Hey, did Bram Stoker ever explain what the hell bloofer meant? Did I miss something? Why was Lucy called the Bloofer Lady?

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Hey, did Bram Stoker ever explain what the hell bloofer meant? Did I miss something? Why was Lucy called the Bloofer Lady?

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@bloofer said: 💋let her kiss his forehead
Free kisses!
She’s been nothing but kind to him. The rarest occurrence, considering his own nature and rather harrowing trade. Ever since the days when he first met her, whilst wearing the disguise of a common bird, the young lady’s good-will does never seem to falter.
Even one like himself, a most wretched creature, should be grateful for such selfless gifts. His friendship might be a fickle thing, but she’ll have it for as long as it lasts.
Thus, Cain, as she sees fit to call him, will solemnly kneel in front of her.
Lucy may kiss his forehead without the inconvenience of their height difference. Then, he may take her hand and kiss it in return. “Should you ever require my assistance, do let me know... please.”
Nothing innocent or wholesome about his offer. He could only provide the sort of services that bring about pain and death, to become a merciless weapon against her enemies.
“I am in your debt.”
@bloofer sent: ‘ I’ve got a secret I need you to keep. ’ / death of an optimist. ( 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 )
does a spider ever set aside its true nature ? for a moment she considers the other, blinking feeling conflict catching hold of her tongue. secrets were a currency to be kept locked inside, with the keys thrown away, lest the wraith found them & bartered it to someone who would make good use of them. but when offered on a pristine plate of confidence, inej does not feel any rush of adrenaline, any sense of satisfaction. not a single web was spun to catch the prey, no tricks performed / no walls crossed. it left a strange sense of disappointment inside her along with a tinge of guilt. ( would she betray such trust placed in her ? ) arms crossed over her chest, she scanned the woman’s face, wondering if it was some kind of a test; wondering if she was a shadow sent by her saints, to assess the limits of her wrongdoings. inej had killed, stolen & swindled to survive, and yet betraying this trust felt more like a sin than slitting a man’s throat.
after a while of staying still, face impassive & devoid of any signs of the war that had just waged in her mind, she squared her shoulders. ❝ alright, I could do that. ❞ it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t a promise either. ( who would offer a falcon a piece of meat inside a closed fist, and not expect it to tear the skin to shreds ? ) inej stepped forward to look the woman directly in the eye. with her voice kept low, she asked, ❝ but why tell me ? ❞
It’s certainly novel, to see a vampire who’s retained so much of that innocent air. Standing there, wistful in the moonlight she reminded him of a poor lost child and already his feet took him on a new route. Giving a giggle was as good at cheating at cards for a night’s fun anyway. “ It’s quite scary and lonesome out here isn’t it ? ” He smiles awkwardly down at her, the perfect image of a befuddled gentlemen, playing at bashful he bows just a bit as he speaks “ Will you protect me miss ? I wouldn’t want to get snatched away by goblins or robbers on my walk ! ”
s.c. // @bloofer
Addressed to a Miss Lucy Westenra, The Grand Palace, Os Alta, Ravka. // @bloofer
Dear Lucy,
I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. It has been some weeks since departing Os Alta and by the time you receive this, we will be nearing the Fold. Truth be told, this is the most I’ve ever seen of Ravka. When I first came over from the Wandering Isle, I was too enamoured by the Grisha who accompanied me: trying to learn whatever I could from them, to piece together a picture of the life I would soon call my own. Now I am surrounded by them, living and eating and laughing together, and my kefta feels more comfortable than any childhood clothes ever did.
The Little Palace does have its charms to it, but I cannot help but feel an ease in the Second Army that was previously unknown to me. There is a sense of companionship that I wish was present back at home, simply Grisha banding together for a common cause. Of course I stick out amongst the sea of red and blue with my purple, but everyone else has quickly learned that I have earned my place here one way or another.
I do admit to a small disappointment in that I cannot rely on your lurking presence as I could at the Palace. My sleeping hours appear to be increasingly overtaken by images of red hair lurking around the corner to the workshop. Naturally it is only a pale afterimage of the real thing. It is still a mystery to me how you take interest in the work of a materialki, but I increasingly find myself talking and expecting to see you there, ready to listen.
If all goes well, then we should be returning to Os Alta within the fortnight. Don’t do anything I would do while I am away.
Yours, James Barnes

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@bloofer said: i have never seen a ghost. / the haunting of hill house, accepting.
𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, he does not acknowledge her. the silence is filled by the crackle of burning wood, wayward sparks dancing through the winter air. his face is illuminated in harsh angles, distorting his features. they had been travelling together for some time but she had not revealed much about herself in that time, and he was too focused on trying to make it through the cold to make small talk. even now, as he clenched and unclenched his fingers, the metal groaned and creaked as it was forced to shift. the last thing he needed to deal with at the moment was having it out of commission. he tugs the coat closer around his chest and finally looks across the fire to her. ❝ they’re unlike whatever conceptions you may have. ❞ ghosts were no stranger to him. what no story tells you is that they are closer to the living in many ways than those still with breath in their lungs are not.
✝ ———- ❛ i already said yes , why are we still arguing ... ❜ /// @bloofer ❤ ’d .
𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴𝚂. / @bloofer asked: killing men is a strange kind of fame.
johanna’s spine, against her will, snapped rigid. she was profoundly thankful that her back was towards lucy — her sudden stiffening might be a betrayal enough, but at least her downturned face was obscured from view. her hands, which had momentarily frozen on the decanter of wine, slowly recovered from the shock and curled around the cold glass receptacle, lifting it up to pour a generous measure into each waiting glass. by the time she had lifted the glasses and turned back around to lucy, her customary polite smile had settled back into place. “ i am sure it must be, miss westenra, but that is hardly a topic for young ladies. ”