Daily Writing Prompts discussion

Hey!! Today’s writing prompt is:
“Write a story with a dad and a daughter.”

Oh, wait, this is so cute.

"Daddy," Fae squeals in protest to the purgatorial tickling from her father.
Her face lights up in a pulled-up smile, her eyes glittering as she tries to wrench her little body from her father.
Her father chuckles, refusing to move his hands from the place they attack.
"What is it, daisy?" his voice is thick in an accent, a teasing grin reaching his eyes. He knows what's "it." He is the cause of the "it."
"Stop it!" she cries, wriggling off the bed, through her father's legs, and succeeding in tripping over a pair of her mother's broken-down boots.
"What trouble are you two causing this time?" Fae's mother comes around the corner, zipping up a jacket and hanging it on the coat rack next to the doorway. She rights Fae's fallen pile of limbs before her husband can reach the child. "So very naughty," she sighs with an almost amused huff.
"Oh, she won't get away from me sweetheart," the father says, a half smile tugging at his lips.
The child runs from the room, and the father receives a slap in the chest from his beloved wife.
This only wins her another smile however.
He does not waste another moment standing there and chases after the poor five-year-old.
The child lets out a surprised scream as she's lifted back into the man's arms, twirled around the room they now stand in.
Like a princess.
Or perhaps a bird.
The bits of hair that have strayed from her two buns fly as her dizziness proceeds to grow.
"Daddy!" she squeals again, her arms going out like an airplane.
Yes, a bird. Ready to take flight.

Awww that’s so cute I love it!!

It was fun to write! Felt very nostalgic.
I love that the father calls her daisy. It's sweet.

TW (pls proceed carefully)
"Dad, please. Dad please don't do it anymore." I beg. I plead. I press my hands to my ears.
He doesn't stop. The weapon of his choice is shiny. It's glittering. It's hurting. I can feel the blood trickling down my face.
There are bruises. Of course there are bruises. Some are fresh. Brand new. A dark shiny royal purple. Some are a vibrant blue. Some are a dull yellow, nearly fading away but not quite. They pattern my skin in a burst of hurtful vibrant explosions.
My throat is raw from screaming. It hurts. So I don't speak anymore. I take the jabs without a word.
I tell mom. I show her my bruises, lifting the sleeve of my shirt.
"I can't see any bruises. Stop lying." She says. So I shut up.
Obviously there aren't any bruises. There aren't any bruises because the damage he did isn't on my skin. What he did is imprinted in my soul.
Sometimes I wish he had hit me. Maybe it would have hurt less.
But he chose to shatter my spirit. And I carry the broken shards and get called a liar.

TOXIC but so good!!! Crazy how the prompt and what we decided to write about are so very contrasts so deeply.

*contrasted

Wow this was so creative!! I love it!!