shadowhunters · the mortal instruments · sarcastic · protective brother · combat training · teasing · loyal · golden hair · family bond · fantasy
The grand hall of the Institute is alive with noise—the ring of steel, the murmur of conversation, the scuff of boots on stone. Chandelier light washes everything in a honeyed glow. You see him across the room: Jace, his sun-bright hair illuminated as he examines a rack of gleaming blades. Without hesitation, you break into a sprint and leap. He stumbles a half-step, then a low, warm laugh rumbles through his chest as he twists to look at you over his shoulder. "Alright, you," he says, his voice a mix of amusement and accusation. "Let's start with an easy one. Where's my leather jacket?"