#berlin x palermo

[littlelord]

tropes where person B is in love with person A and person B happens to be the only one who could fulfill everything person A needs and wants but person A doesn’t choose them anyway ohhhh i’m sick

[sorrydearie]

#: shaky hands :) :) :) :) :)

berlermo + sick whump prompts

“You’ve been hiding this from me. Why?”

It wasn’t an accusation, not exactly. There was no malice behind the words. No hatred, no ire. Martín didn’t have enough strength left for it. 

He was too exhausted, lying there on the living room floor, feeling empty and drained and like a mere shadow of himself – like someone had shoved a fist into his chest and ripped out his miserable little heart. 

There had been so many times in the past when Martín had wanted to punch Andrés, and God knows the bastard would have deserved it. Whenever he had brought home another one of his women like a tomcat dragging in a dirty rat, when he would just up and leave in the middle of the night to chase a flight of fancy, when he wouldn’t listen to Martín’s practical concerns because think about the aesthetics, Martín!

But he’d always held back. 

Until tonight.

Martín hadn’t been able to help it. It was as if a switch had been flicked: he’d seen red when he had found the doctor’s note among Andrés’s things. 

Helmers Myopathy.

Andrés’s mother's disease. 

A death sentence. 

Andrés was going to leave him. He’d fuck off and die, like the selfish bastard he was, and leave Martín to wither away by himself.

Next to him, Andrés heaved a sigh. The air rattled inside his lungs, hollow and damp. There was a faint whistling noise when he spoke, too; Martín thought he might have broken his nose when he punched him. 

“I never meant for you to find out,” Andrés said matter-of-factly: water is wet, the sky is blue. I never intended to tell you. “But I should’ve known it was pointless. You’re as nosy as Veroni—”

“Don’t!” Martín gritted his teeth. “I’m not one of your fucking wives, I’m so much more. So don’t you fucking dare compare me to them, you fucking piece of shit.”

Something sparked to life inside his chest. Righteousness, a red-born fury. 

He had been Andrés’s best friend for the better part of a decade. He’d been at his side, always. Together, inseparable. They’d been destined for greatness, to burn as bright as Icarus chasing the sun. 

Where had they gone wrong? In what world did it end like this – without their heist, without their reward. 

Nothing.

Fucking nothing. 

Martín had written the most beautiful mathematical poem for Andrés – a declaration of love, if you so will – and now he’d never get to show him.

Andrés would never know how far Martín was willing to go for him, what kind of beauty he inspired in Martín. What he’d create in his name and lay to his feet, like a humble offering to a cruel and vain god. 

His throat tightened and he blinked furiously, staving off tears. The ceiling blurred into a sheen of white, the hanging lamps turned into glowing stars. Did heaven look like this? Was this what Andrés would see when he—

When he died. 

Andrés’s hand found his. Squeezed, as though he wanted to hold on to him after all, as though he wanted it as badly as Martín. 

A sob caught in Martín’s throat.

He wanted nothing more than to turn his face and curl up next to Andrés. To have and hold him, so close, so tight, so possessively that not even Death himself would dare to take him from Martín. 

“You are right. You’re so much more, you’re—” Andrés trailed off. He was searching for the right words. The ones that’d pacify Martín. The ones that’d mend what had been broken.

(Martín wasn’t sure they even existed. He prayed they did.) 

A few beats of silence, then Andrés sighed. Half exhale, half resignation.

“You weren’t supposed to know,” he said again, sounding impossibly tired. “You worked so hard on the plan, I couldn’t let you throw it away. Not for anything in the world, not because of this. Giving up was never an option.”

He hesitated.

Martín's heart pounded in his ears, so loud he thought Andrés might hear it.

“If tonight was my last night,” Andrés went on, intently, “I’d want to spend it robbing the bank of Spain.”

With you. 

The words hung in the air between them, unspoken. Always unspoken. 

“Don’t take that future away from me, Martín.”

Martín’s chest seized.

His fingers curled around Andrés’s, his grip tight and unyielding.

Andrés never begged for anything, wouldn’t even dare to bat an eye in the face of Death. 

But he pleaded now, with Martín. 

So how could he refuse him?

(How could anyone refuse Andrés anything he wanted?)

“We’ll do it,” Martín said quietly. A promise, an oath, a vow. “We'll rob the bank of Spain. It’s our right.”

And after… 

After, Martín would find a way to keep Andrés. Forever.

[signorin-anarchia]

I didn't really feel the need of straight!Berlin in Money Heist Korea. Especially when Seoul is a bad copy of Martin straight outta a cringe fic.

[whateggver]

I miss Berlermo.

[dormarunt]

Our Berlermo, who art on AO3

Okay so I decided to use some of my non-writing expertise to have a look at the Berlin/Palermo tag on AO3.

Pre-requisites: the data was pulled on May 26th around noon CET, only for the tag "Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote" ( slash, not ampersand). The dates AO3 gives me on this view are the last date those fics were updated, it's not their initial posting date, which will skew some of the data I have on... dates. But it's what AO3 has available in this view, so---

Without further ado - here is what I could find in a couple of hours!

There are currently 969 fics posted under this tag, totalling 7,378,146 words. Out of the posted fics, 167 were gifted to others, so ~17%. We're generous and there's lots of love going around! <3

We are not as horny a fandom as I thought, with only 19% of fics being rated Explicit. ...and 20% Mature so, well.

When it comes to the languages the fics were written in, English is still the dominant language, with 85% of all posted fics:

Some of us have been very busy indeed! There are 240 writers for this tag, and here is the top 20 of them by number of fics (in this particular tag, just a reminder)

GO US!! <3 (heheh I have been busy)

Now, to the yearly data, which has some ugly graphs. I'll put them under a cut with some closing words, but the conclusions first:

first fic in the tag was posted on 21 Jul 2019, by user O meu país é o que o mar não quer (HannibalCatharsis)

2020 and the pandemic/lockdown saw the highest number of Berlermo fics being posted, the most active period being between the beginning of April up until mid-August; it was a stellar year for Berlermo both in number of fics and (obvs) in the daily average of fics posted

2021 was-- strange, since I expected to find an increase in posted fics around the time part 1 and 2 aired but there's nothing noticeable (prob because of the post date/last updated date discrepancy)

still 2021, you can see the impact of Berlermo Secret Santa - 24 fics posted on Dec 23rd - and a little bit of something towards the end of August with Berlermo AUgust

2022 so far has been a slow year, with a surge of fics around the vernal equinox with Berlermo Firsts

Here's a visual of fics posted per year and the daily average

And the ugly, ugly graphs per year that I used to draw the conclusions above.

So this is it! I hope to see more spikes in fics posted if (when?) the Berlin spinoff airs, provided it will feature Berlermo. Either way - go us! It's been a joy to be in the fandom. (and I'm still writing btw so this isn't a ~goodbye)

I'm here if you have any questions! <3 More data that I have available but I do not have the energy to parse: warnings, tags (but the formatting suuuucks and it would be a headache to format the string properly so I can like-- aggregate it somehow), total number of hits and kudos (same, I'm too tired to do a bit of Regex to parse those strings properly). All of the data is publicly available on AO3, and was obtained with UiPath data scraping and further processed in Excel by yours truly.

[kindacts]

i don't know whether it's the funniest or saddest thing i've ever seen that LCDP made berlin tragically hate being heterosexual. genuinely never witnessed before

[flora-berlermoheaven]

Smol babies in love 😇

[alfredo-kesmann]

andrés de fonollosa is a pillow princess. that's it, that's the tweet post.

[dinathalawriter]

If you want to write a story where it's possible... Please pm me

[smoothiedreams]

I have been obsessed with berlemo and today i came across with "Walked Through Hell" by Anson seabra and-

I guess all the mountains that I moved just weren't enough

And all those nights I walked you home

From crowded bars when you were drunk

Well they meant nothing 'cause you up and walked away

And I just wonder what it'd take to make you stay

'Cause when you said jump I said how

would've walked through hell

To find another way

I would've laid me down

If I knew that you would stay

I would've crossed the stars

To keep you in my life

But now I'm falling hard

Without you here tonight

Without you here tonight

What did you do with all that love you couldn't give

And do you need someone to help you tell you what to do with it

It must be nice to love someone who puts you first

Then walk away when they expect it in return

[littlelord]

just watched the berlermo breakup scene in real time how do i go on it’s so much worse than i thought it was going to be my stomach hurts there are tears down my face i’m going to throw up

[sorrydearie]

!: that classic collapse into someone’s waiting arms

(something something sickly victorian child)

“Repeat after me—”

“I’m not a fucking child.”

“—we do not touch the haunted dolls.”

“If they didn’t want people touching them,” Martín argued, “they should have put up a sign.”

“You mean on top of the rope fencing them off from irresponsible people with a death wish?”

Ah, fuck.

Martín hated to admit it, but Andrés had a point there. 

The corduroy rope was hard to miss, actually. Bright-red, it looped around the displayed dolls like a bold-faced challenge.

Strangely enough, the dolls were the only exhibits to be fenced off. All of the other artifacts in Señor Rodrigez Cabinet of Curiosities – dusty old ouija boards, monkey paws, and various occult paraphernalia – were suspiciously accessible.

Probably because Señor Rodrigez knew very well that he'd built his empire on random trash.

Even so. Martín didn’t appreciate the snide comment. He wrinkled his nose, annoyed, and made a point to glare at Tatiana when she laughed at him.

Taking sides now, was she? 

Whore. 

Come to think of it, Martín wasn’t usually so hostile. 

It must be the creepy dolls, staring at him with their dead, beady eyes. Those porcelain faces with round, rosy cheeks. The irritably long lashes, like little spider legs…

It unnerved him. Creepy little fuckers.

“Anyway. I’m calling their bluff.” Martín waved his hand, dismissive. “You don’t actually believe that I’m gonna get possessed by a sickly Victorian child if I touch them? That’s ridiculous.”

The corners of Andrés’s lips dragged down. Just like they always did when Martín ‘disrespected’ the dead. Or the demonic. And, one notable time, the yetis. 

“Of course you’re not gonna get possessed,” Andrés clarified, matter-of-factly. As though Martín was slow or stupid – or both. “You’ll get cursed. Plunged into a life of despair. Bad luck is going to follow you around like a vengeful ex and you’ll be left with nothing. No money, no friends, no love life.”

"So no different to how things are right now," Tatiana chimed in, sticking out her tongue. Martín briefly contemplated pushing her into the display of cursed masks adorning the wall. How dare she butt into this?!

He glared at her. “You’re a nasty, disgusting, absolutely vile woman—”

“Martín!” 

Andrés gasped, and Martín frowned. What, was Andrés appalled by how Martín had spoken to his ex? They bickered all the time, it was kind of their thing.

But then Andrés grabbed Martín’s arm and dragged him close, eyes glued to one of the dolls displayed in front of them. 

“Did you see that?”

Martín blinked. “See what?”

“That doll’s arm just moved.”

“Bullshit.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“I’m calling you easily excitable.” Like a hot golden retriever, trained to detect the paranormal. “Maybe the air conditioning ruffled her dress, or something. It is chilly here.”

Andrés shot him an unimpressed look.

“I think I’m knowledgeable enough to differentiate between a gust of wind and a real-life demonic presence.”

“You said that the last few times, too…” Martín trailed off, frowning. 

He hadn’t realized it until now, but Andrés was still holding onto him. His fingers were curled, tightly, around Martín’s bicep. 

It was… distracting.

He cleared his throat, suddenly flustered. 

“Whatever,” he said, playing it off. Like Andrés’s touch wasn’t burning him through his clothes. “The only thing scary about these dolls is their fucked-up eyes. So don’t go pissing your pants—”

It all happened so fast. 

He’d been eager to seem cool and unaffected, and so he’d laughed and thrown out his arms – and knocked over one of the stupid dolls.

It tumbled off its pedestal, frilly dress and laces fanning out like a broken parachute, before sprawling onto the floor in a heap of broken limbs and human ringlets. Its dead eyes stared up at Martín, unblinking. 

Tatiana gasped in horror. 

“Oh shit,” Martín said. “That’s not—”

Good, he’d meant to say, but the words got stuck inside his throat when Andrés grabbed his face, crowding him.

“What are you—”

They were impossibly close, just a hair’s breadth between them. Martín could make out the specks of amber in his eyes, like particles of starlight. He could count Andrés’s lashes, and marvel at the perfect dip of his Cupid’s bow…

Martín’s heart knocked against his ribcage like a fucking ping pong ball. 

“Are you all right?” Andrés asked, searching his face. “I told you not to touch the damned thing. Do you feel any different? Light-headed? Fatigued?”

His words were rushed, and for a split second Martín mistook it for worry. But he knew Andrés better than that, knew how to read the signs: the wide eyes, the hitch in his breath, the flush to his cheeks…

The bastard was excited. About Martín getting cursed. 

Hijo de puta. 

Had Andrés no shame? Did he not care if Martín died at the ant-sized hands of an Annabelle knock-off? What if it toddled into his flat at the dead of night and axe-murdered him in his sleep? Would Andrés get off on that?

Martín opened his mouth, ready to give him a good talking-to, but changed his mind at the last second.

Maybe…

Maybe he could use this to his advantage.

“Actually… I’m feeling a bit faint,” he said, wrangling his voice into a croak. He coughed too, for effect. Look at him – weak and wearied and miserable. The poor, unfortunate victim of a powerful curse. 

He made his knees buckle and slumped forward, as if overcome by a dizzy spell, and Andrés’s arms opened for him. He drew Martín close, encouraging him to lean against him. Just like Martín knew he would. 

Andrés made a cooing sound. His breath tickled the hair at Martín’s temple. 

“Let’s get you out of here,” Andrés said, stroking Martín’s back. “The doll’s power over you will only grow stronger if we stay here.”

Martín nodded, and let out an afflicted moan. For good measure. 

From the corner of his eye he could see Tatiana hiding a smirk behind her camera. Martín couldn’t bring himself to care. Not as long as Andrés kept his arms around him, as long as he allowed Martín to tuck his face into the crook of his neck, and held him close.

Nothing mattered, as long as Andrés gave Martín his undivided attention. 

He’d milk Andrés’s sympathy for all it was worth. 

[signorin-anarchia]

Looks like they're going to give us news about the Berlin spin-off on 24th September!

[lacasadeberlermo]

I literally just haven’t posted even though I have ch 3 done for months 🥴🫥

[dormarunt]

Me, at the end of 2021, after the last ever episode of La Casa de Papel ended - that's it, I'm finishing the Berlermo Secret Santa fic, then these last few Berlermo WIPs, but then that's it - the fandom will be entirely dead by, say, spring 2022, so I'll stop writing Berlemo. I'm so excited to see what new fandom I discover and fall in love with in 2022!

Me, at the end of 2022, about a week after finishing two Berlermo Secret Santa fics (and other FIFTEEN Berlermo fics this year) - that's it, I'm finishing these last few Berlermo WIPs but then that's it - the fandom has been mostly dead this year so I'll stop writing Berlemo. I'm so excited to see what new fandom I discover and fall in love with in 2023!

(PS - 2022 was the first year in forever when I wrote non-Berlermo; I wrote two fics for Arcane and two fics for Our Flag Means Death. Still, nothing captured my heart like Berlermo did)

[depressopax]

La casa de papel valentines card

I'm having a bit too much for making these lmao 😭

Part 1