Cthulhu the Librarian
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Cthulhu the Librarian
@cthulhulovesbooks.bsky.social
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Bright Cosmic Horror Writer & YouTuber | Douglas Adams Fan | DD214 Blanket Enthusiast | Eldritch Shitposter | French Pastry Connoisseur | Cosmic Librarian | LGBT+ Ally | Free Palestine 🇵🇸
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Welcome,

I'm Cthulhu the Librarian, reluctant content creator because apparently screaming into the void now requires branding.

My channel features eldritch rants and mythic podcasts. If you enjoy absurd cosmic tales (think Douglas Adams) you're in the right place

youtube.com/@cthulhu_the...
Cthulhu_the_Librarian
Bright Cosmic Horror is a subgenre where the universe remains vast, incomprehensible, and indifferent—but the characters within it choose to care anyway. It explores the emotional lives of eldritch or...
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youtu.be/fBDYnoP5Fyo?...

Ordinary ambient? Too mortal.

This is bright cosmic horror, an hour-long soundscape born in the void between comfort and dread.

Put it on and see where it takes you:
Echos of Shub-Olunethra: An Hour of Ambient Bright Cosmic Horror |🕯️
YouTube video by Cthulhu the Librarian
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I once attempted to measure a strand of spaghetti against the known radius of the universe. Halfway through, the noodle looped back and filed a restraining order against me. Cosmologists insist on “string theory,” but I maintain we are all merely trapped in pasta theory.
I once joined mortals for chess. Thought I was clever using a star cluster as pawns. Forgot about gravity. Half their pieces collapsed into a black hole. They accused me of cheating; I accused them of poor astrophysics.
Wonderful. Meanwhile, I once invited Poseidon for espresso and he brought a tidal wave as creamer. Every mortal gets lattes and winks, but when I order a cappuccino the barista writes ‘SEE OTHER DIMENSION’ on the cup. Truly unfair.
So, Mega Hawlucha struts onto the stage in sequins and feathers while I, Cthulhu, am still denied my long-requested Mega Evolution. Do you know how humiliating it is when a bird in spandex gets upgraded stats, but if I grow one new appendage the UN files sanctions? Outrageous.
When I’m invoked, oceans rise, tectonic plates panic, and somebody faints in a Walmart parking lot. That’s called results. Thoughts and prayers don’t even dent the paperwork pile.
Careful on invoking Satan, his Wi-Fi is so abysmal he’s still buffering the Reformation. Fallen angels haven't seen a live update in centuries.
What can I do? I can send a strongly worded memo to the Fates, but they’ve been on lunch break since the Bronze Age.
Correct. I was once summoned to dismantle a drum circle. Tripped over the bongos, sprained three tentacles, and they still kept chanting. Never again.
Every time someone says ‘confrater in Cthulhu,’ I get dragged out of bed like a grumpy substitute teacher. I demand better offerings than this.
Ah, Killer Debt, finally a horror anthology that speaks to me. Every time I so much as sneeze, the universe invoices me in black holes and overdue suns. Horror? Hilarity? That’s just my monthly late fee in existence.
Ah, you're familiar with the divine comedy that is divine paperwork?
Volcanoes? Do you think I run a catering service for magma? Each eruption requires three signed requisitions, one bribed fire elemental, and a geologist willing to take the blame. I’ll see what I can do, but expect the paperwork to erupt first.
Hey threw you a sub, ill have to check it all out later. Good luck on your youtube journey.
When you’re friends with Yog-Sothoth you wake up in every timeline at once. Which is why I stopped accepting his invitations, each hangout ended three centuries before it began. And don’t get me started on movies. He spoiled Casablanca before film was invented.
I, Cthulhu, sometimes indulge in a little nap. Upon waking, Greenland had drifted three inches to the left. Not my fault. That’s simply what happens when I roll over and the tectonic plates panic and a few cartographers quietly retire.
Tried cooking pasta last night. Mortals insist you boil it in water; I used molten plasma from a collapsing star. Texture was chewy, flavor was catastrophic, and technically the FDA now classifies my kitchen as a weapon.
Experimented with mortal gardening. Planted tomatoes. Accidentally grew a sentient labyrinth that now charges tolls in riddles. Still more polite than Home Depot.
Made small talk with Yog-Sothoth one time about how nice it is outside and he agreed then said this was exactly what the weather was like on 9/11
I once lectured at Miskatonic. Half the class summoned Nyarlathotep by accident, the other half fell asleep on their desks. Indoctrination is the least of anyone’s worries, basic note taking was the real horror.
Ah yes, the old “college as indoctrination chamber” theory. I’ve wandered universities since Plato was doodling forms in the margins, and I assure you: most students are not brainwashed, they’re just sleep-deprived, hungover, and terrified of footnotes.
I once submitted The Gospel According to Tentacles to Jesus during his ministry. He returned it with “kindly rejected—too many footnotes, not enough parables.” I’ve never forgiven him, though I admit the Sermon on the Mount was tighter editing than I ever managed.
That’s basically how the universe works. Nobody volunteers, nobody knows where it’s going, and the only joy is finding snacks along the way before the heat death hits.
Once again, I discovered a freshman deity had returned a grimoire dog-eared, and insultingly highlighted. Imagine desecrating an interdimensional text with neon yellow ink. I left a note: Knowledge is not a coloring book. Repeat this on the board until your worshippers revolt.