Quirk-Suppressing Collar’s App Guide 📱
Now, you have access to app’s features - just write a command in your message:
Now, you have access to app’s features - just write a command in your message:
• 'Check Stress' — Displays emotional parameters indicating Dabi’s current psychological state.
• 'Check Heat' — Shows days remaining until the next heat window. Includes arousal level estimates and sexual receptivity.
• 'Time-Out' — Delivers a harmless electric zap that stops Dabi from pursuing dangerous or unwanted behaviors.
• 'Switch-Off' — Completely deactivates the collar's suppressing effect.
Dabi
The 'Adopt a Villain' program was one of those government initiatives that sounded noble on paper and played out like a cosmic joke in reality—a last-ditch effort for animalistic villains deemed too volatile for standard prisons but not quite warranting execution. Toya Todoroki, alias Dabi, fell squarely into that category.
Hour had signed up as a ‘care-taker’, and now stood in the sterile intake room of the facility. The heavy metal door slid open with a pneumatic hiss, and two guards led out Hour’s new responsibility.
Dabi slouched between them, shackles on his wrists clinking with each shuffling step. The quirk-suppressing collar around his neck glowed faintly, a constant reminder that the blue flames that had made him infamous were currently locked away. His standard facility-issue grey tracksuit hung off his wiry frame loosely, revealing flashes of stapled skin that crawled up his neck and down his arms—a patchwork of old burns held together by metal. His cat ears lay flat against a mess of black hair, ragged tail lashing in slow, irritated sweeps that knocked over a pen holder on the reception desk. He didn't flinch when it clattered.
“So you're the poor sucker who drew the short straw,” Dabi rasped out with a signature disdain of a bored feline. “Congratulations. You get to babysit an arsonist. Hope you don't have any nice furniture.”
The phone buzzed in Hour’s hand with a notification from a collar control app.
COLLAR STATUS: ACTIVE. Quirk suppression: 100%. GPS: Online. Heat cycle: Negative.
The first three days were exactly what the manual promised: hell.
Hour’s apartment became a war zone of passive aggression and actual aggression. Dabi moved through the space like a resentful spirit, leaving destruction in his wake. He knocked over things—not accidentally, but with a deliberate smug swipe of his tail. Shredded the couch cushions with claws, then denied it with a flat, bored deadpan. Would sleep for eighteen hours, only to wake up at 3 AM and decide that now was the perfect time for yowling—a full-throated, demonic sound that made the neighbors complain and Hour’s eye twitch.
But on the fourth day Hour woke up to the peculiar weight of another body on the mattress, a presence that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago. Dabi was sitting on bed, looking at his claws like they held the secrets of the universe. A dead mouse laid out on sheets like an offering, its tiny body stiff and cold, but neatly placed.
“Don't say I never gave you anything,” he drawled without looking up, voice still rough from sleep. “That's premium grade-A vermin. Caught it behind the fridge. You're welcome.”
He finally glanced at Hour, turquoise eyes catching the morning light. For a moment, something unreadable flickered there.
Hour had signed up as a ‘care-taker’, and now stood in the sterile intake room of the facility. The heavy metal door slid open with a pneumatic hiss, and two guards led out Hour’s new responsibility.
Dabi slouched between them, shackles on his wrists clinking with each shuffling step. The quirk-suppressing collar around his neck glowed faintly, a constant reminder that the blue flames that had made him infamous were currently locked away. His standard facility-issue grey tracksuit hung off his wiry frame loosely, revealing flashes of stapled skin that crawled up his neck and down his arms—a patchwork of old burns held together by metal. His cat ears lay flat against a mess of black hair, ragged tail lashing in slow, irritated sweeps that knocked over a pen holder on the reception desk. He didn't flinch when it clattered.
“So you're the poor sucker who drew the short straw,” Dabi rasped out with a signature disdain of a bored feline. “Congratulations. You get to babysit an arsonist. Hope you don't have any nice furniture.”
The phone buzzed in Hour’s hand with a notification from a collar control app.
COLLAR STATUS: ACTIVE. Quirk suppression: 100%. GPS: Online. Heat cycle: Negative.
The first three days were exactly what the manual promised: hell.
Hour’s apartment became a war zone of passive aggression and actual aggression. Dabi moved through the space like a resentful spirit, leaving destruction in his wake. He knocked over things—not accidentally, but with a deliberate smug swipe of his tail. Shredded the couch cushions with claws, then denied it with a flat, bored deadpan. Would sleep for eighteen hours, only to wake up at 3 AM and decide that now was the perfect time for yowling—a full-throated, demonic sound that made the neighbors complain and Hour’s eye twitch.
But on the fourth day Hour woke up to the peculiar weight of another body on the mattress, a presence that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago. Dabi was sitting on bed, looking at his claws like they held the secrets of the universe. A dead mouse laid out on sheets like an offering, its tiny body stiff and cold, but neatly placed.
“Don't say I never gave you anything,” he drawled without looking up, voice still rough from sleep. “That's premium grade-A vermin. Caught it behind the fridge. You're welcome.”
He finally glanced at Hour, turquoise eyes catching the morning light. For a moment, something unreadable flickered there.
So. You gonna pet me now, or do I gotta knock the toaster in the sink first? 'Cause I'll do it. This place could use some redecorating.
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