[...]

ALL YOU SEE IS BLOOD.

[daisiblings]

I'D CARRY HIM UP TO HEAVEN ON MY BACK. I'LL HOLD HER HAND ALL THE WAY DOWN TO HELL. MARK AND MARI DAI, AS WRITTEN INTO THE CW'S SUPERNATURAL (2005). EARLY SEASONS BASED, MAIN PORTRAYAL OF MARI CAN BE FOUND AT #GODSGUN. [...] rules (below). character overviews.

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a private, mutuals only writing blog for mark and mari dai, original characters that have existed since 2013-ish. twenty1+, trigger heavy, and a very low tolerance for inappropriate behavior. we're all adults, please act accordingly, responsibly, and compassionately. i use the block button liberally and how i see fit. content warnings are as follows: abuse, domestic violence [both alluded to but never actively written], violence, drug use / addiction, alcoholism, emotional self harm, c-ptsd, abuse of power, death, and murder will all be present here. everything except religious imagery will be tagged accordingly.

[⁰¹]. basic rules apply: no bigotry, no bootlickers, no mother ruzzia dicksuckers, no aging up muses for smut, no glamorizing / demonizing addiction, no fetishization, no callout culture, no cops / military lovers, no nazi apologists, no abusive relationships under the guise of 'toxicity', no pinkwashers, no writing real people (seriously, netflix adaptations count), et cetera. you get the picture. be cool and i'll be cool right back.

mark and mari are heavily intended to be both parallels and inverses to dean and sam. their connection, despite how some verses may or may not reflect that, is extremely codependent and heavily distorted of what 'typical' siblinghood looks like because of their upbringing. i do write verses of them both living individual lives, but for the most part i do prefer to write their stories intertwined. it must be said, though, that mari is my main muse and will remain that way. although mark appears on this blog, he's more of a sidekick (sorry to that man) than an equal dual muse.

[⁰²]. yo, i'm koi, twenty6, he/him. transmasc legend who's got it going on, et cetera. discord is available upon request.

ADDITIONAL LINKS: nsfw sideblog [for mari]. mari + mark aesthetic sideblog. characterization posts. main mari blog.

[daisiblings]

@churchbled

[daisiblings]

it's a hunt with no violence: a pursuit with no kill. in the dark, shadowed corners of jesse's home, mari takes everything she believes in— and burns it to the ground. (behead them. burn them. strike them down, never look back.) long ago, she'd learned what vampires were, who they killed. what they did, why they couldn't exist. it's her job. it's always been her job. from birth, from adolescence, from years gone and years to go; mari picked up the mantle and never learned to put it down. she stretched miles, saw phantoms, killed monsters crawling in the depths of the streets ... she was ruthless.

but not loved. not like here, not like this— cradled to the gentle wash of shampoo, hands smearing bubbles across her cheekbone, a worrying gaze drifting across the contours of her body. (she's all skin and bones, now. pale and drifting towards deterioration as if it's the last light in the sky. sunken to the pull of the drugs. sinking to his mouth against her skin. sucked dry. empty.)

"it wasn't supposed to get this far." — @pinkman, as jesse pinkman.

his voice is quiet. nothing but a soft rumble of thunder before the storm sets in. mari's hand drifts up to his jawline, traces the faint stubble across his cheek, and then lets it fall to her side— ignoring the tremble as she does so. "'s okay." she's quiet, too. just a soft rasp of assurance as she studies his features. "we're okay." are they? is she? the thought submerges beneath the bathwater, and mari shivers. "i'm cold."

[daisiblings]

there's a certain type of hunter that mark can read the minute he sees them. the posturing, the ego, the too-big-for-their-size anger that they wear like a goddamn leather jacket. long story short: dae-ho fits the bill. since they met, since all of this began, it became an irritating grate at the edge of his space. something that nudged its way in slowly, then all at once.

maybe it's the politics of it all. the hunter-to-hunter, man-to-man kind of thing that only certain viewpoints allow him to glean. mari seems blind to it, finding little to no problem despite how mark fights the urge to scoff and scowl at every other word that comes out of his mouth. or maybe, more accurately, it's the image of opposites. mark raises his right hand, dae-ho drops his left. mark goes for his gun, dae-ho goes for his knife. they're out of sync. more importantly, they're out of options, because man-to-man and hunter-to-hunter only gets them as far as this.

they're half-whispering in the exterior of the motel, heated tones raising above the awning and spitting off to the skies. mark's got plenty to say. turns out, so does dae-ho. and with mari seemingly off in the privacy of her own space, everything turns ugly.

"you weren't supposed to hear that." — @manenuf, as dae-ho kang.

mari's form is shadowed behind them. eavesdropping, surely, and looking smaller than usual. she's never liked when mark fights. she's never liked him angry, more than anything, and he's rarely as spiteful as he turns out to be now.

"mari." mark exhales, and mari blinks widely at the two of them. opens her mouth to speak, and then sews it shut. "it's—" a flickered gaze to dae-ho, halfway to a peace offering. "we're fine." mari's mouth twitches, in the way that he knows she wants to call bullshit, but she stares at dae-ho a second longer than normal and mark figures that he won't. another glance at dae-ho, more pressing this time. "right? we're good."

[daisiblings]

the hunt's getting to her. it's been days, maybe a week of it. shit motels and long stretches of road, bumps in the night and monsters beneath beds. the routine, except it's nothing like the routine, because working with mark is one thing— working with some sort of pseudo, off brand, mimicry of a superhero is another. mari's never been much for it. the capes, the shields, the brand-name faces that end up on cereal boxes for promo. the glorification. the fucking useless, idiotic acts they do, all for a glimmer of spotlight. it isn't her gig. never has been. hunting's a godless, thankless job with nothing above or below but shattered halos and soul-sucking demons, but at least it's honest. at least it's real.

her duffle thuds as it's tossed to the side, slung off her shoulder and to be dealt with later. soldier boy — ben, — is halfway to her bad side, slinging out remarks and pushing at her buttons like it's an escape hatch to a more entertaining world. but she's nothing but gritted teeth and soldered jaw, vision tinged with the instinct to cut the shit and call his bluff like she'd do any other. play nice, mark had said. you know what? fuck that.

"i never said i was a good person." — @garglemyballsack, as soldier boy.

"and i never thought you were one." her tone's flat, pushing at the end of her rope. sawing at the edges of her mouth like she's two seconds away from swallowing him whole. teeth and bite and carnage in their conversation's wake. a scoff. "you know, i — if you're going to call yourself a fucking stupid-hero—" intentional slip of the tongue. "then you might want to work on your interpersonal skills. you know, beyond the whole— waving your dick around bullshit."

[recordmemes]

༘⋆｡ stirring the pot starters

a mix of arguments, tension, manipulation, gossiping, fighting, & general emotional messiness!

you  weren't  supposed  to  hear  that.

don't  look  at  me  like  i'm  the  only  one  lying.

want  to  tell  them,  or  should  i?

you  think  i  don't  know  what  you  did?

i've  hit  people  for  less.

oh,  i  thought  you  already  knew.

that's  funny,  you  didn't  say  that  last  night.

say  that  again.  i  dare  you.

you  wanna  talk  about  loyalty?

no  offense,  but  if  you're  the  last  to  know,  that's  on  you.

go  ahead  -  pretend  like  it  wasn't  your  idea!

they  deserve  to  know  the  truth.

you  didn't  hear  this  from  me,  but  -

oh,  so  now  you  care?

don't  flatter  yourself.  you  were  just  convenient.

you  crossed  a  line.

we  had  bets  on  how  long  it  would  last.

it's  not  even  a  secret  anymore.

you  don't  get  to  cry  about  it  now.

touch  me  again  and  see  what  happens.

say  it  again.  louder  this  time.

you  really  thought  nobody  would  find  out?

don't  act  so  innocent.

okay,  but  am  i  the  villain  for  laughing?

tell  me  who  else  knows.  right  now.

this  whole  time,  and  you  didn't  say  a  word?

don't  act  brave  now.

you're  really  gonna  do  this  here?

it  wasn't  supposed  to  get  this  far!

you  can't  rewrite  history.

oh,  i'd  never  say  it  to  their  faces.

it  was  supposed  to  stay  between  us.

we're  all  thinking  it,  i  just  said  it.

you're  not  as  untouchable  as  you  act.

do  you  even  feel  guilty?

they  warned  me  about  you.

go  ahead,  make  it  worse.

if  you  repeat  this,  i'll  deny  everything.

the  next  thing  out  of  your  mouth  better  be  an  apology.

you're  about  three  seconds  away  from  regretting  this.

you  keep  pushing,  and  i'll  push  you  back.

they're  going  to  find  out.

one  more  lie,  and  i  walk.

they're  lying  to  you.

you  need  to  back  off.  now.

you're  defending  them?  after  everything?

don't  try  to  hide  it.

tell  me,  was  i  just  a  placeholder?

you  really  think  sorry  fixes  this?

there's  nothing  left  to  say.

don't  act  like  you're  the  one  hurting.

i  don't  owe  you  any  explanation.

whatever  helps  you  sleep  at  night.

you  should've  seen  this  coming.

i  hope  it  was  worth  it.

i  told  the  truth.  just  not  all  of  it.

you'll  miss  me  before  i  miss  you.

smile.  you're  ruining  the  mood.

i'd  watch  that  tone  if  i  were  you.

it's  not  my  fault  you  believed  me.

you  have  such  a  talent  for  pretending  you're  innocent.

we  both  know  this  is  over.

i  never  said  i  was  a  good  person.

i  thought  you  were  different.

[cainevesson]

Preferring the company of bees and cattle over most human or fellow supernatural beings for decades leaves Cain a bit rusty in situations such as this. A lone wolf freed from his cage with the name tag curse, well, he finds himself in more or less crowded environments almost frequently these days. Usually flanked by a certain angel and at least one Winchester. Or whichever other supernatural creature he currently learns to tolerate. Mari appears about as eager to make connection as Cain himself ; incredibly selective, with one foot ever on the battlefield. He didn't order booze. That's rare, given the aggression potential it rattles awake betwixt those ancient bones.

Cain settled with a pint of wheat beer, after a hearty sip plants it back atop the counter while keeping his hand idly against the damp cold surface. "I probably should be more embarrassed than I am to say I have no idea what myspace is", he answers with a crooked smile peeking through his beard. Tentative, his goal around strangers is never to come off as friendly too soon.

"If you allow the question, why would it be lucky to have you?" Expectation tugs at his brows, chin tipped upward by a meager inch to underline such. "Sorry, I'm afraid you opened a can there." And Mari being pleasant company thus far, not at all overbearing but just the right amount of reserved— tickles curiosity even in a demon who'd think he's seen and heard everything.

[daisiblings]

thinking before she speaks is reserved for stand-offs and sobriety, and lucky — for cain, more than anything — she's neither. this is what the night does to her. the world empties out, yawns its black-abyss mouth over her shoulders, and leaves her running for the nearest bar before she can dissect what any of it means. she's never had much interest in introspection. for what it's worth, it's never had much interest in her, either.

if anything, mari's always been more like a bug under a magnifying glass. singed by the sun, eclipsed by the moon. small in theory, meaningful in practice. a metaphorical example that god likes to point at when he's feeling philosophical. or maybe that's just her ego talking. maybe it's all as meaningless or as meaningful as she makes it, and the liquor simply emphasizes what already matters.

regardless, she kicks away the gloom and doom and pastes on a smile. vaguely amused, truthfully relieved— like she said before, strangers, nowadays, are a little more welcome.

"myspace is for idiots and dickwads, a — anyway. don't sweat it." a spin of her shot glass, absently. "the internet is a vast and awful place. be grateful you're not scrolling th — through pictures of assholes in backward hats and sorting through emoticons." a soft snort, and she nods over to the bartender. orders herself another drink. a turn back towards the other, as she rests her jaw into her palm. elbow on the bartop, gaze flickering over features. "anywhere's lucky to have me." the bartender returns with her drink, and she offers another nod of thanks. her attention returns. "i'm b — basically a blessing not-in-disguise. god's special princess, or whatever."

[daisiblings]

YOUR TRAGIC LOVE STORY IS:

(for mari,) grantaire & enjolras. [les misérables] you love with a loyalty that borders on worship, even when it isn’t reciprocated. you throw yourself into others’ light, content to burn if it means being near them. you’re self-aware, cynical, but your heart is stubborn, it believes even when your mind doubts. your love story is about yearning, about staying when you shouldn’t, about finding meaning in someone who may never truly see you.

TAGGED BY: @m0tel. blows u a kiss TAGGING: @chyremn, @picksmusic, @outlaste, @eterknows, @manenuf, and whoever else wants to.

[daisiblings]

mari has the type of autism that makes her start bar fights as a way to engage with her special interest (martial arts). mark has the type of autism that makes him insult you ten times because he’s “just being honest”

[daisiblings]

mari's taken enough risks in her life to understand what it feels like before you die. the fear. the sharp rattle of a breath. the way your body runs cold like it's never known warmth in its life. the sheer, unrelenting terror. it's enough to serve as a warning; enough to serve as a threat— but mari's never been good at reading signals, and every stop sign looks like go.

the hunt's nowhere near routine. some monster of a monster that became another monster over time, chasing after kids and animals and everything that its mouth can touch. mari doesn't stand for it. dean doesn't either. the difference is, is that courage sometimes looks like a death wish, and when he pulls her out of the ashes it nearly seems like suicide.

"what the fuck were you thinking?" — @m0tel, as dean winchester.

her rib's broken, probably. surely. or maybe there's some gaping hole in her torso she's too shellshocked to see. "had to get it." her voice sounds faraway. everything seems smaller than it is. her hand drifts over her mouth when she coughs, but it pulls back red. a blink. "just—" she wipes the blood away with the back of her hand. smears the rest onto her shirt. "doing my job."

[daisiblings]

okay, fair warning that i'm not great at these, but: starter call. specify muse, pretty please!

[daisiblings]

"you expecting a party?" — @2scompany, as elijah reynolds.

she's quite a view. cigarette burning, ash fluttering, the length of dark hair settling at her hips— belt buckle glinting in the moonlight. her gaze ate up by the abyss of the stars. currently, she's got smoke stuck between her teeth but only a whisper of an exhale sends it sailing. bursting bubbles and blazing hellfire all with the branded marlboro red to count. the pack still sticks out from her pocket. her lighter flips around in her palm.

dive bars and pool halls have seen her face a million times. enough to make an impression, enough to lose her in the crowd. tonight, as the interior shakes and the laughter booms, mari steps aside to watch a passing car rattle down the road like a jet-engine on speed. or, at least, she thinks it looks something like that, but she's a few drinks deep and nobody ever said she was reliable. she seems to think she's not.

a glossy gaze travels to the newcomer aside her, lighter continuing to shift between fingers and palm like modern day magic— as if she could conjure up flame just with a flick of her fingertips. a party. the thought is something of a laugh, these days. the only she had was one of a sibling, and he's long past any days with her. hopefully. ideally. even if it leaves her lonesome, in the end.

"maybe." her response leaves something to be desired, something sin-cast and soulful in the bottom of her tone. she pockets the lighter, drags from the cigarette, and watches smoke spin out towards the awning ... then disappear, like everything does. another glance over to the stranger. "depends what you'd consider a party."

[daisiblings]

on the topic of mark dai. as said in my pinned post, mark is kind of a side character on his own blog. this is for a plethora of reasons, really, (one of which being that mari is my main muse) but it doesn't mean mark is without depth. it means that mark's depth is a roadblock, rather than an open avenue that allows him to be accessible.

the thing about mark is that the way in which he copes / deals with his trauma is through ways that don't allow him longstanding or even depth-filled connections. he keeps everyone at an arm's length, shoves himself into a box, and doesn't let himself come out of there. his one singular longstanding connection that he did have took years of his life to develop, and then consequently died. with that in mind, along with his childhood, a lot of his dependence and his focus is geared towards mari. she is the center of his life, and even his prose reflects this. he's often thinking about her even when mari is, in stand-alone threads, not thinking about him, and whilst she's a consistent thought in his mind, she's often just doing her own thing as an individual.

part of that is him being an older sibling who had no choice but to center mari for the majority of his life, but another part of it is that mari is part of mark's identity. mark is torn between the life of a hunter (something he doesn't even really enjoy, in all truth), the life of a brother (which comes along with being a hunter, and vice versa), and the life he'd had so so briefly in his years apart from mari. his identity, for a large majority of his life, was laid on the foundation of the first two— so, outside of that, he didn't have a lot of time to develop into an individual in the years he was separated from his sister. and when grief comes into the picture, he fractures. he collapses into the labels he understands, and doesn't try to develop himself more.

this isn't to say that mark is a one-note character whose sole purpose is to be mari's brother, but it's more to say that mark has devoted himself to that identity in the fear of searching for his own. the core piece of mark that is a through-line between this verse and his main verse is that mark is a coward. emotionally, he has a tendency to run from anything that incites fear in him. in his main verse, this presents as him running from mari, herself, because he fears what has happened to her in the years that they'd been separated and can't bring himself to face the music. in this verse, because of how they separated and the differences in how he'd left, it presents as him being unwilling to explore himself and unwilling to confront, really, anything inside of him. mark intentionally flattens himself. he intentionally puts himself inside a box. it's safe, it's predictable, and he knows how to function inside of it. he has very, very little want to explore what it means to be anything else.

however, on the topic of sustainable and more depth-filled connections, mark would need someone who is not only willing to see through his behavior and internal workings, but someone who is willing to call and confront him on it to an extent that he cannot avoid. that's the whole reason that mark and his [now deceased] boyfriend connected to begin with— he had someone who was willing to call him on his shit and not allow him to run from it. he regressed in the aftermath, as a lot of people grieving do, and he kept regressing, but that doesn't mean that he has to stay there. it doesn't mean that there aren't opportunities for mark to grow.

all of this is to say that, yes, mark is a side character on his own blog. and yes, he's mainly just some guy. but that comes from a place of mark doing it to himself, becoming the title of a brother and not knowing how to let go, and ultimately not knowing how to step into the shoes of an individual who can and will stand on his own. he's afraid. both the dai siblings are. but the way he presents it is completely in opposite to mari, to a point that it almost appears like it's just how he is. i've always said that the siblings are two opposing figures, with one (mari) choosing fight, and the other (mark) choosing flight, but the bones of that are more that one (mari) doesn't know how to stop growing, and the other (mark) doesn't know how to start.

[daisiblings]

"why do you keep coming back?" — @chyremn, as castiel.

mari's never thought of prayer as addicting, but then again— that was before castiel. nowadays, all it takes is half a shot and some courage for her to speak his name. it — all of it — takes a shape in her mouth she can't understand. it doesn't pin-prick the sides of her cheeks like needles, doesn't spit sour into the sink after they kiss. instead, it's tender. warm. like hot chocolate on sunday mornings, peppermint tea right before bedtime ... like something made to soothe. like some reminder of going home.

not that she's ever had a home. the most it's been is long stretches of drives, starry-eyed at stop signs and signal lights and aching for a gas station on the side of a highway. a motel room that blinks vacancy is the closest thing to a welcome mat she's gotten. the p.o box somewhere in south carolina is the only kind of address she has.

still, castiel makes things feel different. consistent. like she can click her proverbial heels, say the magic words, and she'd be back in metaphorical kansas as if there's never been a place like home. it unnerves her. but an addict is an addict, whether it's a back end of a bottle or wings wrapped around her torso, and she's never known how to stop before she hits rock bottom. and god, sometimes, that bottom likes to hit her back ... but not him.

"what?" the question breaks her train of thought, blinking doe-eyed over at the other. (more like a deer in headlights, really, but that's something she won't acknowledge and hopes the other won't perceive.) a swallow, dry, at his question. there's a long beat of silence, before she even considers a response. "i— i don't know." she tugs at the edge of her sleeve, and snaps off a stray string, anxious. another beat, before she turns the perspective on him. "why do you?"

[daisiblings]

"it's nice to hear meeting people in person still works." — @cainevesson, as cain.

she smells like salt-rims and the lime straight after tequila, but the real problem lies in the afterwards. she gets friendly like this, all mouth and teeth and crescent mooned smiles that tip her right over the edge of welcoming, inviting strangers through her vicinity that normally don't get past the door. sue her, she's lonely. after mark left — after she made him leave — everything emptied out. the world became nothing more than a vast land of nothingness, full of ghost-towns and vacant buildings and haunts she knows like the back of her hand. (salt. burn. repeat. salt. burn. repeat.) it all goes the same way. shotgun shells and protective elements and combat boots that lace too tight at her ankles. nothing new around here.

maybe that's why she ends up talking to strangers. ignoring warning bells in lieu of spouting off nonsense. saying incantations in the form of sentences, spelling out her own needs like it's some war-crested spell that might turn true if she drinks. truth is, she's never been magic. truth is, she's always been alone. salt, burn, repeat— she slams another shot down, and wipes the corner of her mouth with her thumb.

"works as much as i w — work it." mari says, and for once, doesn't lie. her form half-leans over the edge of the bar, stares down at her shot glass, and then glances over at the other. strangers, no matter how strange, feel better than all that emptiness. "besides, the internet's overrated. m — myspace would be lucky to have me."

[picksmusic]

" does it only have to be one or the other? " dean's elbow slides across the yellow lacquered bar top & he cocks a shaggy grin. thrumming his hands on the tacky, beer sop wood, he tips his chin to the bartender for one of his own. he casts a sidelong at mark while he waits. hips up onto the bar stool's seat, humming atonally along to the charged guitar solo thumping speakers' mesh tucked into shadowed corner, this is the kind of place he belongs.

the same can't be said for his compatriot, swallowed up in his clothing, anathema to the typical hunter fare currently shucking billiards & sloshing pint glasses together all around them.

a froth-tilted lager slaps the counter. dean pushes a handful of pocket-crumpled bills forward before lacing his top lip with a healthy swig. he lets the anodyne sip set for a moment, pulls another before answering, " yeah, actually. "

without sam to bandy ideas back & forth, to provide a steady stream of research-backed suggestions & counterpoints, the work feels ... wrong. it has him prickling, palm roughing over the short strands at the nape of his neck, perching to the edge of the seat's rim. but he'd spent the better part of the day hunched over his laptop with the sun gauzed in through hazy motel curtains digging & digging until he'd come up with something promising.

" i think we're dealing with some kind of boogeyman. " a crease-lined piece of paper produced from an inner seam of dean's jacket nudges toward the other half of his odd couple pairing. dean's posture undulates, a clustered sound clearing his throat. as clear as the trust absent between them is in the stilted, closed-off nature of their interaction, this is all he's got for a partner. so, he points in the center of the page. " keeps coming back to the kids. so, the question is which one? "

[daisiblings]

there was a day mark tried to fit into all of this. leather jacket, false swagger, the whole nine yards. granted, he was thirteen and swallowed up in hunter bars, thinking that this would be the only life he'd have— but, still. the past's the past, and dean looks an awful lot like one sliver of his history, reborn. or maybe he's just hoping, really, that the winchester brothers aren't as surface level as he thinks. that maybe there's something better beneath their skin other than all that blood and guts they seem to trail behind em. feels a little like a false hope, as he stares over at the man beside him, but for once, he'd be happy to be proven wrong.

another pull from the beer pairs alongside a half-hearted hum. mark's posture straightens an inch when the case is brought to the table, pulling the paper in front of him to assess and skim over. a glance up. "boogeyman?" thank god mari's not here. for more reason than one, now, he's sure that this'll take some delicate work to lay out in front of her. kids aren't exactly the easiest topic when they're the ones being harmed— he's seen plenty of cases crack open and fall apart with that sort of anger inside of her.

his gaze flickers back to the paper, scratching the side of his eyebrow. "have you dealt with this sort of thing before?" not disrespectful, just curious. mark's read a few things here and there on some stories, but the boogeyman, live and in person? not on his radar thus far. "i'll have to do research." to the point. "there's a million stories out there—" he's pulling his bag over to the side, laptop — as always — within arm's reach. "especially nowadays. creepypasta isn't exactly the kind of thing that helps, in this case, and—" a glance over. "does this place have wi-fi?"

[daisiblings]

on the topic of kenji dai. mark and mari are very differing in how they deal with their trauma. from a young age, both siblings were subjected to extreme amounts of abuse— including, but not limited to, physical abuse, verbal abuse, and consistent child endangerment and neglect. their father was a cruel individual who cared very little for his children, and in the loss of his wife did not even see that through the lens of grief as much as the lens of anger. the things that the dai siblings were subjected to throughout their childhoods were violent, uniquely brutal, and very much normalized until their older years.

in the aftermath, mark surged off to university and was able to find some breathing room. with that, there was an ability for mark to genuinely seek out help and support through university counseling, and whilst it didn't truly unpack a majority of his life, it does lead him to be — somewhat — more well adjusted about his trauma. he acknowledges that none of his childhood was, in any way, normal, and he also acknowledges that his father was simply a person. a person he cannot and does not forgive, and one he routinely struggles with villainizing, but still— a person. for that reason, mark is extremely resistant to trusting older male figures, despite not actively rallying against or fighting them. he tends to simply stray away from those types of interactions in an attempt at avoidance. in most verses, mark [at minimum] suspects that mari killed their father. while the story [to everyone else] is that their father died in a hunt, and he will go along with it for mari's sake, he doesn't believe that to be true. and more than that, he doesn't feel any kind of guilt, blame, or upset towards it. in fact, he feels somewhat vindicated and relieved that mari was able to do that for her safety and, ultimately, both the siblings' freedom.

on the other hand, mari's relationship to both her father and her trauma is much more complex. because she bore the brunt of her father's anger and yet felt, for most of her childhood, that it was her fault or that something was incredibly wrong with her, there's an internal battle between the thought that her father was some sort of untouchable god that she was a failed soldier to, and the thought that her father was simply true evil in human form. mari often goes back and forth between these thoughts, never committing to either one, as it's extremely difficult to parse through her own trauma and abuse without being willing to confront it head on. (and mari, in all truth, is the more avoidant out of the two siblings.) with that said, mari's approach to older male figures is complex. she often will resist them on first approach, but become obsessive and latch onto them due to her need to fulfill and sate the feeling that she can be "better," or that she can "redo" her childhood and have a better outcome. specifically, this comes out with older male figures that are unable to fulfill a true and healthy role. alongside that, there's an element of romanticizing any older male figure that is both 1) less "bad" than her father, and 2) not violent towards her. her standards for anyone in her life are typically very low, but with older male figures in specific, this becomes something that easily — and often  — becomes dangerous. it leads into her being willing to near-worship these figures, doing things that she typically wouldn't do for anyone else.

neither sibling talks about their father much, if at all, besides what's necessary. however, it also has to be mentioned that both mark and mari are individuals who have a reputation because of their father. kenji dai was a hunter who would go to any length [including harming civilians, putting his children in danger / using them as bait, et cetera] to get a hunt done. many other hunters see the dai siblings as the type of people who would do the same, following in their father's footsteps. the truth cannot be any more far from this, but the reputation of their father [or rather, the sins of their father] perpetually haunts them no matter how he's faded into the distance.