A/N: Prompt suggestion was "Ilumi's first time having poison", submitted by Sano Sauro.

Disclaimer: The only thing that belongs to me are my OCs. Everything else belongs to Yoshihiro Togashi-sensei

Enjoy~

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Prompt title: Poison

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Build Me a Tower and Never Let It Fall

Ch. 2: (Illumi)

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Illumi's first memory is when he is two years old and hungry.

It is a hazy thing, a moment of tranquility before he spends his free time caked in blood and skulking around dark, narrowed passageways. A small snippet of childhood where the inkling of his family's profession was just an inkling and the only things dirtying his hands were the food on his plate and not the heart of some grey-haired CEO.

It is, perhaps, a special memory. Like all childhood memories, it has been altered to fit through the cogs of his brain, to remain distinguishable despite its age. But ultimately, the whole does not matter. It is in the little pieces - the minuscule moments twisting together and falling apart that remain as they are.

It begins like this:

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His mother sets a plate down in front of him, gourmet food brought in by stone-faced butlers and trembling hands. The young woman who is tasked with pouring the drinks does so with pinpoint efficiency and shallow breaths, eyes timidly glancing back and forth from him and his mother.

Illumi is two years old and he knows for a fact that he is not the one they are afraid of. Kikyo and Silva Zoldyck are forces that can make the impossible happen, that can tear holes into the Earth and render gravity useless; it is one of the first pieces of information he hoards to himself from late night whispers and kitchen gossip. His family is powerful, and they take care of their own. He also knows that, for some reason, Kikyo loves to make things squirm.

Kikyo also loves to run her fingers through his hair and kiss him goodnight.

Today's snack is a brioche bun baked to a caramel hue. The softness of it melts into his mouth when his mother coaxes it in, bit by bit until one cheek is ballooned to the size of his toddler fist. His mother smiles sharply, tells him a bit forcefully that you're supposed to swallow it, darling. Not play with it.

Illumi stares at his mother with blank eyes as she gazes at him expectantly, mouth pursed together as if she's never had a break. So, because of that, and because it is mother, Illumi guides the food with his tongue and swallows. His eyes never leave Kikyo, who starts to look washed out and hazy, the colors of her kimono wearing away against the snap of darkness.

Everything seems to go wrong when the food goes down to his gut. Illumi flails, a bit too ungracefully for his mother's standards, falling off of the dining room chair and onto his toddler knees. There is the white-hot sear of agony burning fiery trails through his body and leaving him with the taste of coppery blood. There is a voice in his head, his voice, asking questions.

Illumi tries to gasp, tries his best to breathe through the blood in his throat. He turns his head with whatever strength he's had left up to mother, who is warm and sharp and smiling, who crouches down with all the majesty in the world and props him up and sits him on her lap.

Mother, who tells him as she strokes his hair and presses his head against her ribcage, to finish your food, Illumi.

At first he is about to protest, the magic of the brioche and its caramel pallor long lost when he starts to convulse. His eyes stare into his mother's eyes, waiting for her to tell him otherwise, but all she does is raise her eyes and it will make you stronger.

Kikyo reaches for the dessert with spidery fingers and places it in his chubby hands. Her other hand holds his shoulder in place when he tries to slide off of her, to reject her.

Stop resisting, she scolds. Don't you see I'm doing this for your own good?

Her voice is high-pitched and shrill in his ears, and even though Illumi is two years old, he recognizes the change in his mother's tone. Like all children, he knows not to anger his mother.

Reluctantly, Illumi breaks off a piece of brioche and places it in his mouth. His hands form fists and his eyes force themselves open, and Illumi coughs out a weak little yes, mother to show that he has swallowed.

Immediately after that his mouth clamps down to stop the bile from exiting his mouth. In the meantime, a switch flips. Kikyo looks at him with love and love and love in her eyes and strokes his head with a pale hand. Iiko*, she says, trembling shoulders and sharp smiles. Iiko, Illumi.

He doesn't know what that means. From here, Illumi can only see the way the corners of his mother's mouth sharpen, the harsh outline of her teeth gnashing together as dragon hands rub his back. You will become a marvelous assassin, she coos, and Illumi begins to realize that the inkling is no longer an inkling anymore. He is not entirely sure if it's the poison spreading through his body or the oncoming fever that makes him realize. It may also be the way his mother laughs, quiet then soft then loudloudloud. Something bubbles up inside himself when she cradles him close to her chest and calls for a butler to clean the mess. Later on it will be a feeling, that he, when Illumi has scars with stories and mother's hands no longer combing through his hair, associates with betrayal.

Now, when Illumi is two years old and whole, he only wants mother to rub his back tell him stories painted in blood.

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When he thinks back to that moment, blurred to the core with his thoughts and Kikyo's smiles, Illumi believes that many of his other memories were less wholesome.

Before Illumi turns three, Kikyo's love is in the form of fingers running through his hair and arms pulling him to her chest, of food filled with toxic chemicals and his mother's spidery hands.

(When Illumi is two years old his mother gives him poison, and he is too young to distinguish the familiar want of making her proud from the dawning realization.

The inkling is no longer an inkling.)

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(He will become a wonderful assassin. And before his brothers are born, before he quietly realizes his social circle was only limited to his mother's calculating eyes and side-glances of his father's profile and the stony faces of butlers, Illumi believes that this is what he wants.)

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There is a second and third and fourth time. And after that he loses count of the amount of times he's passed out.

After he is four, he stops screaming; when he is three and he can't help it, Kikyo covers his mouth and tells him to swallow.

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Personally, I love Illumi. I mean, like, what an asshole. I've had this strange fixation on him for a while, enough to even warrant him an important role in my other hxh story xD. Hell, I've become fixated with the whole entire family. God, that family.

A thank you to Sano Sauro for sending me a list of prompts !

*iiko - /Japanese/ - translates to 'good boy/girl' or 'good child'

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Leave a review or PM if you have any questions or comments :). Forgive me for any grammatical mistakes or OC characterizations. I've always wanted to write about an Illumi before he was slowly being molded by his parents. (And even when he isn't, I suppose he is :0)

Til next time~