Cthulhu sighed, a sound like a punctured air mattress echoing through the sunken city of R’lyeh. Dating in the eldritch horror scene was a nightmare (pun intended). Dates either fainted at the sight of his tentacles, or worse, started rambling about the Great Old Ones and prophesies of the stars. A monstrous entity craved a little tenderness, darn it!
Tonight’s date, Dagon, a handsome fellow with a vaguely shark-like head, seemed promising. Dagon, bless his pointed teeth, had a healthy appreciation for the macabre. They were currently enjoying a “romantic” stroll through the bioluminescent kelp forests near R’lyeh.
“So,” Dagon rasped, his voice like gravel grinding, “have you considered a less…cephalopod-themed bouquet for next
time?”
Cthulhu winced. He’d put a lot of effort into those writhing tentacles and glowing eyes sculpted from coral. “It’s…unique,” he mumbled.
Suddenly, a guttural chanting resonated through the water. A group of cultists, clad in seaweed robes, burst from the kelp, brandishing rusty tridents. “Cthulhu! Great Dreamer! We summon thee!”
Cthulhu groaned. Amateur night. He whipped out a dusty scroll, muttered a few words, and unleashed a wave of existential dread. The cultists promptly fainted, their robes turning a fetching shade of chartreuse.
Dagon chuckled, a sound like rocks tumbling in a dryer. “Efficient, I’ll give you that.”
Cthulhu puffed up his non-existent chest. “So, about that second date…”
Dagon’s smile vanished. “Actually, Cthulhu, I have a bit of a commitment tonight. There’s this…ritual. Sacrifice and all that. You know, the usual.”
Cthulhu’s tentacles drooped. “Right. Busy schedule. Maybe next apocalypse?”
Dagon hesitated. “Listen, Cthulhu, you’re a great guy. A real catch, even with all those tentacles. But maybe…” he trailed off.
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe we need to…broaden our horizons a bit.”
Cthulhu blinked, his single, cyclopean eye widening. “Broaden?”
Dagon grinned, revealing a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. “Yeah. Heard there’s a singles mixer happening in the sunken ruins of Atlantis. Apparently, there’s a cute Hydra with a killer sense of humor.”
Cthulhu stared, then a slow, rumbling laugh escaped him. Maybe a Hydra wasn’t so bad. After all, a little variety never hurt an eldritch horror, even if it did have eight heads and a penchant for riddles.
As they swam towards Atlantis, Cthulhu couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, amidst the madness and the dread, there was a chance for a little bit of love, even for a Great Old One with a bad case of the tentacle blues.