crossing out @mileswest - Tumblr Blog

crossing out the good years

MILES WEST. 28. MUSICIAN.

bio. facts. pinterest.

TW: Car accident, death mention.

#; go with grace | character development

Closed Starter For: @mileswest Location: Miles' House The Nashville sun hadn't yet reached its apex. It would be hot today. Even at this hour of the morning, he could feel the heat rolling in. All the more reason to get out early. Carson parked his Range Rover in Miles' driveway, strolling to the front door and hitting the bell. He bounced on the balls of his feet, swining his arms at his sides while he waited for any signs of movement from inside the property. When the door finally opened, Carson greeted his brother with a grin. "Morning, sunshine. Get your running shoes on. We're going jogging."

mileswest

Miles finds himself moving toward the door, unwillingly. He looks around, wondering why no one from his staff was here yet-- oh yeah because it's too fucking early for visitors. He groans when the security camera tells him it's Carson but he still opens the door. Carson, try as he might, is a good brother to Miles but unfortunately, Miles hasn't been the best in exchange lately. Opening the door, he's not surprised. In retrospect, he should have been ready already but he preferred making things hard. "Unfortunately, sunshine doesn't come out until the sun rises, asshole, so I think you're a little early," he tells his brother, leaving the door open for him but turning away. "I have a personal trainer, you know? I'm starting to think that you're trying to take his job."

#; { carson w. }#; { carson 001 }

emiliamcdden

— who: @mileswest — where: Miles’ House

“You’d make my job so much easier if you smiled,” Emilia lamented, sitting at Miles’ kitchen counter, scrolling through photos sent over from a photoshoot done with a local photographer that were done yesterday. She was staring a little more intently at her laptop than she usually did, trying to pull photos for a series of Instagram posts talking about his day to day. Including the integrated promo for specific products in the comments was the easy part. But the hard part was finding pictures that companies would approve of. Miles had this brooding thing going on which was good - really good (Emilia could confidently say half these photos would end up being fan lockscreen photos) - but maybe not for advertisements. Finally glancing up at the man in question in his own home, Emilia arched an eyebrow. “You have such a nice smile.” Which was true, Miles had a nice everything, but she was hoping the compliment would coax said smile out of the man. Closing her laptop, Emilia tried a new route. Resting her elbow on the counter, she watched Miles move around the room. She had worked with him for long enough at this point to know better than to ask about new music. She was sure his label was giving him enough shit about that, and she had the misfortune of reading his Instagram comments. Sighing a little but, Emmy ran a hand through her hair. “I think you’re in a really interesting position right now…you’re not promoting anything right now,” She was toeing the cliff that she needed to avoid. “So you could let your fans in a little bit into your day to day. Like obviously not in an intrusive way…but like…what are your hobbies, dude?”

mileswest

The fact that he still needed to play nice with the label isn't beyond him. Miles has a contract and in order to earn money and not get sued, he has to fulfill said contract. Having someone do his social media was just one of those things and admittedly, Emilia wasn't the worst. Not that he wasn't still just as sarcastic or hard to get along with as he was with anyone else, but she at least came to him.

Miles grabs water from the fridge, closing it as he huffs, shooting Emilia a look over his shoulder. "I was voted hottest country singer in plenty of publications. I promise it wasn't just because of my smile. You have plenty to work with," he assures her. Not that he looked at the picture. It'd taken Emilia plenty of time to convince him to just go to the photo shoot. A smile would've been too much to ask. Admittedly, he used to be way easier to deal with. Hell, he used to love this shit. "My hobbies?" he asks, eyebrows furrowed as he thinks about the question. What should they highlight? Him getting pissed at news reports about him, getting pissed at the label, or him being pissed at himself for not being able to make new music? Dealer's choice. "I like to buy cars. I'm sure that'll really make everyone love me. Have them come to the dealership with me and watch me drop a couple hundred thousand." A small sarcastic 'I told you so' sort of smile etches itself onto his face.

#; { emilia m. }#; { emilia 001 }

dillhikes

who: open starter Location: Broadway

It was without question, that Broadway was one of the more exhausting parts of the city to visit. The tourists swarmed the streets like they were fruit flies on a dumpster. The music, while he was certain was probably well performed, all blended together in a mix of 90's, country, pop, top 40, screamo, etc. He could remember a time when it was all still just a little too overwhelming for his liking. Thought back on his first week in town. The night he'd slipped out of his uncles, and found himself having to drown out the bright lights and overwhelming surplus of noise with 9 vodka sodas in less than 2 hours. He'd been in for one hell of a headache the next morning when his uncle had caught on to the hangover. But despite the large majority of what Cristian considered to be Broadways short comings, it did have one large positive. One of the easiest places to pick up weed in all of Nashville. Sure it occasionally meant he had to sit and listen to their bullshit spiel about how it was decriminalized in Davidson county, but it was worth it for what he was walking away with.

Three years into his stay in Nashville, and he now considered himself to be a bit of a pro. Duck through the crowd, hoodie up as if there was any possible chance of being recognized, picking up as much as they'd allow him to take in one go and then making a b-line for the downtown library parking garage that was only a block or two away. The walk was quick, but the humid summer night air wasn't doing him any favors as he ducked into the garage just in time to find a familiar face leaning up against his car. A small smirk gracing his features as he pulled a joint out from behind his ear and proceeded to light it as he approached. "Well well well, look who decided to come out. If you're planning on staying, hop in the car, we're not staying down here. Streets are fuckin packed in like sardines."

mileswest

Miles admittedly hates going out these days. There's always someone asking, 'How are you?' and fuck if he's going to answer. How do you think he's doing? His music was on the rise and then he stopped making it-- now, he's getting screamed at by the label wondering when he's going to get his shit together. They'd given him a pass but now it's two years and he's sure he's more lost than he was a year ago. But he doesn't need saving. He chooses this.

Well, maybe not this-- the crowds of people surrounding him and the looks of strangers with a vague recognition of the country singer. Hearing Cristian say they were getting out of there sounds like a good ass plan to him. He's tired of this shit. "Figured y'all could use something pretty to look at. You're welcome," he deadpans, raising his eyebrows. "Let's go. I'm tired of everyone acting like I've got a third arm or some shit."

#; { cristian r. }#; { cristian 001 }

jascnrobles

WHO: open

WHERE: tootsies, rooftop

Honestly, Jason was happy to support whomever was on stage. It was a nice night, with good music so far. "I miss getting to perform with a smaller crowd like this. It makes it feel all so intimate." He admitted, "Kinda nice to just be someone in the crowd tonight." If people didn't listen to country music, they probably had no idea who he even was. Even then, it's not like he was some world famous musician. At least not yet.

mileswest

"I didn't realize we were getting all philosophical tonight," Miles replies, eyes sliding over to the man. Being in a crowd like this made Miles anxious because in reality-- he should be the one on the stage. He should be giving the fans what they want (a new album) and touring. But it's like time stopped two years ago and he's still trying to figure out where the lever or the button is to make it go again. "I'm more of a stage guy, myself." God, he loved the attention, the lights, and the crowd singing back to him. But he hated it simultaneously because he wanted to be home with her. "Money's better, crowd's louder."