Omnia Dicta Fortiora Si Dicta Latina
A soulmate au, where you get a sentence in black somewhere on your body on your 18th birthday, and at at the moment you realize you love them, your soulmate will say the sentence, and it will tingle and turn silver.
And of course Bellarke has the weirdest sentences.
Because Lana’s (@marauders-groupie) fics make me cry and I just wanted a soulmate au that didn’t rip my heart out.
Clarke was not looking forward to her 18th birthday.
Listen, soulmates were great and all, but she didn’t enjoy her life getting controlled by an arbitrary sentence tattooed on her body. It was actually kind of creepy, come to think of it.
“You excited?” Wells’ voice came over the phone. Wells was into soulmates. His tattoo had come in the form of neat words on his collarbone, the creating the sentence “I can make anything explode if I try hard enough.”
So obviously Wells’ soulmate seems awesome. They had to be, to deserve him.
She sighed into the phone. “Not really. I’m really just hoping it’s in an inconspicuous place. I don’t feel particularly inclined to waking up with a bad pickup line tattooed on my forehead.“
Clarke doesn’t trust soulmates, to tell the truth.
Her father didn’t have one. Her parents got divorced when Abby found Marcus Kane.
Soulmates weren’t worth the pain. She knew they were no guarantee.
Clarke wakes up in the morning to find her eyes drawn to her wrist.
There it was, in bold black script on the inside of her wrist.
“Quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur.”
“Is that…” Wells squints at her wrist. “Latin?”
Clarke shrugs. “I guess. I did a quick google search but it wasn’t particularly helpful. Did you know google translate is terrible?”
Wells just rolls his eyes at her.
Clarke’s in her first year at Columbia when she hears it used. She’s figured out that it means “everything said is stronger if said in Latin” which is not helpful at all.
Her dorm mate her first year is a girl named Octavia Blake, who Clarke finds is actually pretty cool. She’s gorgeous and intimidating and Clarke would totally be into her, if Octavia wasn’t in a committed relationship–with her soulmate.
“He’s so sweet, pretty damn hot, and 4 years older than us, so he’s also pissing my brother off.” Octavia confides. “He’s the best.”
After meeting Lincoln, she has to admit she’s pretty right. Lincoln is huge and buff, but also is basically like a giant ball of fluff, so he fits perfectly with tiny-but-angry Octavia.
One night Clarke was on a tirade about one of her professors, who was “a racist bigot who needs to get his head out of his ass.”
“And he uses the most pretentious language, like he quoted some thing in Latin yesterday, just because her could. It had practically no relevance whatsoever to the topic.” Clarke rolled her eyes.
Octavia nodded. “Yeah, I know the type. Quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur, right?”
There it was, spoken aloud, and yet there was no sting, no tingle that signified her tattoo was changing color.
She lifted her sleeve to check, and the words were still there, stark black against her skin.
“Something wrong?” Octavia asked.
Wordlessly, she showed Octavia the words on her wrist.
“Damn. Your soulmate is a fucking nerd.” Octavia laughed.
Clarke laughed too. “Okay, but I still don’t know what that means.”
“It means, like, Latin makes everyone sound smarter. It’s a joke, for pretentious assholes who use Latin to make themselves sound smarter than they are.” Octavia explained.
“Bell is a fucking nerd.” was Octavia’s only explanation.
Bell, Clarke had learned, meant Bellamy, Octavia’s older brother, who, okay, was defiantly a giant nerd. Of course he taught Octavia mocking Latin phrases.
He named his sister Octavia after the Emperor Augustus’ sister when he was 6, okay? Bellamy was on a whole other level of nerd.
Clarke’d met him one or twice, when he came to visit Octavia. But she didn’t really get to know him until senior year, when she moved into a small apartment with Octavia and Raven in a better part of town.
Bellamy had come to help them move in, and they’d managed to get into a screaming match that had begun with them discussing Harry Potter and led to him accusing her of being a spoiled rich girl. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten to that.
Afterwards, Clarke had dismissed it as a one time thing. She’d see him a couple times and they’d avoid each other, and that would be that.
But she’d underestimated Bellamy’s level of big brother instincts. He was over at least twice a week, being helpful while pretending to not care about anything.
He slowly got used to her too, his sarcastic asides of “Princess” gradually becoming less biting and more like affectionate teasing.
Carefully, grudgingly, Clarke admitted that he was actually a pretty cool guy, despite his penchant for being an asshole.
Turns out Clarke likes assholes.
So, friends was a gradual thing.
However, Clarke could pinpoint the exact moment she realized they were best friends. (Barring Wells, of course.)
Clarke groaned as she flopped onto the couch.
“Long day princess?” Bellamy laughed.
“Shut up Blake.” Clarke muttered. “Just turn on the movie.”
As he opened Netflix, Clarke moved to position herself against his side. “Why are you so warm?” Clarke muttered.
Without missing a beat, Bellamy answered, “I’m filled with righteous anger.”
“Mmm, sounds about right.”
And soon, watching Disney Hercules on the couch with him, all her weariness melted away. That’s when she knew. He was her person. Her best friend. And to think, she’d hated him.
“Stop laughing at me.” Bellamy muttered.
“I’m sorry!” She giggled. “It’s just, I get you’re full of righteous anger but the goat does not deserve it.”
She loved watching mythological movies him.
Bellamy didn’t answer. Almost unconsciously, his hand floated to his collarbone.
“Bellamy?” She gave him a little shake. “Hey? Bellamy? Something wrong?”
He shook his head and gave her a small smile. “Look, this fucking goat did not train Hercules. I’m offended on behalf of Chiron.”
“Okay, Bellamy.” She laughed. “Whatever you say.”
She probably should have figured it out then, bur Clarke has never been the most observant of people about things like this.
It took her about 3 years.
It was Octavia’s birthday and she was drunk, because Octavia loved alcohol but had no tolerance, a very bad, though usually entertaining combination.
“Macdonaldus Senex fundum habuit. E-I-E-I-O.” she slurred, leaning up against Lincoln.
Clarke took the drink from her hand. “No more for you, I think.”
She walked over to Bellamy, handing him the drink.
He took it, frowning at it. “Don’t you want some?”
Clarke shrugged. “I already had some. I’m good.”
With Lincoln, Octavia had resumed her song. “Et in hot fundo nonnullas boves domesticas habuitt. E-I-E-O. Cum moo moo hic, et cum moo moo ibi. Hic una moo, ibi una moo, ubique una moo moo. acdonaldus Senex fundum habuit. E-I-E-I-O!”
Clarke nudged Bellamy. “What’s she singing?”
“Old Macdonald Had a Farm. In Latin.” Bellamy answered, deadpan.
Clarke giggled. “Okay, okay. When did you teach her that?”
Bellamy smirked. “I wanted her to know the cool nursery rhymes.”
Clarke laughed. “You’re such a fucking nerd, Bellamy.”
He shrugged. “Quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur.”
Before Clarke could even react, her forearm stung, and something warm and light flowed through her.
She had to keep herself from gasping aloud.
She grabbed at her sleeve, watching the words on her wrist change from jet black to a gleaming silver.
Disoriented, Clarke headed toward the door.
Faintly, she heard Bellamy calling behind her.
“Clarke, hey Clarke!” He grabbed her hand. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I-It’s nothing Bellamy. I don’t feel well. Wish Octavia a happy birthday for me, hm?” She managed.
“Want me to come with?” He’s genuinely worried, which makes her feel even worse.
She offers him a small smile. “It’s Octavia’s birthday. I can take care of myself, it’s just a headache.”
She nods. “I’ll be fine.”
It’s not until she gets home that she allows herself to look at it again. But there it was still, shimmering against her skin.
Bellamy. Of course it was Bellamy. It had always been Bellamy.
She collapsed on the couch. Bellamy Blake was her soulmate.
And she barely had time to take a breath before it hit her like a truck.
For all she made fun of soulmates, she realized with dawning horror, she loved Bellamy. She’s loved him for a while.
She picked up her phone, and dialed.
He picked up on the 3rd ring. “Hey Clarke. Something wrong?”
Almost against her will, Clarke smiled. “Hey Wells.” It was good, to hear his voice again.
“I just wanted to let you know, I found my soulmate.”
Clarke heard Wells gasp. “And? Who is it?”
“Bellamy Blake?” Wells asked, careful.
“What are you going to do?”
Clarke sighed. “I don’t know yet. Heck, I don’t even know if I’m his soulmate.”
Wells paused. “Look Clarke. It’s simple. If you think you’re ready, if you love him? Go find out if you’re his soulmate.”
Clarke took a breath. “O-okay. Thanks Wells.”
“You know I’m always here for you.”
“I know. Thank you.” Clarke swallowed.
“Talk to you later?” Wells asked.
“Of course. Bye, Wells.” She hung up, and sighed, flopping onto the couch again.
She stared at the ceiling, her mind racing.
And the more she thought about it, the less shocking it felt. It felt almost obvious. Yeah. Bellamy was her soulmate.
She sighed and got up, pausing at the mirror to make sure her makeup was intact before shrugging on her coat.
No harm in trying to look good.
A short taxi ride later, Clarke took in a breath, standing in front of Bellamy’s apartment.
She rang the doorbell, a wave of panic hitting her as she waited for it to open.
What if I’m not his soulmate?
And suddenly the door was open.
Bellamy was standing in the doorway, blinking at her, wearing pajama pants and a worn t-shirt.
“Clarke? Is something–” he began.
“Show me your soulmate mark.” She spit out, before she could loose her nerve.
“Please.” Clarke whispered, pleading.
She needed to know. She couldn’t stand not knowing because that meant there was a what if still lingering.
Bellamy finally nods, opening the door wider.
She steps inside, more confused and worried than before.
Bellamy’s eyes flick to her forearm, which she was instinctively covering with her hand.
He swallows, and tugs of his shirt, turning around so his back was facing her.
And there they were, at the small of his back, one sentence shining silver against his skin.
“I get you’re full of righteous anger but the goat does not deserve it.”
She drew in a sharp breath.
“Hercules.” She whispered, hope flooding through her.
Bellamy laughed, soft. “I spent so long wondering exactly what the scenario was that I was angry at a goat.”
Clarke shifted her hand, slowly pulling up her sleeve and revealing the words on her arm. “I didn’t even know what mine meant.”
Bellamy smiled and grabbed her arm, pulling it up to his face to kiss the words.
Clarke beamed up at him. “You’re such a fucking nerd Bellamy. My soulmate mark is in Latin.”
Bellamy laughed quietly. “Te amo.”
And look, Clarke didn’t know the first thing about Latin.
But from what she understood of those words, there was only one response she could give.
She pulled him closer, and kissed him.
