Today is ma birthday! I requested this before but can you Poseidon girldad headcanons? Just love characters like him being soft and loving to their daughters, Actually love to see him with twin girls if that’s cool too, thank u!
Immediately Wrapped Around Their Fingers
The moment he holds them for the first time—two squirmy, crying little mortals wrapped in seafoam-colored blankets—he melts. God of storms? No. God of soft coos and holding both girls against his chest while whispering how perfect they are.
No One Touches His Daughters
If any creature—mortal, monster, or god—so much as breathes wrong near his girls? The ocean churns. Earthquakes rumble. One time a dolphin accidentally bumped into one of them while swimming and Poseidon banished it from the reef.
He tries to help braid their hair like he’s seen you do, but it always ends in seaweed somehow being involved (“It’s natural conditioner!”). The girls giggle like sea nymphs and let him keep trying because he gets so proud of his crooked little braids.
“Daddy’s Girls” Through and Through
They ride on his shoulders across beaches, wave-travel on his magic, and refer to him as “King Dada of the Ocean.” He pretends to protest when they decorate his trident with flower crowns and pearls, but he keeps it like that for days.
He teaches them how to command the sea—but only after they promise never to use it for revenge unless someone really deserves it (like a sea monster who doesn’t say “please”).
Fierce Protector, Gentle Heart
He can cause hurricanes, but his voice softens to a tidepool lullaby when he sings them to sleep. They fall asleep curled on his chest, his voice rumbling like distant thunder, singing ancient sea shanties in languages only the ocean remembers.
Bows to No One (Except You and the Twins)
He could be arguing with Zeus or reprimanding Triton, but the moment his daughters tug on his hand and whisper “come play,” he drops everything. Once canceled a godly meeting to attend a seashell tea party hosted in their mermaid fort.
He creates a private island just for the four of you. It has glowing tide pools, warm sun, and a sky that always listens. It’s a place no one else can find unless invited. It’s where he teaches them how to shape waves into dolphins.
Twin Personalities, Same Love
One daughter is bold and adventurous, the other shy and sweet—he treasures them equally. He calls them his “tempest” and his “moon tide.” You’re the only one who could calm both when their powers begin to show.
Overprotective Dad Mode = Activated
The first time a boy tries to impress them (even if they’re like, six), Poseidon stares the child down until they start crying and swim away. You gently remind him to be “less intimidating.” He only slightly listens.
Watching you with the girls—calming them, guiding them—makes him fall in love with you all over again. He sometimes just stares in awe, calling you his queen, his calm in the storm. He tells the twins, “Your mother is the strongest force in this world.”
The Daughters’ Favorite Phrase?
He’d shatter mountains to make that true.
“A god, a queen, and two tiny hurricanes.”
Teamwork Parenting (with Divine Flair)
You and Poseidon are the ultimate power couple when it comes to parenting. You’re the calm to his tempest, the one who gives the look when he’s about to overreact about a stubbed toe like it’s a war wound.
“She’s fine, sea king. Let me handle it.”
Twin Birth = Poseidon Losing His Mind
He was absolutely feral during labor. The waves crashed for hours. At one point, he threatened to flood Mount Olympus because the healer made you wince. But when he held both girls and saw you cradling them, hair messy, skin glowing with sweat and divine power—he swore he’d never loved anything more.
“I may command the oceans, but you—you command me.”
When the Girls Cry = Two Reactions
You: “Okay, sweethearts, let’s breathe through it.”
Poseidon: Already has three plush sea creatures, a golden harp playing lullabies, and a mini tidal pool with fishies dancing.
“They’re children, not royalty.”
“They’re my children. Same thing.”
The twins asleep in their coral-shell cribs, and Poseidon wraps himself around you in bed, voice husky and reverent:
“I see the sea differently now. It’s not power. It’s not wrath. It’s you. It’s them. It’s all the things I never knew I wanted.”
Your Girls Are Just Like You
One of the twins has your eyes, and Poseidon stares into them like he’s seeing you again for the first time. The other has your wit, and he cannot win an argument with her. You’re smug about it. He secretly loves it.
Pet Names for the Four of You
You: “My heart.” “Stormbringer.”
The girls: “My stars.” “My coral crowns.”
Himself? “Your sea idiot,” he says fondly when you scold him for teaching the twins how to summon dolphins in the bathtub.
Family Outings = A Whole Production
He clears the seas so the weather’s perfect. You pack snacks, sunblock, and divine diapers. The twins ride seahorses and throw seashells at Hermes when he dares interrupt your beach day with “Olympus business.”
He scoops you up—no arguments—and lets the sea rock you while he handles bedtime. You fall asleep to his deep lullaby echoing through the waves as he holds the twins against his bare chest.
“She gave me everything. I can handle this.”
When the Girls Have Nightmares
You’re up in seconds. But Poseidon’s already there, summoning a starlit sea inside the nursery, letting them float gently above the waves.
He doesn’t tell you, but he checks on you both too, brushing your hair back, whispering thanks to the tide that brought you into his life.
He may be a god, but when you raise a brow—he listens.
“No sugar before bed, no summoning krakens in the tub, and no calling Athena ‘Aunt Chicken.’”
Poseidon, grinning with his trident behind his back: “Yes, my queen.”
After long days, it always ends the same: you, Poseidon, and the twins curled up on a tide-hewn bed beneath swaying seaweed lights. His arms around all three of you, whispering stories from before time began, softened by your laughter.
What the World Sees vs. What You See
The world sees Poseidon as the god of storms and seaquakes.
You see the man who holds your daughters like they’re made of foam and light.
Who kisses your stretch marks and says, “This is where the sea carved its treasure.”
Who cries when your girls call him “Dada” for the first time.
Who would drown Olympus itself to keep your family safe
