#sakari nurmi

[starcrossedjedis]

Sakari Nurmi & Sofia Karppi - Deadwind 01x03 "Maailmanparantaja"

just two new partners casually staring at each other's appartments across the river at the same time

[suomiplorpoturnaus]

Suomiplorpoturnaus: Kierros 1 • Äänestys 33

[philomenas-stuff]

My favourite scene ever. Just wow.

[whumpingale]

Deadwind/Karppi s02e08 "Black Water" [extra bye bye gif]

[set-phasers-to-whump]

trapped

prompt: passing out from pain

whumpee: sakari nurmi

fandom: karppi/deadwind

hi all here is a fun little reversal of a prompt i did awhile back where he was unable to pass out. thought it'd be only fitting to turn the tables :) hope you like!

They are tromping through a snow-covered field to the north of the city, looking for a buried safe that their suspected murder suspect’s suspected accomplice had told them about. It’s frigid, and the snow is deep, reaching right to the tops of Sakari’s boots. 

“It should be somewhere near here,” Sofia says from in front of him, looking down at her phone. “Let’s spread out.”

He shuffles off to the right, and she does the same to the left. He doesn’t really know what they’re looking for, whether the safe will poke up out of the snow at all, or whether they’ll just have to hope one of them kicks it. 

He has no sooner had this thought than his toe connects with something, and he’s halfway through calling out, “I’ve got something!” when a horrific pain erupts in his left foot. 

The rest of his words are replaced by a scream and he hits the ground, sinking into the soft snow. His foot feels like it’s on fire, throbbing and hot despite being buried in snow. 

“What happened?” Sofia asks, standing above him.

It hurts too much for him to answer her. And anyway, he doesn’t know. He just shakes his head, then stops when the world starts to go blurry. 

“Can you get up?” 

He doubts it. But he can’t just stay here in the snow. He tries to stand, but the second he attempts to move his foot at all the pain gets so bad that he very nearly passes out. 

“I can’t…” he manages. “Hurts.”

“Okay,” Sofia says, and then she starts digging into the snow. “I need to see what happened,” she explains. 

He watches her, carefully manages to shovel a bit of snow away himself. He also wants to know what happened. Why it hurts so much. 

Eventually they uncover his leg, and then his foot. He gets one glimpse of it and then looks away, nearly gagging. 

There’s some kind of animal trap, and it has clamped right through the material of his boot. There is blood in the snow and on the metal of the trap and he can smell it, he thinks, and it hurts so much worse for his having seen it, and–

And then Sofia’s touching it, trying to pry the trap off of him, and he can feel its teeth move and it fucking hurts and he thinks maybe he’s crying and he’s trying so hard not to scream and then Sofia says, “fuck,” and then the trap is digging back into his skin again and the pain spikes horribly and he does scream now, and just like that he passes out. 

--

He wakes up and he’s moving and everything around him is light and sound and movement and he feels fuzzy and he’s not sure what exactly is happening or where he is and he can feel himself starting to panic and then–

And then Sofia is there, and she looks worried and he sort of blindly and instinctively reaches out a clumsy hand towards her, and she takes it except there’s blood on her hands and had she gotten hurt? 

He tries to ask but finds that he can’t speak. He stares at her bloody hands as hard as he can and eventually she gets the message, looks down, looks back at him, still worried. 

“It’s your blood,” she says, and he experiences a flash of memory, of pain, and he really doesn’t like this, this confusion, the pain beneath it…

He fades out of consciousness again, gradually. 

--

When he next wakes up, he knows he’s in the hospital. He’s sort of fuzzy but aware enough to know why he feels this way. 

He pulls the IV from his arm immediately. He doesn’t want the painkillers. Doesn’t want to risk anything. 

This done, he takes stock of the rest of his body. His foot is raised up, covered in a bandage, and he spends a few seconds simply staring at it, trying to remember what had happened. He remembers, vaguely, snow and then something metallic, blood and cold and pain. And Sofia. 

She isn’t here, which is not surprising. There’s still work to be done. But a quick glance around him reveals a note on the table beside him, her messy handwriting telling him that she’ll come visit this evening. 

He looks at the clock. It’s evening now. Maybe she’s not coming, or maybe she’s still on the way. 

He knows he should probably stay awake and wait for her, but the pain is starting to make itself known now that the painkillers have stopped being pumped into his system, and anyways he’s still tired, and so he decides that the best course of action is to simply fall back asleep.

--

He wakes up with the distinct feeling that he is not alone. He’s wary for a second while he gets his bearings, then relaxes. 

It’s only Sofia. She’s sitting in a plastic chair that he doesn’t remember being there before, and her head is pillowed on the edge of his bed. She’s fast asleep, and a glance at the clock tells him it’s near midnight. 

Questions tumble slowly and drowsily through his head. How long has she been here? Is she okay? Why is she still here? 

The IV has not been replaced, is the next thing he notices. There’s a patch of gauze where he’d removed it, spotted with blood. He’s grateful, to whom, he doesn’t know, that this decision he’d made has been respected.

The third thing he notices, strangely enough, is the pain. His foot is aching terribly, and he can feel it throbbing in time with his pulse, all the way down to his toes. 

Memory is returning to him more fully, now. Sharp pain, the shape of the trap, the look on Sofia’s face. He supposes it’s good he can feel the pain at all, means everything is still attached. 

Still, it fucking hurts. 

And he’s still tired. 

He allows himself one more glance at his sleeping partner, as if to reassure himself that she’s really still there, before letting sleep take him once more.

thanks for reading!! hope you enjoyed <3

[allthingsfandoms]

I made something.

[canned-peaches-and-rain]

[troubledxmind]

This was one of my personal favorites to edit. I just love those two with all my heart 🥹❤️✨

[dance-with-me-tonight21]

Part 2 of Karppi (Deadwind) discussion. Turn on to hear all about season 2!

Last part, covering season 3, will be released on August 30.

[thelovelygods]

Karppi: But where did the victim get the drugs? 🤔

Nurmi:

[couragehopelovefaith]

I forgot how adorable low blood sugar-Nurmi is (not that he wouldn't be adorable in general, but. You know).

[starcrossedjedis]

Sakari Nurmi & Sofia Karppi - Deadwind 03x08 “Rauniot”

Karppi and Nurmi and the nordic noir equivalent of a happy ending

[philomenas-stuff]

It’s me again. I just can’t stay away. This isn’t very nice, apologies in advance.

[mierzejazinnejbajki]

[set-phasers-to-whump]

bulletproof vest, my only clothing

prompt: friendly fire (alt no.5)

whumpee: sakari nurmi

fandom: karppi/deadwind

heya! this fic is a follow up to the last episode of the series. i did something vaguely similar a while ago but fucked up in re: actual canon and also i wanted to focus more on the emotional fallout of everything with this one. so here's that. hope you like! (title from alcatraz by oliver riot)

Sofia shoots him and it hurts. She shoots him once and he hits the ground, “don’t,” and then she stands over him, expressionless, and shoots him again. 

The pain is horrible. Even with the vest on, getting shot at such close range is awful. The first bullet steals his breath, and the second his consciousness. 

--

Sofia keeps shooting him, in his dreams, night after night. She shoots him and he isn’t wearing a vest. He stares up at her as blood pools beneath him, and she delivers the second, fatal bullet. Or she shoots him and he is wearing a vest, but the second bullet is aimed at his head and the vest can do nothing to protect him. 

Sometimes she kisses him before she shoots him. Sometimes it’s his parents she shoots, and he is rendered an unwillingly silent observer. Once, the gun is in his hand but he can’t shoot, and then she takes it from him, places the barrel between his eyes, and pulls the trigger. 

It’s been over a month since that day, and multiple times a week, he wakes in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, the image of Sofia Karppi pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger frozen in his mind. 

He understands. Why she’d done what she’d done. Why she’d shot him, left him there. He does. 

But he’d seen the bruising across his chest. Those two especially dark points, where the bullets would have entered his body. 

If he hadn’t been wearing that vest, he’d have died. 

And she hadn’t known he’d been wearing it. 

He doesn’t blame her. It had been Emil’s life on the line, her own child. He knows she’d done what she had to. 

He can’t stop himself from reliving it, though. From looking at Sofia from across the room and seeing the gun in her hands as he lies there powerless on the ground with her standing over him, nothing at all on her face. 

Besides this, strangely, their relationship is good, stronger even, than it had been before. Sofia seems to have all but forgotten the events of that day, and he’s trying to, too. 

Trying being the operative word there. It’s hard to forget when his subconscious is intent on making him relive everything in new and inventive ways almost every night.

Things come to a head on a frigid November night. Sakari hadn’t wanted to spend the night on Sofia’s couch, but it had been late and they’d been drinking and Sofia had insisted. Neither one of them had, he thinks, quite been ready to share a bed—they’ve been taking it slow, still dancing around each other romantically. And so he’d ended up on the couch, buried in blankets and just hoping that tonight would be a rare quiet, dreamless night. 

Of course, he couldn’t be so lucky. 

Sofia shoots him and he hits the ground, whispers, “don’t,” and she stands over him as he lies there with the breath knocked out of his lungs and terror in his throat and he knows that he is going to die, that Sofia is going to kill him. 

She aims for his head and pulls the trigger. 

He wakes with a sharp inhale. He’s drenched in sweat and trembling and his breaths come in quick and painful pants. For a second, he’s all the more affected by his surroundings—he’s not in his own bed, so it takes him longer than normal to realize that it had only been a dream. 

He doesn’t notice that Sofia is standing nearby until she speaks. He doesn’t really hear what she says, because he’s too busy flinching in surprise at the unexpected presence of his partner, his killer. 

She’s standing next to him now, arm on his shoulder. The point of contact is warm. He isn’t afraid of her, never is, in his waking life. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” she asks, and he thinks it should sound pitying, as though he is a child who cannot even manage to sleep through the night. 

It doesn’t, though. It just sounds like her. 

He nods, not trusting himself to speak. He can’t stop shaking. 

“Move over,” Sofia says, and he shifts his body, scarcely even conscious of doing so. She sits beside him, steady and warm, and wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

He leans into her automatically. She rubs a hand up and down his arm. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, after what feels like a very long time, when he finally trusts his own voice again. “I’m okay.”

Sofia tugs him somehow closer, presses a long kiss to his temple. “You’re okay,” she whispers back. 

It should be odd. He feels so completely safe in her embrace, so comforted by her presence, yet it’s her that’s made him like this. It’s her that had been willing to kill him. 

Except she’s saved him, too, more times than he’s capable of numbering at the moment, and in more ways than one. He trusts her, even now. He wants to be around her. It’s just that there’s some animal, fearful part of his brain that is protesting their continued closeness. 

He thinks, maybe, that they need to talk about this. They haven’t really, not properly. They’re not ones to talk about things, usually. They’ve become more willing over the past few months, but it’s still a bit odd, still unnatural. 

He thinks that this might need to be overcome. Thinks that, perhaps, if he could talk to Sofia, explain the nightmares and the memories that keep pushing themselves to the front of his mind even though he doesn’t want them there, things would begin to get better. 

But this is a job for later. Right now, it is just the two of them and the silence and Sofia’s arms still wrapped around him. She’s falling asleep, leaned against his shoulder, and he feels himself being dragged back into sleep, too. He fights it for a bit, afraid of having another nightmare, of making everything worse, but then Sofia exhales softly, whispers, “sleep,” and he finds himself doing exactly as she says. 

He sleeps soundly through the rest of the night, and when he wakes in the morning, he asks Sofia if they can have a conversation, before he can talk himself out of it. She agrees easily, presses a steaming mug of coffee into his hands. 

He accepts it, breathes in deeply. Things are going to be alright, he finds himself thinking, for the first time since that fateful night. They’re going to be alright.

thanks for reading!! i hope you liked it <3333

[allthingsfandoms]

For the best @troubledxmind