water will help dilute your urine. Make sure to drink at least 64 oz of water daily. - Reduce your intake of salt, sugar and protein. - Eat more fruits and vegetables. - Weight loss may be helpful if you're overweight. - If you have recurrent kidney stones or kidney stone disease, talk to your doctor about any medications or supplements that may be contributing. đ Conclusion In this discussion surrounding kidney stone etiology, the relationship with hard water seems to be used as a marketing technique for companies that sell water softeners. If you prefer soft water for other reasons such as it being "easier on the pipes" this makes sense. However, there is no need to switch over to soft water if you have had kidney stones. The link between kidney stone formation and hard water remains nebulous and unfounded. Whether you drink calcium-rich hard water or softer alternatives, the main rule remains true - hydration is paramount for prevention of kidney stones. Simply by drinking enough fluids we dilute that risk of kidney stone formation. Continue reading: - Understanding How Hard Water Might Lead to Dandruff - Can Drinking Excessive Water Be Dangerous? The Truth About Water Intoxication - Ideal Total Dissolved Solids (TDS) for Health, According to an RDN â Frequently Asked Questions Can Hard Water Give You Kidney Stones? No, there is no such thing as hard water kidney stones. There are a variety of risk factors that increase your risk for renal stones and hard water is not considered one. When it comes to water, the most important thing is making sure you drink enough (regardless of if it is soft or hard water). Drinking water in adequate amounts will help dilute your urine and prevent the crystal forming substances from crystallizing. What Type of Water is Best for Kidney Stones? Whether you prefer hard or soft water, it doesn't matter! The most important thing is that you drink plenty of water each day. Aim for at least 8 to 10 cups per day. If you're a heavy sweater, live in a hot climate or exercise frequently, you may need more. Does a Water Filter Help with Kidney Stones? No, a water filter will not help with kidney stones. There is no research to support this. If you have had kidney stones, make sure you bring in a kidney stone so your doctor can identify the type of kidney stone you may be having. After that, make an appointment with a Registered Dietitian to review specific changes you can make to your diet to prevent kidney stone recurrence. Read the full article
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