A Hymn for salvation (Gojo Satoru x Reader)

ambrosia

>>SUKUNA'S STORY GOT DELETED YOU CAN READ IT IN A03 LINK POSTED IN THE COMMENTS<<

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The garden of ambrosia
In Hanakotoba the Japanese form of the language of flowers, ambrosia symbolizes pious/devoutly religious

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Gojo Satoru has known worship for as long as he can breath, and never did he understand this fanaticism.

His mother was a frail woman, achieving the matron position in the Gojo household through political power and her immense cursed energy. Even before having him she was already a devout woman of a (h/c) goddess, the patron saint of the jujutsu shamans.

He hears her sweet voice, even now, singing those hymns like a lullaby.

She dutifully prays and beg, that she may be blessed with children. He hears those broken sobs when she thinks he's asleep in bed; he watches her through the corners, beg on her knees, her trusted maid rubbing a trembling petite back to comfort. He knows, deep down Satoru knows that he was not the only one, that he should have siblings running in the empty halls.

His mother kisses him to bed, when he asks who is the goddess. Who is this ethereal being that even his recluse of a father, too busy to even be in the picture, would go down on his knees?
Even the Kiku, the maid who stands by his mother's side like a shadow, would smile so warmly when she says, "She is a wise being, beloved by all! The one who carefully writes the fate of her disciples."

It is much later in life when he learns that like all the children before, he was still born and with her rebirth to this world he breathes life.

It is also in this time, he learns that they hail him as a child of the heavens, marked by his hair the color symbolizing purity and eyes that of a god. Yet he still doesn't understand. This child of four years still doesn't understand what it meant to be called her chosen one; aside from the fact that it was to be of high praise when they compare him to the ethereal beings, that men believe for the sake of their mental peace.

Even as young as he is, Satoru questions where she is and why does she sleep?
Why do men have to die, if she is the one who protects her acolytes, the way his beloved mother lays in her coffin?

The house has never felt this cold and big after he comes home with the ashes, and sets them beside her beloved shrine. He wants to ask where was her protection, when his mother was killed by a curse? The stone is silent. The heavens do not answer even to their beloved child.

The household servants did not meet his downcast eyes, and the sky was ever gray as Kiku gave him desserts when he refused dinner.

Eventually, his father takes over his upbringing.
Satoru would be lying if he doesn't confess that a part of him held anger for the man, the supposed protector of their household, for being absent. He looks at his own flesh and blood, as a political pawn, a trophy to boast upon the other adults. He knows that some of the elders in those meeting rooms look at their family with much envy. So he runs to Kiku's arms where he remembers the comfort of warmth and safety, like that of his mother.

Gojo Satoru wasn't a stupid child, like his father probably hoped him to be. He knows that when the adults do not seek his attention and the blessing of his presence, what they want is his blood to be spilled. He comes to understand the length those men would go, when he pukes blood, and his father tells him that one of his foods must have been poisoned.