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@keremdogulu
These are links to information you can read regarding KEREM DOĞULU. The below are only a few of the created pages and links. The full navigation has a more extensive list, however, the most prominent are listed below.
(click anywhere on the sentences to be directed.)
Kerem’s full navigation.
Kerem’s full biography.
Kerem’s connections page.
Kerem’s friendships page.
Kerem’s timeline breakdown page.
Kerem’s NPC’s.
"My life?" The woman clicked her tongue. "It's actually fantastic. It's your existence in my vision that's disrupting it." His words didn't get much reaction out of her. "My tricks may be old, or childish, but they're very effective. Especially after a long period of time."
"A long period of time?" He scoffed a laugh, jaw rolling as his tongue darted across his lips. Fury raged through him, but he withheld. Public, and this...was not a good look. "Sounds more like attempting periodic torture...been spending a bit too much time with the French, have we, Leyla?"
"Glad your life is good now go and fucking live it elsewhere— preferably away from me."
"Because you're fucking waste of space."
"...what's with the dramatics, jesus fuck. Is your life that boring that you had to come over and interfere with mine, huh?" he gave her a glance over and shook his head. "Childish fuckin' behaviour."
@keremdogulu
Of course, she spotted him from all the way across the room. Taking a glass of red wine, she made her way towards him, and as soon as she was in front, she splashed his face with the drink.
"Even this drink is too good for you."
If the night hadn't been stressful already, it sure as hell was now. He didn't spot her coming, he didn't even feel the prick of danger at his neck. One minute, he forced a laugh and smile as people talked — the next? Drenched.
What the actual — he rose. But the second he saw Leyla, he visibly deflated as he let out a quiet, unimpressed groan. "Leyla...what the fuck are you doing?" Was she tapped? "What...why?"
She had zoned out while he struggled with whatever internal issue he was dealing with and was staring at the wings on his back. A fallen angel. Apt, considering his family's situation.
...our father's might be proposing...
That caught her attention.
"And why would our father's be talking about anything together?"
It was difficult to admit that Kerem's father was a force in and of himself but the work he had done in building his drug empire had to be acknowledged. Then he handed it over to the children and they ruined it. Still, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that the Kurylenko patriarch would take a meeting with the retired man.
"Explain."
"Our fathers don’t, or wouldn't, should I say, take meetings unless there’s blood or profit at stake," he said, a sigh forming at the back of his throat before it worked its way out. "And my people, if we don't keep our numbers up — we’re fresh outta' fuckin' blood." His jaw was wound tight, his shoulders stiff. How the fuck had no one even mentioned this to her? She had to be messing with him, right?
Not strictly true: there was always blood back in Turkey. But the big guns coming in was always the last resort. It meant they had truly lost control and needed assistance. That was not a call to be made lightly. Which meant there'd been discussions about other ways.
Better ways.
"They need stability right now. Control." A humorless huff left him, it told the story of the defeated nature that'd now taken root. Kerem had no choice, he'd realised that the second his father had explained the situation to him.
It wasn’t easy, saying it. Felt like swallowing a fuckload of glass. But someone had to tell her. He was just very aware he might die before he got out of this party.
"They want to merge...for us..." oh god. "To get married — to merge our people, uh, make the alliance stronger." He...was dead.
where: the venue who: @keremdogulu
Emine was never one to shy away from anything, or anyone. So when she spotted Kerem, she didn’t hesitate, crossing the room with that same confidence she was known for. No matter what had come between them, something about him still had a pull she couldn’t ignore.
“We should get a drink,” she said, voice even and direct.
Kerem had been staying on the outskirts of the room, the walls the best place to watch and keep out of the vicinity of those that hated him...which extended to more than half the room these days. Nursing his drink, eye contact steadily trained to the floor — he hadn't heard her slow approach. But he knew that perfume anywhere.
Emine's perfume.
The voice was just plain old confirmation.
"We can, s'long as we avoid the rest of em'," and he meant that. One look from the Russians, or those left within the Turks and eyebrows would be raised. "C'mon."
@keremdogulu Event: Hallowe'en, 2025.
"It always seemed like such a waste that you never dressed up as John Wick."
"People can’t handle that kind of humor," the knee jerk reaction he had to the mention of Spectre was enough to have him bearing his teeth behind pursed lips. "Besides, I step into character...and much like John, I wouldn’t have the heart to leave anyone alive. Learned that the hard way."
As have many of your people, he thought, but kept it to himself.
"Don't need the suit to make a point," he added. Just a gun. And good aim.
KEREM DOGULU | AS A FALLEN ANGEL. HALLOWEEN 2025.
Location: The Venue.
Accompanied by: himself.
"Talk about...?" She gestured to the bar around her, an almost mocking question in her eyes. "Be more specific. I have a handful of things that need to be addressed these days."
That, right there, was exactly what got his back up, too often. But Kerem had learnt it was better to bite his tongue than bite her head off. If he wanted to keep his, that was. His tongue dragged along the inside of his teeth, trying to center himself as he let out a breath through flared nostrils. Calm boy, calm. "What I think our fathers might be proposing..." she had to know, right?
This kind of place wasn’t usually Ayda’s scene, but when she spotted Kerem heading in, she followed. Pushing her way through the crowd, she found him and quietly asked, “Do you want to talk?” Her hand gently came to rest over his.
"I wanna...but I don't know if I can." and Kerem meant that. There was so much buzzing around inside that noggin' of his, and right now, he wanted to talk — but those words weren't allowed to be uttered. He'd settle for the drink, filling the first one he could find and downing it one fell swoop. "Fuck."
emine: I could be. Why? emine: are you sure about that? emine: you can come by the apartment. I am home.
kerem: I need to talk to you about something. kerem: not want. guess i should've worded it different. kerem: i'll be over in about an hour.
FOR: @viktoriya-kurylenko WHEN: October, 2025. WHERE: Vorya.
"We've gotta' talk about this, Vika."
FOR: @mobscene-starters WHEN: October, 2025. WHERE: A party. Open for it being anywhere.
"All I know right now-- is that I need this fuckin' drink." the music boomed, but he cared little as he beelined for the assorted array of liquids.
texting - emine.
kerem: hey, are you free for a chat. kerem: i know it's been a few months, but i wanna talk to you about something important. kerem: let me know, no hard feelings either way.
FOR: @mobscene-starters EVENT: Fight Club 2025. LOCATION: The Underground, London. Midst Women's fights.
This was not how he'd intended t spend his night, watching the women tearing each other apart. Didn't mind the men, but...he shook it off. Finding himself at the bar between rounds. His own fight was a plague on the mind — he knew he wasn't in for a fun ride, and he wasn't willing to batter the fuck out of the man who'd allowed him into his organization with his people. "Triple whiskey, please." Dutch courage was in need.
Yvonne nodded in acknowledgement at Kerem. "She certainly likes being at the center of attention." Not that Yvonne had room to talk, considering her own dress was selected with the intention of showing up her sister at her own event. Kerem's question, however, brought a slight frown to her face. "Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?"
It's the defensive tone, though asking about her wellbeing was a crime. He tries his best not to scoff, but instead straightens himself and tugs at the black tie, and repositions his cravat. "I was simply asking how you are, enquiring into your health: is that not how we all greet each other? Pass off a passive, yes, I'm good thank you, and you?" his own brows furrowing in concern. "Now I'm wondering if something is wrong with you..."
KEREM DÓGULU | FIGHT CLUB 2025.
