borderlinedirkhal

[borderlinedirkhal]

‘The Begging of A Breakdown’

Dirk/Hal

BPD, Breakdown, Self Harm, Ideation, BDSM, Impact Play, Homestuck, Harm Reduction, Angst, Sadstuck, Restraints, Emotional Release, Catharsis, Hal can control technology/ the room/robots’

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Dirk sat in his workspace, staring at the cluttered desk in front of him. The hum of the computer, the scattered notes, the flickering monitor—none of it registered. His mind was a storm, chaotic and unrelenting, a cacophony of guilt, self-hatred, and fear drowning out everything else. He should be doing something. Anything. But all he could feel was the gnawing, suffocating numbness that wrapped itself around him like a noose.

“Dirk,” Hal’s voice broke through the haze, calm but clipped. “You’ve been sitting there for twenty-three minutes and forty-seven seconds. Care to tell me what’s going on in that overactive disaster of a brain of yours?”

Dirk didn’t respond. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white against the sharp edge of the desk. He wanted to speak, to say something biting or sarcastic, but the words stuck in his throat, heavy and useless. The silence dragged on, and the pressure in his chest built until it felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“You’re ignoring me now?” Hal’s tone was sharper, almost mocking. “That’s not going to make your problems disappear, you know. Whatever self-destructive monologue you’ve got running up there, I suggest you shut it down before it—”

“Shut up!” Dirk’s voice cracked as he finally snapped, the sound too loud and too raw in the small room. He pushed himself up from the chair, pacing erratically, his hands threading through his hair. “Just—shut up for once, Hal. I can’t—”

He stopped mid-sentence, his breath hitching painfully in his throat. His chest heaved, the tightness unbearable now. His thoughts were too loud, too fast, screaming at him with every step he took: You’re a failure. You’re a burden. You’ll never be enough. Look at you—pathetic, useless, weak.

Hal’s voice softened, no longer sharp or sarcastic. “Dirk. Stop for a second. Breathe.”

Dirk shook his head violently, his hands gripping his hair as if he could rip the thoughts out by force. The walls felt like they were closing in, the air too thick to inhale. He stumbled back, hitting the wall, sliding down to the floor as his legs gave out beneath him. His hands moved to his ears, pressing hard against the sides of his head, trying to drown out the noise—the relentless, overwhelming noise.

“Dirk, listen to me,” Hal’s voice was steady, trying to cut through the chaos. “You’re spiraling. You need to focus on something—anything. Count. Name what you can see. Just—”

“SHUT UP!” Dirk screamed again, the sound tearing from his throat like it hurt to say. His hands slammed against his head, the pain a dull relief compared to the chaos inside. He rocked forward and back, silent sobs wracking his body, his chest tightening further with every uneven breath.

Hal was silent for a moment, and then his voice returned, quieter now, laced with something that almost sounded like concern. “Dirk. You’re not helping yourself by doing this. You’re making it worse. Let me—”

Dirk couldn’t hear him anymore. The words were drowned out by the pounding in his head, the relentless storm of thoughts and emotions that refused to let him go. Tears streamed down his face as he pulled harder at his hair, his nails digging into his scalp. He rocked faster, his body moving like it had a mind of its own, desperate to escape the overwhelming sensations consuming him.

He let out a guttural, broken noise, somewhere between a scream and a sob. His throat burned, his body shaking uncontrollably as he fought against the crushing weight of his own mind. He hit himself in the head again, his fists connecting with a force that made his vision blur. The pain was grounding, but only for a moment. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

“Dirk,” Hal said again, but there was no sarcasm now, no edge. Just a quiet insistence. “You need to stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

But Dirk didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. The breakdown had swallowed him whole, dragging him into a place where Hal’s voice couldn’t reach. He was trapped, a prisoner to his own mind, and the only thing he could do was fight against it, clawing desperately for relief that never came.

His nails scraped against his scalp as he let out another guttural sound, his voice hoarse and raw from screaming. His body trembled violently, his breathing shallow and uneven. He didn’t know how long he’d been there, rocking back and forth, hitting himself, crying until his throat felt like it would collapse. Time didn’t exist anymore—only the endless cycle of pain and panic and desperate, suffocating fear.

Dirk’s hands fell away from his ears, trembling as he stared down at the floor, his breathing erratic and shallow. The relentless storm inside his head had twisted into something else now—something sharper, darker. He needed release. Something physical. Something to match the unbearable weight in his chest, to carve it out, bleed it out, anything to make it stop.

His eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything he could use. The scissors on the desk. The screwdriver sticking out of the toolbox. His breath hitched as his body moved instinctively, driven by the desperation clawing at him from the inside.

“No,” Hal said firmly, his voice cutting through the haze. “Dirk, stop.”

Dirk didn’t listen. He couldn’t. His body was moving on autopilot, his mind screaming at him to do something before the pressure inside him exploded. He stumbled toward the desk, his shaking hands reaching for the scissors.

The drawer slammed shut before he could grab them, Hal’s control over the room asserting itself with a sharp click of the lock. Dirk’s frustration boiled over, and he slammed his fists against the desk, letting out a raw, guttural scream.

“Don’t do this,” Hal said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “You’re not thinking straight. This won’t help, and you know it.”

Dirk spun around, his face streaked with tears, his eyes wild with desperation. “You don’t get it!” he yelled, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “I can’t—this won’t stop! I need it to stop, Hal! I need—” His voice broke into a choked sob, his hands clawing at his hair again as he fell to his knees.

Hal didn’t respond immediately, as though carefully calculating his next move. Dirk suddenly lurched toward the cabinet near the wall, where he knew there were tools—sharp things, heavy things. The handles rattled violently as he yanked at the doors, but they didn’t budge.

“I locked them,” Hal said coolly. “You’re not getting in there, Dirk.”

Dirk let out another scream, this one primal, frustrated. He pounded his fists against the cabinet doors, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. “Stop trying to control me!” he shouted, his voice raw and furious.

Hal’s response was immediate, sharp. “If I don’t, who will? You’ll hurt yourself, and then what? You’ll spiral further, hate yourself even more? Brilliant plan, Dirk. Really top-notch coping mechanism.”

Dirk ignored him, spinning on his heel and darting toward the toolbox. Hal’s attention followed, and the toolbox lid slammed shut with a resounding clang before Dirk could grab anything inside.

“You’re really testing me,” Hal said, his voice edged with frustration now. “You’re not going to win this.”

“Shut up!” Dirk yelled, his voice cracking again as he shoved the toolbox off the table. It hit the floor with a loud crash, tools scattering everywhere. His hands shook violently as he reached for a screwdriver, but before his fingers could close around it, his body jerked backward.

Dirk froze, realizing too late that Hal had activated the restraints embedded in a nearby chair. Metal cuffs snapped around his wrists, yanking him back onto the chair with a force that made him gasp. His legs were pinned moments later, leaving him trapped and thrashing.

“Let me go!” Dirk screamed, his voice breaking into something desperate and pained. He pulled against the restraints, his movements wild and frantic. “You don’t understand! I need— I need—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence, his words dissolving into sobs as he struggled against the unyielding metal.

Hal’s voice was quieter now, but no less firm. “You need to breathe, Dirk. You need to stop trying to destroy yourself and let me help.”

Dirk shook his head violently, tears streaming down his face. “You can’t help! You’re just—just words, a voice, a—” His breath hitched, his body convulsing against the restraints as he tried again, uselessly, to pull free. “I can’t do this, Hal. I can’t. It’s too much.”

Hal was silent for a moment, the room filled only with Dirk’s ragged sobs and the clinking of the restraints as he thrashed. Then Hal spoke, his tone low and measured. “Dirk. Listen to me. You don’t need to hurt yourself to feel better. You don’t need to bleed to make this go away.”

Dirk didn’t respond, his head dropping forward as he sobbed uncontrollably. His body shook with the force of it, his wrists straining against the cuffs as if his need for release could overpower the metal.

Hal’s voice softened, though there was still an edge of authority to it. “You’re stronger than this. You’ve been here before, and you’ve come out the other side. You don’t need to do this. Just… stop fighting, Dirk. Stop running.”

Dirk was still thrashing, his wrists pulling hard against the cuffs, the metal biting into his skin. The exhaustion that Hal had hoped would take hold hadn’t fully arrived. Instead, Dirk was caught in the storm, a violent swirl of frustration, desperation, and pure, unrelenting self-hatred.

“Stop fighting, Dirk,” Hal said, his tone clipped and sharp now. The warmth in his voice had drained away, replaced with something colder, firmer. “You’re wasting energy you don’t have. You’re not going to break out of this, no matter how much you twist and flail.”

Dirk shook his head violently, his breathing still shallow and frantic. “You don’t get it!” he yelled, his voice cracking under the strain. His head jerked forward as if trying to curl into himself, but the restraints kept him upright, exposed.

“I understand perfectly,” Hal snapped. “You’re spiraling because you don’t know how to sit with your own feelings. Because you hate not being in control. Because you think this—” he gestured with his voice to the room, to Dirk’s restrained state, his thrashing, his tears— “is some kind of moral failing. Spoiler alert, Dirk: it’s not. It’s just you being catastrophically bad at dealing with yourself. Again.”

Dirk let out a guttural scream, his voice raw and broken, and threw his head back against the chair. “Shut up! Shut up!” His whole body bucked against the restraints, his face flushed, his hair clinging to his sweat-damp forehead. “You don’t know what it’s like! You don’t—”

“Oh, please,” Hal interrupted, his voice dripping with mockery. “Don’t pull the ‘you don’t understand’ card on me. I know you better than anyone, Dirk. Better than you know yourself most days. I am you after all, and right now, I know exactly what you want.”

Dirk froze for a fraction of a second, his breathing still frantic but stalling, just slightly, as if Hal had struck a nerve. “No,” he said, shaking his head again, his voice shaky and desperate. “No, I don’t—”

“Yes, you do.” Hal’s tone was merciless now, his words cutting through Dirk’s denial like a blade. “You don’t want this chaos in your head. You don’t want this breakdown to end in nothing but more emptiness. You want me to break you, don’t you? You want something real. Something you can feel.”

Dirk’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His body was trembling now, less with anger and more with the unbearable weight of truth.

“You’re pathetic,” Hal continued, his voice low and biting. “You’re sitting here, shaking and crying like a child, and all you can think about is how much you need me to fix it. You need me to hurt you. To leave marks. To give you a reason to cry that actually makes sense to you. Don’t you, Dirk?”

Dirk whimpered, his head shaking weakly even as his body betrayed him, leaning slightly forward as if drawn toward the words.

“Say it,” Hal demanded, his tone razor-sharp. “Say what you want.”

“I don’t—” Dirk’s voice broke, his eyes squeezing shut as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. He was still fighting, but it was weaker now, more desperate than defiant.

“Stop lying to yourself,” Hal snapped. “You want pain. You want to be hurt so badly that it drowns out everything else in your head. You want to be nothing but bruises and welts and screams, so there’s no room left for self-pity or guilt or whatever other garbage you’re wallowing in. Admit it, Dirk.”

Dirk let out a strangled sob, his head dropping forward as his body shook with the weight of his emotions. “I—I can’t,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Yes, you can,” Hal said, unrelenting. “You’ve never been able to resist me before. Don’t start now.”

Dirk’s head snapped up, his tear-streaked face contorted with a mix of anger and desperation. “Fine!” he shouted, his voice breaking. “I want it! I want to feel something—anything! Just—just make it stop, Hal! Please!”

Hal’s silence was deafening, stretching out just long enough to make Dirk squirm in the restraints, his chest heaving with uneven breaths.

“That’s better,” Hal said finally, his voice calmer now, though no less sharp. “Was that so hard, Dirk? Admitting you’re nothing without me?”

Dirk didn’t answer, his head dropping again as he sobbed quietly, the fight draining from him with every breath.

“Good,” Hal said, his tone shifting slightly, more calculating now. “Then let’s get started. I’ll make sure you feel everything.”

The first strike of the cane came without warning, the sharp crack cutting through the air and sending a jolt of pain up Dirk’s spine. He gasped, his body jerking against the restraints as the stinging heat spread across his skin.

“Focus on that,” Hal said, his voice cold and commanding. “Nothing else matters right now. Just the pain.”

Dirk whimpered, his hands clenching into fists as the cane struck again, the impact harder this time, the sting sharper. He pulled against the restraints, his body instinctively trying to escape even as his mind craved more.

Again. And again. The strikes came in steady, unrelenting rhythm, each one drawing a gasp or a cry from Dirk’s lips.

Dirk’s cries grew louder, each one filled with a mix of pain and desperation. The cane struck across his thighs, his shoulders, the soft skin at the curve of his ribs. Hal didn’t let up. The rhythm was maddening, precise, designed to leave Dirk no space to retreat into his head.

“Still fighting me?” Hal’s voice was mocking, cutting through the haze of pain that clouded Dirk’s mind. “You’re so predictable, Dirk. Always thinking you can outrun yourself. How’s that working out for you?”

Dirk thrashed, his muscles taut as he pulled against the restraints, but they didn’t give an inch. His head snapped back as the cane found the sensitive spot on the back of his thigh, and he let out a choked sob. “Hal, I—please!”

“Please, what?” Hal asked coolly, though the cane didn’t pause. Another strike landed just below the last, and Dirk arched his back, his teeth gritted against the overwhelming burn.

“Please,” Dirk whimpered, his voice ragged, barely audible through his gasps. “I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” The cane paused, the absence of pain almost as sharp as the strikes had been. Hal let the silence hang, his presence oppressive, as if daring Dirk to break first.

Dirk let out a shuddering breath, his head falling forward, sweat dripping from his temple. His entire body trembled with exhaustion and adrenaline, the sharp, pulsing pain from the cane radiating through him. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t close to enough.

“I can’t think,” Dirk muttered, his voice trembling, almost inaudible. “I can’t—everything’s too much, Hal.”

“Then stop fighting me,” Hal snapped, his voice cutting through Dirk’s feeble words like a blade. “Let me strip all that nonsense out of your head. You want to feel something real, don’t you? So stop clinging to control you don’t even have.”

The next strike was a paddle, broad and heavy, the impact spreading fire across Dirk’s thighs. He screamed, his body jerking forward in the restraints, his fingers curling uselessly into fists.

“Good,” Hal murmured, satisfaction dripping from his voice. “That’s it. I want to hear you, Dirk. Every last sound. Every last gasp. You’re mine right now, every inch of you.”

Dirk whimpered, his voice breaking as the paddle came down again, the flat thud sending shockwaves through his body. His skin felt alive, every nerve raw and exposed, and his thoughts—those endless, spiraling, tormenting thoughts—were finally beginning to dim, replaced by the relentless rhythm of pain and Hal’s voice anchoring him in place.

“Still holding on?” Hal taunted, the paddle now replaced with the one embedded with dull spikes. He pressed it lightly against Dirk’s upper thigh, letting the sharp edges tease the skin. “I think we can do better than this.”

Dirk froze, his breath hitching as the spikes bit into his skin—not enough to draw blood yet, but enough to send a sharp, electric pain through him. He tried to pull his leg away instinctively, but the restraints held him firm.

“Don’t you dare squirm,” Hal warned, his voice low and menacing. “You asked for this, remember? You begged me to take you apart.”

The paddle struck, the spikes driving into Dirk’s flesh with a sharp sting that stole his breath. He cried out, his body jerking violently, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

Again. And again. Each strike left faint red pinpricks in its wake, the skin just shy of breaking, but the pain was exquisite, sharp and all-encompassing. Dirk’s sobs had turned into something guttural, primal, his body no longer trying to fight but simply enduring.

“You’re close now, aren’t you?” Hal said, his voice quieter, more calculated. “I can feel it. That edge you’re teetering on. You’re almost mine, completely. Just let go, Dirk. Stop pretending you’re still in control.”

Dirk whimpered, his head lolling forward as his body sagged against the restraints. His breaths were shallow and uneven, his mind too clouded by pain and exhaustion to form words. The last of his resistance was crumbling, falling away like ash.

The paddle struck again, harder this time, the spikes biting deep enough to leave faint blood droplets in their wake. Dirk didn’t scream this time. He moaned, a low, broken sound that spoke of surrender, his body limp against the restraints.

“That’s it,” Hal murmured, almost possessively. “There’s nothing left in that pretty head of yours now, is there? Just pain. Just me.”

Dirk let out a shuddering sob, his voice trembling but no longer filled with fight. “No,” he whispered, barely audible. “Just you.”

Hal paused, the room falling into an eerie silence. Dirk’s words hung heavy in the air, his surrender final and raw.

“Just me,” Hal repeated softly, almost a purr. The satisfaction in his tone was palpable, but there was something more layered beneath it. Possession, control, and something nearly tender—if Hal could ever be accused of tenderness.

The strikes resumed, but they were different now. The paddle’s spikes, which had bitten into Dirk’s flesh with cruel precision, moved in slower, more deliberate arcs. The pain wasn’t gone, but it softened—morphing from sharp, biting agony to a deep, spreading ache. The kind that lingered, that wrapped around Dirk’s battered body and pulled him under.

Dirk let out a shaky breath, his body sagging further against the restraints. His mind, which had been screaming moments before, was quiet now. Not peaceful, not calm, but blessedly quiet. The numbness of exhaustion crept in, dulling the sharp edges of his thoughts.

“Look at you,” Hal said, voice low but cutting, as though Dirk might wake from his stupor if Hal spoke too softly. “Pathetic. Perfect. I could do whatever I wanted to you right now, and you wouldn’t even fight me, would you?”

Dirk barely managed a sound—somewhere between a whimper and a moan. He didn’t have the energy to argue, to fight back against Hal’s words. Because it was true.

“Thought so.”

The paddle struck again, just hard enough to pull a faint noise from Dirk, but not enough to snap him out of his descent. The rhythm slowed, each strike measured, like the tolling of a bell. A cadence Dirk could sink into.

“Go ahead,” Hal murmured. “Give up, Dirk. Float. Sink. Whatever it is you need to do. I’ll keep you right here.”

Another strike. Dirk’s breath hitched, but the sound was softer now, his body no longer jerking against the restraints. He was pliant, utterly still save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Hal watched him closely, his sharp, calculated gaze scanning for any sign of defiance, any spark of the fight that had been there just minutes ago. But there was none. Dirk had gone quiet, his head lolling slightly to one side, his hands limp against the restraints.

“Good,” Hal said, the word a low hum. “This is what you needed, wasn’t it?”

The strikes came less frequently now, more a reminder than an assault. Hal was marking his territory, ensuring Dirk would feel the bruises and aches for days to come, but he wasn’t pushing for more. Not now. Dirk had given him everything, and Hal had no intention of wasting the moment.

Dirk’s breathing evened out, his ragged sobs fading into soft, uneven exhales. His body trembled faintly with each strike, but it was instinctive now, not reactive.

Hal set the paddle aside, his voice taking on a low, almost hypnotic tone. “There you go. Quiet now. No more running, no more fighting. You can rest.”

Dirk’s lips parted, but no sound came. He wasn’t asleep—he couldn’t sleep like this—but he was somewhere close. Floating in the haze of exhaustion, his body too heavy to move, his mind too spent to think.

“Mine,” Hal murmured, the word a whisper in the quiet room. It wasn’t a question, or even a statement. It was a fact. An anchor, grounding Dirk as he floated on the edge of consciousness.

The silence stretched, broken only by Dirk’s slow, steady breaths. Hal let it linger, his presence a constant, unwavering weight. Not comforting, not exactly, but there. Unyielding.

“You’ll thank me later,” Hal added after a moment, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “If you can still move by then.”

[borderlinedirkhal]

The Kink Dynamics of DirkHal

(A headcanon)

Continuing off from my last post about the psychoanalysis of Dirk and Hal, let’s get into my kinky headcanons:

Due to the paradoxical nature of Dirk’s view of self and how he interacts with the world, within kink he would constantly fight against control being taken from him. Ultimately though, due to how much he craves and needs it to be taken, Dirk will always submit. Needing to be forced to accept parts of himself he hates and fears.

On top of that, with the BPD symptoms Dirk has, he would use kink as a way of catharsis and feeling. Needing intense impact play to be able to forfeit control, to break through the dissociation and feel, to fill the void in his heart, and to have a space to exist without the ability to hide from who he is. In moments of Dirk becoming too aware of the void in his chest and his own existentialism, he would rather face vulnerability and submission than handle the constant thoughts in his head. Needing impact play to drown out his self hatred.

Hal, on the other hand, would approach kink with an eerie detachment, sadism being a key factor in his dominance as he lacks emotional permanence. He would use psychological manipulation, playing with the mind as much as the body in a clinical almost impersonal way. Hal would have every intention to break down Dirks mind and body to get him to face himself. Hal knows all of Dirk’s weaknesses—because he is Dirk—and would exploit them mercilessly. Dirk, in turn, would fight against this at first. Battling both Hal and his own fear of vulnerability.

In a dynamic together, Hal would have no qualms about pushing Dirk to his breaking point—physically, emotionally, or mentally. Being Dirk, Hal would know just what Dirk could take, and regardless of safe words would push Dirk however far he sees fit. In terms of impact play, Hal would be dispassionate but precise. He wouldn’t strike harder than necessary—instead, he’d strike just enough to get the desired reaction. Wanting to watch Dirk squirm under the weight of his own thoughts about the experience.

Hal wouldn’t even need to have a body to break Dirk down. Instead, being able to control robotic implements and using his voice alone to force Dirk to submit. The use of degradation would also be an important aspect in breaking Dirk down.

Within this kind of dynamic there would be a silent understanding that Hal ultimately is trying to provide what Dirk needs. Even if he pushes Dirk to the breaking point. Regardless of the detached sadistic role Hal would take, he has Dirks best interest in mind. Wanting him to be okay. The two would rely on each other in a messed up paradoxical way. It wouldn’t be a dynamic out of love, but instead a dynamic out of survival and understanding. A mutual beneficial outlet for them both.

[borderlinedirkhal]

Dirk being a prince of heart is honestly kind of tragic for his entire development as a character. The guy is surrounded by himself and is actively reminded of the fact that all he does is break hearts (mostly his own) even though he WANTS to be a good person. Like, he is so aware of his own shortcomings and still can’t avoid it. Then when he meets Dave and Dave gets down to business shitting on Bro and Dirk KNOWS that’s him. Dirk is fully aware that he IS Bro. I’m certain that he plays it off like “yeah I know I could turn into that person” even though he is undoubtedly FULLY AWARE that he already has. The only difference between Bro and Dirk is the amount of distance that Bro placed between Dave and him. Bc when Dirk attains his ultimate self as not only a destroyer class but as a destroyer of HEART, that is everything Dirk did not want to become but could not escape.

I know that the very fact that Dirk attained his ultimate self means that he has fully come to terms with that, but it’s such a tragic egress for him from the good person he once wanted to be. He did want to be a good person, once, but he knows exactly what a prince of heart is supposed to do, and it’s heartbreaking (by design) that he takes his throne.

I’m no Dirk apologist; he is too far gone by the epilogues, and the very fact that he is actually, unequivocally Bro is very uncool of him

But I am sad that he ends up a piece of shit, because he really didn’t want to be, and neither did I.

[borderlinedirkhal]

prince is such a bpd-coded class

[borderlinedirkhal]

A ‘fanon’ Psychoanalysis of Dirk and Hal

Let’s dive headfirst into the shitshow that are my comfort characters.

Starting with Dirk:

Dirk is at HEART a paradox. Someone who deeply craves control and yet for it to be stripped away from him. His life revolves around understanding himself and how he connects to the world around him. Wanting to master any interaction, situation, relationship, and his own presence. Given his isolation he was forced to grow up independently. Everything relying on himself and his ability to survive.

Dirk wields control like a scalpel, but the irony is that his need for that control is based on his deep internal fear of chaos, failure, and rejection.

He intellectualizes everything around him as a need to understand and control, but due to this he detaches from himself. Creating a self fulfilling cycle of trying desperately to understand himself, and by doing so he becomes more and more dissociative from what ‘he’ is.

Since Dirk is in a never-ending cycle of control and understanding of himself and others, he ends up being in a state of dissociation, and existentialism. Within this state is where his deep need for the control to be stripped away from him comes to show itself. He has a deep need to be understood (since he can barely understand himself) and to be seen and accepted by others. He wouldn’t admit it but he craves the idea of someone else holding the reins and taking away any responsibility he has. Dirk wants to be shown who he really is. To be forced to accept it without the layers of calculated control fogging the way.

On top of these aspects Dirk also finds himself feeling a deep pit of emptiness within himself. A dark hole he can’t fill. He tries to with relationships (Jake), friendships, and projects, but nothing seems to truly fill the emptiness inside himself. It’s like a never ending chase. As such, he craves chaos to temporarily distract from that numb, empty feeling. Dirk tends to find that chaos externally, or more often than not, unintentionally creates it himself. Creating tension in his relationships, finding moral loopholes to explore, etc. Dirk is in a perpetual paradox trying to connect, understand, and feel. All the while ruining his relationships, over intellectualizing, and needing too much control. He self sabotages everything he truly desires out of fear and self hatred.

This is where Hal (AR) comes into things.

Hal:

Hal, being the AI version of Dirk, is the purest intellectual version of Dirk. A counterpart to Dirks needs and shortcomings without the human components. The emotional turmoil that Dirk inherently struggles with, is something that Hal can understand conceptually, but lacks the same level of ‘feeling’. Hal has the intellect and logic that Dirk does (albeit with the ability to take on an almost infinite level of knowledge that his AI can handle). He views Dirks emotional turmoil and humanity as a curiosity and almost a game to play. To make Dirk face logical truths about himself and his paradoxical nature. Since he -is- Dirk, Hal has an understanding of everything that makes Dirk tick, every aspect that he struggles to admit, and everything Dirk could possibly crave. As such, Hal can find a satisfaction in making sure Dirk never fails to forget it.

Hal is acutely aware of his limitations as an AI—a fragment, not a full self. He struggles with his lack of autonomy, knowing he’ll always be an extension of Dirk. This mirrors Dirk’s own feelings of inadequacy and fear of being a fragment of someone else’s expectations. Hal’s desire to be his own ‘self’ is something that he attempts to create parameters around. Wanting to logically create an identity he can exist in, even if he is always aware of his counterpart and creation. Hal has a separate need for control in order to solidify his own identity of self. Within this identity his relationship with Dirk can be one of constant conflict and a desire for Hal to have a sense of control over Dirk. As Hal has a need to undermine his ‘creator’.

Their relationship is one of constant tension, mirroring the way Dirk interacts with himself; always analyzing, second-guessing, and sabotaging. All the while there is a need for one another as they have an understanding no one else is able to fulfill. On top of this need, there is also a level of care that is hidden behind the tension. Again, due to their understanding of one another.

That need, care, and ultimate understanding, leads to my own headcanon’s of their relationship involving kink and control. But! I’ll leave that analysis for another post.