#pellar for hire

[wendingwayfarer]

F.A.Q.

Do you currently take Craft commissions?

Yes, I do.

What services do you offer?

I offer Divinatory Consultations, custom Sigilry, custom Craft Implements, and a variety of Spellwork (including everything from maleficia to curse-breaking.)

How do I go about purchasing your services?

Simply visit my webshop, Wending Wares, and follow the prompts on the site. If you have any issues accessing or using the website, feel free to message me through tumblr, and I will do my best to assist you.

What modalities of divination do you practice?

The methodologies I am currently utilizing in paid readings include:

Tarot Cards

Lenormand Cards

Oracle Cards

Scrying (generally in the form of Inductive Lecanomamcy,)

Or a combination of both Cards and Scrying, synthesized into a single reading.

I read using a few other methods as well, but for personal reasons, I am not currently offering those modalities for online commissions.

What is the pricing for a divinatory reading?

When it comes to Card Readings, I provide a gradient of spread options in order to address a variety of questions and financial situations, including:

The Locus—1 Card for $9

The Dyad—2 Cards for $16

The Trine—3 Cards for $24

The Tetrad—4 Cards for $32

The Quint—5 Cards for $40

The Senary—6 Cards for $48

The Heptade—7 Cards for $56

The Ogdoad—8 Cards for $64

& The Moot—9 Cards for $72

For a standalone Scrying, the rate is $75.

For a Combination of Cards & Scrying, where I inquire with both and synthesize one reading out of them, the rate is $115.

What do you use for payment?

Paypal; lailokenhale@gmail.com

Venmo; @hale-lucien

Kofi; ko-fi.com/lailoken

Cashapp; $WendingWares

Wise; Wending Wares

What sorts of custom implements do you take commissions for?

I will gladly try and make most customized Craft implements that someone comes to me with—so if you’re curious about whether or not I can make something that you’re interested in, please feel free to message me with any questions.

Examples of implements I’ve been commissioned for before in the past include, but are not limited to, Devotional Beads, Craft Staves, Amulets, Spirit Houses, and Windroarers.

What is the pricing for implements?

This depends entirely upon the nature of the implement in question. It comes down to time, effort, and cost of materials.

What is the pricing for spellwork?

Again, this depends entirely upon the nature of the spellwork in question. The more complex, intensive, and dangerous a cantrip is, however, the more it will cost.

Do you take payment installments?

Absolutely. Simply explain your situation to me, and I will always do my best to work with a client to find a solution.

Do you have any restrictions?

• You must be 18 years old, or older, to purchase my services and/or wares.

• I will gladly aid those who come to me with medical issues however I can—both physiological and psychological—but only if the prospective client has already seen/is already seeing a qualified medical expert as well.

• I will not use magic to coerce sexual relationships.

• I will not use dangerous magic against people for petty/insufficient reasons (ie ‘Will you destroy this person’s life because he dumped me?)

Is it okay to write a review?

Sure! You’re welcome to either post one, or to send one to me so that I can post it. (Public testimonials regarding the services I offer can be found on Instagram.

What is a Faerie Physicker?

A person initiated into the role of an Intercessor between our realm and the Otherworld, as well as its denizens; a Fairy Doctor.

What is a Wisefool?

It is essentially a term for an adherent of the Craft I practice—the Wending Way.

Can I initiate into the Wending Way?

At this time, no.

[lailoken]

Hello, all.

I just wanted to apologize for my spotty attendance on this blog, and my inability to respond to most of my asks lately. Without getting into much detail, I have been caught between two overwhelming and traumatic situations (one involving my family, and the other involving my husband's family) and have been spread thin doing what I can to help with each circumstance. I have been taxed as both a pellar and a person, as of late, but I'm doing my best.

Anyone that has inquiries about hiring me for something is welcome to reach out; if I'm not currently able to aid with a particular problem, I will let you know, but I am otherwise available.

[cats-obsessions]

Mark Your Love in Ink

A geraskier soulmates au

Part one - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Rating: T

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Read on ao3

Summary:

Jaskier has always known he has a soulmate. The ink of tattoos have been appearing on his skin since he was born. He spends his whole life wondering who they are, what they'll be like. When he's eighteen, he gets a tattoo to let them know he exists, but there's no response. Three years later, Jaskier begins to wonder if he'll ever meet them at all. Funny how fate has a way of bringing people together.

-----------------------

Jaskier always knew. There was not a second of his life that he hadn’t known he had a soulmate. He was born with the silhouette of a wolf on his ribs. At first, it looked like a blotched birthmark, but after a few years, the shape became clearer. His parents had wondered if he was cursed, but after a visit to an herbalist and a pellar, it was clear it was just a tattoo- the mark of a soulmate.

Something about the purposeful act of marking one’s skin was transferred through the bond. Other things like piercing and scars weren’t shared. Most say that’s because damage is rarely chosen, but who really knows?

Not everyone has a soulmate, but some do- people scattered across the world that their souls are bound to. No amount of space or time can separate them, nor can simple magic remove the bond. Its furiously romantic, at least Jaskier had always thought so.

It was entrenched in their society; people going as far back in time as tattoos themselves wrote of marking themselves when they came of age in hopes of finding another meant for them by fate itself.

The ink appearing across his skin over time sparked as much curiosity as excitement. There were questions, whispered between his parents when they thought he couldn’t hear, musings and worries. Why were the marks appearing at such a young age? What kind of scallion would have all these tattoos? Do they not know they affect someone else? Will he be able to get a job with his markings? Jaskier always rolled his eyes at that one.

They made him cover up, shoved him in turtle necks and long-sleeved shirts even through the sweltering summers. The more he got, the more ashamed his parents became, but Jaskier only felt more of a thrill. They were beautiful, too- tastefully placed and clearly done by good artists. Though he was always most fond of the wolf, he loved each of them: a large arch-griffon showed up on his bicep in middle school, some Latin quote on his chest his senior year, the skull of something very inhuman on his calf in college- a leshen, he thinks.

There weren’t too many, and they seemed to revolve around the fantastical world of monsters and myth- the types of things that were rare in this world. They still existed, but humans had driven many innocent creatures to extinction.

That was another point of contention with his parents, though most things were. It wasn’t a surprise when Jaskier left at the age of sixteen, flying across the continent and enrolling in Oxenfurt University. Two years later was when he got his first tattoo- he thought of himself as pretty clever for it, too.

---------

It’s late autumn when Geralt sees it.

He wakes up late, the wind howling outside against the rickety windows of his apartment. He had dealt with a drowner problem the night before. Of course, the contractor he was working for said it was only a few when it ended up being at least a dozen. And of course, he was underpaid again. But it was work. The results of it, though, left him exhausted and sore from the unexpected battle. He stumbles into the little, dimly lit bathroom to take a shower, pulling his shirt over his head as he does so.

Stark black lines stand out against his pale skin below the wolf on his ribs. It’s a phone number. Above it are the little words “call me” embellished with a heart.

Fuck.

He feels like he’s on fire, that hot sensation in his cheeks he’d recognize as blush- if he could blush. Which he can’t, right? But there’s panic, too. How could this possibly be?! Witchers don’t have soulmates. Fuck, most people don’t think witchers have souls! And look at him, he’s given this person more than enough ink against their will. That thought makes him sick. Almost as sick as the thought of having a soulmate.

He doesn’t call. He doesn’t text. He doesn’t get another tattoo to offer an explanation or anything. He just ignores it, which isn’t that hard to do, really. It’s not in a terribly visible place, and if he keeps his eyes away from the mirror when he showers, he almost forgets about it. But he still feels it; every time he remembers it, it’s like fire burning a hole in his side, taunting him, reminding him someone out there is waiting for a prince charming, and he’s what they got.

---

Three years pass like that, Geralt ignoring the tattoos that pop up on his body from time to time, none of which cover the phone number. The other tattoos aren’t bad- even beautiful. He gets a set of flowers on his shoulder blade, lovely and shaded perfectly; a set of oddly specific music notes appear on his foot, though he doesn’t know what song they’re from; a songbird on his arm, adding to his collection perfectly; his favorite is a small minimalistic portrait of a wolf surrounded by yellow flowers that appears on his wrist one summer.

Late at night when he’s alone with his thoughts, Geralt lets himself imagine that they got that because of him- because of the first wolf tattoo he got. He lets himself think maybe they think of him fondly, associate the wolf with him, and chose to put that tattoo in such a visible place for him.

It’s not true, though, and he knows it.

Even if it were true, they would change their mind if they knew him- knew what he is.

--

He gets a contract to clear out the warehouses on the edge of the city, deep within the less savory parts of town. Here, humans are more likely a danger than monsters, but still, some do stalk the streets, especially late at night.

The man that hired him said he didn’t know what beasts laid in his warehouse, simply that a worker had turned up dead with what looked like scratch marks, time of death estimated around midnight. Blind jobs were always the worst. If the man died at midnight, Geralt will have to wait until then to approach as some creatures only transformed or showed themselves deep into the night.

He decides to kill time at a local bar in preparation. He has never been here before, some odd little college bar, but the food smells good and they have alcohol; nothing else matters.

He sits by himself, running through his list of things he needs to do this week as he waits for his food- maybe he should buy Roach a new toy if this pays well… his eyes shift to wander around the room and take note of the patrons. They’re the usual, grungy broke college kids and people with drinking problems. There’s an alarming overlap between the groups. Then, his eyes shift to where a single musician is setting up for live music.

He looks young; soft hair frames his boyish face with big blue eyes. He’s bright: bright smile, bright eyes, bright clothing- he wears a denim jacket with far too many buttons and patches stuck to it, a colorful floral T-shirt underneath, too tight black jeans, and are those white converse hand-painted with yet more flowers. The kids are still doing that?

Yet, as he begins to sing, Geralt can’t help but keep glancing at him. A song or two go by; his voice is lovely, deeper than he had expected, and it gets harder and harder to look away. It’s a ballad that really captures the witcher’s attention. It’s sad and lonesome, singing about longing for love. Something about it weighs heavy on his heart.

“They say love is mankind’s greatest joy/

But what if I can never find you?”

When the waitress comes by with his food, Geralt finds he doesn’t even glance at her, somehow transfixed by the young man’s singing. His singing is magical. Of course, Geralt knows it’s not literally magical, but it has been a long time since he’s felt drawn to someone like this- if ever.

The song ends and the singer shifts to something more upbeat, some attempted crowd-pleaser, and Geralt shakes the feeling off. He returns his focus to his meal, scrolling through mindless nothings on his phone.

--

When Jaskier finishes his last set, only a few claps can be heard throughout the bar. One asshole says a little too loudly “He’s finally done!”. He sighs in defeat, but this isn’t exactly the live music kinda bar. It’s… actually gross. The floors are awfully sticky. If only he could get a spot in one of the better venues in town, then maybe he could get a break. But music is competitive here.

None of that matters when his eyes lock on the mysterious and gorgeous man brooding in the corner of the bar. He seems to be the strong silent type, sitting alone with his food and an empty beer. He has long white hair, pulled half up. T-shirt under, leather jacket, and are those biker boots? He looks like trouble- no, he looks like danger and heartbreak, and exactly what Jaskier needs in his life.

The musician snags two beers off a waitress’s platter, ignoring her fussing as he moves in closer toward the man.

“As a musician, patrons are typically supposed to offer me free drinks, but I figured I’d make an exception this once.” He says, placing the darker beer in front of the man, hoping he got his preferences right.

He seems to ponder it for a moment, breathtaking golden eyes assessing the beer, then Jaskier. Finally, the man accepts it, taking a long drink before scooting his basket of French fries towards Jaskier “Would the starving artist like a fry?” His voice is deep and gravely and perfect.

“Who said I was starving?” He grins, though he does take a fry, quite happily.

The man ‘Hm’s at him, thoughtful, yet somehow playful “Must be if you’re playing in a dump like this.”

“Fair enough,” Jaskier smiles- or, continues to smile. “I’m Jaskier, by the way.”

His companion doesn’t reply immediately, eventually responding “Geralt.”

“So, Geralt, you know I’m a starving artist. What do you do?”

That seems to entertain him as Geralt quirks an eyebrow at him, a sly smirk on his face. “You don’t know, do you?”

Jaskier scrunches his eyebrows together “That’s why I’m asking?”

Geralt huffs amusedly “Call it security.”

“For shitty bars?”

“No.”

Jaskier fakes a pout, fluttering his eyelashes “Aw, and I had already been planning to come back to see you.” He watches as Geralt rolls his eyes- his golden… cat eyes. In the dim lighting of the bar, his pupils had been big enough to seem round, but Jaskier notices them contract slightly, forming something more adjacent to slivers. And suddenly, it makes sense. His hair, the medallion around his neck, the brooding- the musician gasps “You’re a witcher!” he says, almost giddy with excitement.

There’s nothing meek about Geralt in the slightest. Yet, for a moment he looks as though he wants to crawl under the table. It doesn’t bother Jaskier, though, who is nearly grinning ear to ear “Oh, how wonderful! Tell me everything,” he demands, leaning farther across the table.

Geralt gazes at him quizzically, actually surprised by his reaction “Not really supposed to share details with strangers.”

“Ah, you probably don’t want to talk about work, anyways. Perhaps another time,” he adds slyly. The witcher does not offer to redirect the conversation, seemingly content with his silence. Though, he doesn’t object when Jaskier snags more of his fries. The musician goes as far as leaning across the table to dip them in the little container of ketchup Geralt has sitting in front of him. That’s when he notices the squiggly outlines of black on Geralt’s arm, just barely showing under the cusp of his sleeve.

“Oh, you have tattoos,” Jaskier points out cheerily.

He had expected Geralt to offer to show him, but he only gets an affirmative “Hm,”

“I love tattoos!” he pushes “I only have a few myself, but I always want more. They’re addictive, you know. Can I see them?”

“Fine.” Geralt says as if it were a burden, but he sees him smirk, however subtle. Ah, so Jaskier chose the right topic, after all.

He watches a little too closely as Geralt shucks off the leather jacket. At first, Jaskier focuses on his muscles- gods he’s muscular. It almost looks like he’s going to rip his shirt, the way the fabric strains as he pushes off his jacket. But then, with his arms showing, Jaskier’s eyes freeze on the tattoos- the familiar arch-Griffin, his wolf with flowers, the swallow. Jaskier’s tattoos. And suddenly he feels like he can’t think, can’t process what’s going on. The sound of the bar patrons in the background all but drowns out to the pounding of his heartbeat.

Jaskier opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He closes it, then tries again. “Why didn’t you call me, you prick?!” Jaskier exclaims, nearly jumping over the table with the way he’s out of his seat in an instant, the chair making a loud squeak against the hard floor as a result. A few people turn to look at them, but he doesn’t notice.

He thought his plan was foolproof, thought for sure that his soulmate would call, and when they didn’t, the tattoos stopped too. It was the worst feeling Jaskier had ever experienced. He doesn’t know how long or how much he cried. He thought they might have died!

“Do you know I had to pay a hundred dollars to keep that phone number last time I switched phone providers? Just in case you called!” Jaskier fusses, though that really probably shouldn’t be what he’s most concerned about right now.

“What are you talking about?” Geralt asks, voice suddenly cold and harsh.

Jaskier rushes to push his jacket sleeves up, hands shaking with anticipation. However, when his tattoos, and heart, are finally bared to the witcher, he recoils.

“We’re soulmates, bounded by fate!” Jaskier beams, hoping his excitement will rub off on the other man. “I’ve been waiting forever to meet you.”

“I don’t believe in fate.”

The words are flat and dull, said as though they weren’t crushing. Jaskier tries not to take it personally. A lot of people are frightened when they meet their soulmate. And- well, Geralt’s a witcher. They’re notorious for being loners.

Still, he pushes. “Come on, we’re connected for a reason.”

“No, we’re not” Geralt barks back with a frown. He’s on his feet in an instant, digging through his wallet and throwing down some bills on the table. He’s tall. Oh, heavens he’s even taller than Jaskier, only by a little, but his broadness makes it more obvious. Jaskier barely has time to register what’s happening before the witcher is walking away from him, strides heavy, confident, and broody. Of course, he got the broody one.

He doesn’t let his soulmate’s negativity deter him, though. Jaskier throws his guitar over his shoulder and scuttles after Geralt.

--

The cold night air should be refreshing. It should help him clear his mind but hearing the boy’s hurried footsteps and thundering heart behind him does little to calm Geralt. It had been fine, just a bit of non-committal flirting and a free beer until tattoos came into play. He hadn’t thought anything of it when Jaskier asked to see; it wasn’t the first time he’d had someone ask. He never expected to meet his ‘soulmate’ and especially not some college kid in a dive bar. If the adrenaline coming off Jaskier in tidal waves is anything to go by, he wasn’t expecting this either.

Speaking of the devil, Jaskier catches up with him, speaking much faster than before, all nerves and pent up energy. “Look, I’m not proposing to you right here and now. Hell, I’m not even asking you to hop back to my apartment for a celebratory romp- not that I would be opposed, regardless of the tattoos, but- oh, shit, you could be straight. Gods. I know it might be a lot. But we’re connected!”

“It’s just haphazard, faulty magic. Some people claim to see the future by sniffing cheese. Do you believe everything they say, too?” Geralt tries to reason with him- or with himself. He isn’t quite sure which one needs convincing more.

“I’m just asking to get to know you. As friends.”

“No. I don’t do friends.”

“That’s not fair. I’ve spent my whole life wondering who you are. I- gods it all makes sense now. You’re a witcher. You must be quite a bit older than me. I was born with a tattoo: the little wolf. My whole life I knew I had a soulmate, and all I ever wanted was to meet you, and now you’re pushing me away?!” his voice cracks on the last word, and Geralt feels the guilt shoot straight to his gut. “Just give me a chance.”

Geralt stops in his tracks, turning to face Jaskier. The sudden movement has the man tripping over his feet to come to a halt. “I’m sorry,” Geralt says finally.

Jaskier gawks at him, confusion evident on his face.

“If I had known, I would’ve never gotten all these tattoos. I’m sorry.” He reiterates “That must have been rough.”

“Is that why you stopped getting them after I got one?” Jaskier murmurs. The way he looks at Geralt with those round eyes makes his stomach churning. It’s like he can communicate every emotion so clearly through a glance- pain, hurt, hope… Geralt nods, and the rawness of the moment is gone in an instant, replaced by Jaskier’s confident prattling once more.

“While I admit, most people don’t start seeing tattoos until they’re in high school at the earliest, I never resented them. I adore them- really. I suppose I’m quite fortunate. You have fantastic taste in tattoos.” He grins

That makes Geralt smile, just in the slightest, but it’s gone as soon as it appeared. “I’m not the kind of person someone like you wants to be around.”

“But I do.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“And you don’t know me. I want to change that. That’s all I’m asking.”

Geralt breathes in deeply, holding it in for a second before releasing and allowing the tension in his shoulders to subside. It's his habitual method of getting ahold of his stress, but it has the inadvertent effect of inundating him with Jaskier’s scent; he smells like flowers, a combination of some cologne and his naturally sweet smell, something Geralt wishes he didn’t notice.

What options does he really have? He’s already marked up the boy’s skin. What kind of man just walks away from that? He gets the feeling that if he did, it wouldn’t be the last he would see of Jaskier- seems like a persistent bugger. Maybe one conversation would sate his curiosity enough to drive him away.

Finally, he speaks “I have two hours, then I have to go to work. What did you have in mind?” Before Jaskier can open his mouth, he adds “Somewhere public.”

“Of course, of course- I would never threaten your honor.” Jaskier chuckles, “I know a place not too far from here that serves boozy milkshakes,” he offers.

“Fine.”