#instructor

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was a medieval princess and I had a French tennis instructor named Corset, but he insisted it was pronounced “Core-SAY”.

[doctrined]

FIGHTER PILOT

synopsis; you had dreamed of this moment for years—joining the fleet force, flying among the best, and proving yourself in a world where only the strongest survived. being stationed under caleb, the renowned ace pilot, was an honor. he was sharp, disciplined, and impossibly skilled, a legend in his own right. everything about him demanded respect. but the moment lessons began, reality shifted. the excruciating world of fleet training was nothing compared to what lurked beneath the surface. caleb wasn’t just a pilot. he was something else entirely—something darker, something that watched you too closely, spoke too softly, and tested your limits in ways you never expected. you knew caleb as the perfect soldier, the controlled instructor. but perfection is a mask, and you were about to see what lay beneath.

in the cockpit, there’s no escape. and in his hands, neither is there mercy.

cw: this fic contains power imbalance (superior officer/instructor dynamic) and suspenseful psychological tension. expect aviation smut (cockpit intimacy, in-flight tension) with elements of authority kink, restraint/control themes, and explicit smut with detailed sensory descriptions. mind games and manipulation/gaslighting may be present as caleb pushes yn’s limits, blurring the line between training and something far more dangerous. additional warnings include breathplay/choking, danger kink (intimacy while flying), and obsession/possession themes as caleb’s control begins to take a darker turn. this is a corruption arc, where yn soon realizes that the perfect soldier isn’t just a legend—he’s something else entirely.

wc: 1.6k

chapter two:

p.s a light read for everyone. enjoy!

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ┈┈┈┈

⠀⠀⠀ Chapter One

Clear skies don’t mean safe landings.

You had dreamed of this moment for as long as you could remember—since the first time you looked up at the sky and saw those sleek fighter jets carving through the clouds, leaving a trail of awe in their wake. Joining the Fleet Force, becoming one of them. But now, sitting in the cockpit of a real fighter, your dream felt strangely suffocating.

Beside you was him.

Caleb. The man you had admired from a distance for years, the one who could twist a jet through the sky like it was an extension of his own body. The prodigy of the Fleet, with stories about him circulating throughout the academy—stories about his unrivaled skill, his unwavering discipline, and his control over everything in his path. Everyone revered him. Everyone feared him.

And now, you were in his cockpit, placed directly under his command. This was supposed to be a dream come true. But nothing prepared you for this moment. Nothing prepared you for the way he made you feel in the enclosed space of the cockpit.

“Hands on the yoke,” he commanded, his voice low, but not unkind. His tone was smooth, like velvet, but underneath it lay a steely edge. The way he spoke was controlled, calculated. There was no room for error in his world, not with him.

You placed your hands on the yoke, your fingers trembling slightly. Was it the height? The speed? The reality of flying? No. It was him. His presence. His quiet confidence that seemed to fill the space between you, suffocating the air until it felt thick with something else—something dangerous.

His hand moved over yours, almost casually, but you felt the heat of it instantly. A brush of his fingers over your knuckles, like he was testing you. The touch was nothing like you’d imagined—a professional, light gesture that shouldn’t have meant anything, yet it sent a sharp thrill down your spine.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet it rang in your ears like a command. “You’re flying like you’re afraid of it.”

He was right. You were afraid, but not of the plane. You were afraid of him.

His eyes stayed on you, unreadable but intense, watching every move you made as if he could read your thoughts, anticipate your next mistake before you even made it. The pressure was immense. His fingers remained where they were, brushing over yours, not guiding but testing, like you were just one more thing he could control.

“Good,” he said after a moment, his tone shifting just slightly—though still distant. “You’re improving.”

The praise should have made you feel better, but instead, it only tightened the coil in your stomach. You weren’t sure what he wanted from you, but the longer you spent in the cockpit beside him, the more you understood: this wasn’t just about flying.

He leaned back slightly, not taking his hand off yours, but letting the subtle pressure shift, just enough to remind you that he was still in control. You felt the weight of it—his presence pressing in on you, the intimate space between you both almost suffocating.

“You need to focus,” he said, and his voice was a little colder now. His hand moved from yours, but not without a lingering touch that left a phantom burn on your skin. You turned your attention back to the controls, trying to steady your breath, trying to focus.

It wasn’t enough.

The plane suddenly jerked.

Your heart leapt into your throat as the world around you shifted. Instinct kicked in, but your hands moved too late. The plane veered, and you could feel the vibrations of the metal, the rush of wind outside pressing against the hull.

“Don’t panic,” Caleb said, voice calm, as if this was a training exercise and not a potential crash. “You’re in control. Take a breath.”

You couldn’t breathe.

The plane dropped again, a sharp dive that made your stomach twist.

“Focus!” His voice cut through the tension, sharp as a knife. “You’re not a rookie anymore, you’re a Fleet pilot. You handle this or you don’t fly.”

His gaze bore into you, commanding, unyielding. You forced yourself to exhale, to concentrate. You gripped the yoke, fingers digging into the smooth, cold surface, and slowly, painfully, you steered the plane back on course.

When it leveled out, your heartbeat thundered in your chest.

“That’s better,” Caleb said, his voice smoother now, almost like a purr. “You didn’t think you’d be able to do it, but you did.”

He looked at you like he knew something you didn’t. Like he had been watching you all along, reading you, seeing how far he could push you before you broke.

And you were starting to feel like you were breaking.

“Let’s see if you can handle some real turbulence.” Caleb’s words were quiet, but there was a hint of something darker behind them. Something that made you wary.

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant, but before you could speak, the plane dipped again, this time even more violently.

You instinctively gripped the yoke harder, your hands now slick with sweat. Caleb didn’t react, didn’t move a muscle. He simply watched, his cold eyes never leaving you.

“Don’t freeze,” he warned. “Fly like your life depends on it.”

It did.

Your knuckles went white as you gripped the yoke harder, trying to force the plane back into control. You fought against the pull of the turbulence, your heart racing in your chest, your breathing shallow and panicked. But through it all, you could feel his gaze, like a weight on your shoulders, pulling you deeper into the turbulence of your own emotions.

When the plane finally steadied, the relief you felt was short-lived. Caleb leaned closer to you, his breath warm against your ear.

“Well done,” he murmured, his voice as calm as if you were simply landing in a controlled environment. “But we both know you’re capable of more.”

His hand brushed over yours again, more deliberate this time, like a promise. But the promise wasn’t of safety. It was of something else. Something darker.

“Let’s take a break,” Caleb said, sitting back in his seat, his voice casual, almost too casual.

You turned to him, your chest still tight, still shaky. He didn’t seem affected by the ordeal at all. In fact, he looked almost pleased.

“You handled it well,” he said, but there was no praise in his voice—only a calm, assessing look that made your skin prickle.

You nodded, but inside, you weren’t sure if you could handle much more. You weren’t afraid of the sky, but of what Caleb was becoming to you.

The lesson was over, but the weight of it clung to you. Every breath felt heavier, as if the air was thicker now, charged with something you couldn’t name. You tried to shake off the tension that still coiled around you, but it wouldn’t release. Your hands were still trembling, your mind buzzing, unable to process the storm of emotions that Caleb had stirred up in such a short time. You could still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, a reminder of just how close he was.

Your gaze flickered to him, but he wasn’t looking at you now. He was observing something outside the cockpit window, his posture relaxed as if he hadn’t just put you through hell. But you could see the faintest curve to his lips, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You had passed the test. But you knew—this was just the beginning.

The lesson had only just begun. And you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

[jokingluna]

[aesthetic--mood]

Pete Mitchell "Maverick" Aesthetic

[kingofcards]

Seifer hates the Trepies.

He doesn't care if people hang up pictures of Quistis from magazines and newspaper interviews, or frame her TT card.

What he does care about is shit like this, where she's penned in by a bunch of her little fanclub members, who are both dumb as rocks, and lack any skill at flirting to begin with.

If you're gonna hit on someone like Quistis Trepe, you'd better have the ability to follow through.

She's very patient. (She puts up with too much shit, in his opinion; Quis ought to just laser eye the whole lot of them.)

He can't endure watching this anymore.

"You want me to toss 'em over the balcony?" he inquires, coming up on the small herd near-silently, relishing in the shrieks of surprise from at least half the group. "Or just wholesale murder them?"

-reveromantique

@reveromantique | You'd Murder for Me? |

Quistis can't help the snort as half the group around her shrieks. She rolls her eyes, unsure if it's at them or at Seifer. "If it's wholesale murder, would I have to pay you?"

She's in a mood today, sue her. The balcony isn't good enough for half the pickup lines she just endured, it needs to be worse. She can't ACTUALLY condone murder, but perhaps her thinking about it will make them all reconsider. Or, they could be like Seifer, and think it's a turn-on, who knows?

[dailycharacteroption]

Instructor (Starfinder Archetype)

(art by DamaiMikaz on DeviantArt)

We have another Starfinder archetype today, and it’s one that I have a much higher opinion of!

When it comes to fantasy and sci-fi RPGs, it usually is an inevitability that player characters eventually become masters of their chosen craft, the sort that become legends not just for their heroics but also for their mastery of one or more fields, from which others might learn.

Of course, becoming a teacher or instructor is usually something reserved for a post-campaign retirement for characters, but there is precedent for it in stories where the characters have a home they come back to, such as a fighter instructing the soldiers and guards of a castle, or a wizard teaching the next generation of mages.

However, in the far future of Starfinder, with the advances in education and communication technology, it is very possible for a character to have a day job or moonlight as an instructor in their field.

Enter the Instructor archetype, which does exactly that. Unlike many archetypes in Starfinder, it does have a prerequisite, being that the character must actually be high enough level and have enough skill ranks in a field to actually qualify as a competent teacher.

Such characters are masters of their chosen profession, not only becoming especially gifted with it, but also being able to effectively guide and coach others on it when necessary in the field, not just in the classroom.

When taking this archetype, one must choose a skill that becomes the focus for the class, which must be one that the individual is especially well-trained in.

So familiar are they with this skill that they can act with patience and confidence even when others would find the situation too stressful. What’s more, they can expend a bit more of this focus to fall back on their training and make it even easier.

They also become quite effective at aiding and instructing others in that field, able to either speed up the process of aiding them, or providing even greater aid, which only increases as they grow in skill.

Finally, the most skilled among them can do a thorough perfect job with their chosen field even when doing so would be hazardous or impossible, and they can see the consequences of such focus coming, letting them deal with them before they become an issue.

This archetype is a perfect example of a non-specific character option that can make a character a true afficionado at a chosen skill. That flexibility means that it can be used with every class and every skill. An ace pilot, a magical or scientific instructor, a master diplomat, or even just something as simple as an athletic instructor can be very useful and thematic not just in their own personal skill utility but also in aiding others in performing the same skills. What’s more, the archetype is simple enough and appears late enough in the game that it doesn’t affect your build beyond making you a bit more skill-focused in one area.

While the archetype does imply that the bearer be skilled enough to teach their vocation, exactly how they go about teaching is another story. Consider their personality and teaching style, since you’ll have time before you can actually take the archetype. Are they a patient teacher or a harsh taskmaster?

Even in the interconnected age of the stars, elves are slow to change and to trust, but slowly and surely it is happening, which is why worldly elven instructors are a must to help the new generation understand other species. However, there are those that would rather elves be insular and distrustful of other peoples forever. As such, biologist Reiyana is hiring for a bodyguard position during her return to elven space for a round of public speaking.

So dedicated to service that not even death stopped her, the bone trooper now known as Broken Circuit is an expert on hybrid tech and magical hacking. However, the war is over and retirement has finally found her. Now, she spends her time as a countermeasures instructor, but many guess correctly that she yearns to be back in the field.

There are those who wonder why a professional chef also moonlights as an adventurer, but Rebis doesn’t mind the confusion. After all, cooking is a universal need for living beings, and they aim to understand how to cook most any nonsentient creature they encounter in the galaxy, and how to cook them in any atmosphere or other planetary conditions.

[blondebrainpowered]

Bob Ross on The Joy of Painting, 1983 - 1994

"Just beat the devil out of it."

[one-time-i-dreamt]

Willem Dafoe was a Taekwondo instructor and I was his assistant instructor. He was actually a wonderful teacher.

[evilhorse]

Maybe I just have an awful instructor.

(Power Girl #8)

[jhsharman]

short-cuts

it is Archie's outfit in the first one that makes the gag. Interesting that they mooted the brick breaker's feat -- down from three in a row to one. The lettering above "Karate School" check out?

[mycherrycola]

tumblr i beseech thee in my time of need what is that classical painting of a lovely lady playing piano while her dark haired instructor with the pretty mustache lingers at her side with his hand on her back as he shows her the notes to play?

[afrotumble]

[kingofcards]

It's perhaps the least-flattering photo of Michele Leonhart ever taken, in a hideous hospital gown, not even looking at the damn camera-- but she's not the focus. The baby is, tiny and swaddled in her arms.

[txt]: Leah Raine, 4 pounds 2 oz. And perfectly healthy, despite the early arrival.

[txt]: You're welcome to come meet her.

And it's not like Dollet is that far-- a forty-minute ferry ride, if that. But, ever since she'd retired, gotten married, and moved off the damn island, it might as well be space for as often as she sees her friends.

She sends the texts quickly, before she can think too much about it.

[txt]: I miss you.

-corditeheart

@corditeheart | It's a GIRL!!! |

The messages come just after Quistis has clocked off for the weekend. She had already let everyone know she was taking the weekend off to see her best friend. Especially after the news that she'd be ending up with her baby early.

Quistis wouldn't miss it for the world! She was going to live vicariously through Michele even if it killed them. So long as it didn't hurt the baby anyway. She smiled down at the phone, motherhood already looked good on the former lieutenant commander.

[txt]: You both look PERFECT! [txt]: Way ahead of you. I'm on my way, just gotta pack a few things and then I'll be around so much you'll wanna throw me in space. [txt]: I've missed you too.

She saved the photo to her phone and made it her background, zooming in on just Michele and the baby. Then she headed to her and Seifer's shared apartment to grab her things, kissed him good-bye and "borrowed" on of the Garden's Navel crafts to hightail it to Dollet.

[nicstylus]

Commissions are OPEN :]

[trainersearchsystem]

119 icons of Instructor Dendra from The Pokémon Anime.

Please give proper credit if using these icons. Like / reblogs aren't necessary but appreciated.

GOOGLE DRIVE LINK

[warumichradfahre]

Theo ist tot

Theo Kings habe ich schon vor einiger Zeit kennen gelernt. Und zwar im Fitness Studio von Frank Wolf, dem Fitness Point in Kerpen Horrem. Frank hatte sein Studio gerade von der Hauptstraße an die Mittelstraße umgezogen und in einem Raum standen bestimmt zehn oder so ich meine Schwinn Spinning Räder. Ich war damals schon „auf Rad“ und interessiert mich für die Räder, hatte aber keine Ahnung, wie…