billiemarquez
smooth as tennessee whiskey.
billie marquez. 26. she/hers. session musician @ gold star recording studios.
15 posts
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
jordanbrankovski
Jordan Brankovski
hellenruthe
火•RUTH
helloimnicholastrimblething-blog
Nicholas Trimble
atd-sportscars-blog
ATD-Sportscars
helloimnicholastrimblething-blog
Nicholas Trimble
Text
fatherafferty:
darcy lifts a heavy head to look at her. he wasn’t one for frivolity and he’d had a rather long day. “looking at my mode of dress and hearing my accent, how could you think it’s anything but liquor?” he said gruffly.
“What, God got you hittin’ the bottle like the rest of us, Father?”
“––Jameson’s probably your best shot. Get friendly with the bartenders, though, ‘n they might let you have a taste of that bottle of Redbreast they got.”
19 notes
·
View notes
Audio
i went down, down, down
and the flames went higher
and it burns, burns, burns
the ring of fire
168 notes
·
View notes
Text
forsylvians:
sylvie gasps and snatches the small figure from billie’s hands with glee. “oh my god, this is stunning. gorgeous. your finest work. this tiny man speaks to the innermost crevices of my soul.” she rocks back on her heels and marvels at the small figurine. she puts her face very close to it. “hello tiny tax man. will you help me kill my enemies?” she looks up at billie. “thank you for this gift.”
Sylvie’s gleeful response makes Billie smile, wide and toothy, little canines poking out as she watches Sylvie turn the ominous little figurine between her palms. She clutches her own hands like she’s praying, and for a moment, she’s the weeping madonna, holy water tears the only thing missing. “Where the Devil can’t succeed,” she says, solemn as a preacher, “he sends a tiny tax man.” Or a Sylvie.
“Now, c’mon–” She held her hand out for Sylvie to take, solemnity gone like a ghost, some other, more giddy spirit possessing her instead – eager and dark-eyed. “You gotta teach me the forbidden tourney tricks so I can fuckin’ beat Dartsman’s ass next time he’s in.”
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
stclla:
12 a.m. on the dot. stella swiped the card in her hand for what must’ve been the fifth time so far tonight, having served one particular customer and his group of old college buddies as long as they’d been there. it took a lot for coyote ugly patrons to get on the girl’s nerves (flirting got people to buy more drinks, after all), but these guys had gone so far as to shove other customers out of the way to get her attention. with every drink their aggression escalated, but who was she to tell them to stop drinking just yet? she just needed a break. some fresh air. besides, stella wasn’t the best with harsh confrontations—not nearly as good as her coworkers—so when it came time for her break she took the chance to slip away. maybe if they thought they lost her they’d take it down a notch… or run into someone who would do it for them.
slipping on a denim jacket (and, perhaps, sneaking a cider under it), the coyote lightly nudged the coworker beside her and said she was going on break. she then breezed out of the front door and onto the street, letting the door close behind her. though, her isolation was short-lived, her line of sight finding a familiar face after just a few paces. ❝ hey, stranger, ❞ stella greeted, pulling the bottle out from under her jacket. ❝ crazy night? ❞
“Hey, you.” It was their call-and-response; Billie’s dimples digging into her cheeks as she smiled at Stella, happy at the sight of her. “Nah,” she said, sauntering over in her black boots, dark hair like a river down her back. “Not like yours. Guys in there are gettin’ too comfortable.”
–– She had a feeling that was why Stella had disappeared outside.
“‘f I’m being honest? Kinda makes me wish I’d given Sylvie that knife after all.” Billie’s little gifts for the resident half-feral half-literal coyote weren’t a secret – always odd, always specific, magpie presents from one strange bird to another.
“Or that I was about.. three? foot taller, and didn’t have to worry ‘bout breakin’ my knuckles on some dipshit’s face.” She wiggled her fingers in the air for emphasis – nails painted black for the occasion, but kept short, all for ease of playing. Her smile grew a little softer. The Coyotes could handle themselves, Billie knew as much – but that didn't stop her from wanting to check in on Stella. “.. Y’alright?”
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
rycnkim:
Now, given that Ryan did not live under a rock, he knew who Billie Marquez was. Even if she weren’t a regular around the bar, Nashville was built on music and anyone with ears knew she had it. Of course he wasn’t going to mention all that to her. Who needed a recap on who they were from a near-stranger? Besides, best bets were she knew just how talented she was all on her own.
Ryan smiled when she came over, asking if he needed a light.
“No ma’am,” he answered, deciding whether to leave things at that or not. Stoic was in his reputation after all. “I haven’t smoked since I was in high school and even then, that was just the one time. Almost coughed up a lung and my mom was not happy when she wound up smellin’ it on me. Scared me straight.”
“Cherry mint gum?” He then offered the packet he’d been patting down his pockets to find.
His story made her lips curl into a smile, even teased forth a laugh, the sound of it low and affectionately amused. “Attaboy,” Billie said, “good on you for listenin’ to her, 'cause she was right. Ain’t the prettiest habit in the world.”
Cherry mint gum?
Her eyebrows rose in measured surprise, but Billie was still smiling. “– Sure.” She held the palm of her hand out, studying him in the meanwhile.
“You work here, right?” With a slight nod of her head, she gestured to Claddagh. Someone had gotten a sizeable portion of the crowd inside to join in on sing-along to the Waterboys – far away from dry land and its bittersweet memories – half outta tune and all charm. “Security?" Billie narrowed her eyes, considering it, "–I think?”
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
sonnytay:
“has anyone told you you’re an angel, billie?” she jumped, smiling at the brunette in front of her before turning over and realizing that the people who were looking for one were gone. sonny didn’t smoke – cigarettes – but she carried a lighter around whenever she felt like taking just a light pull, whenever she was feeling creative, she would say. except this time, it seemed he had lent her lighter to someone who hadn’t given it back. she contemplated going back in for a few seconds before meeting the girls gaze, “mind if i join you out here for a while? I mean, i should be inside but why miss the chance of looking at something pretty?” sonny said with a smile, nudging the girl lightly. “the moon, i mean.”
“Nah, darlin’. Jus’ you.”
Her dark eyes followed the curve of Sonny’s own gaze, saw the other woman considering going back into the bar – only for Sonny to nudge her instead, those plush lips curling into a smile, and ah, there it was: that tug on her heart, soft as silk, even now. She’d always be a little tender for them, Sonny and Tal and the rest, even when it didn’t work out.
“Don’t mind that at all,” she said, and there they were – you, me ‘n the moon makes three. “What’re you paintin’, these days?”
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
shilohried:
there was nothing like the cool breeze on a late night–tipsy but not quite drunk just yet–outside of coyote ugly. shiloh had seen her fair share of these nights, all of which she cherished. some of her best–and brightest–memories took place on this very nashville street. rough around the edges, littered with empty beer cans and cigarette buds but perfect (in it’s own way). hell, she’d even made her mark right down the way a couple years back, her handprint left in wet cement for generations to come to see.
“this ol’ thing?” she waved the cigarette which was placed between her fingers as billie approached. a sight for sore eyes, on any night. shi wasn’t much of a smoker, she wasn’t a fan of the smell–much preferring something sweeter–but everyone had their vices. “holdin’ it for a friend, bils.” she winked, a soft chuckle following her words as she held her hand out and waited for the offered light. “you’ll keep my secret, right?”
She smiled at Shiloh’s wink, leaned in to light it for her – even cupped her hand to shield it from the breeze that blew through. With a drag of Billie’s thumb, the lighter sparked to life; flame licking at the cigarette until the tip glowed red as an ember.
“Oh, y’know me, Lo–”
“I’ll take it to my grave.”
She slipped the lighter back into her purse, glanced at the street around them – before her gaze returned to Shiloh, dark-painted lips still curled into a smile. “How’ve you been? Shop goin’ strong as ever?” She stopped by whenever she could – both for Shiloh and for the smell; the heady scent of growth the kind of thing she wanted to live in.
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
fatherafferty:
location: claddagh
open: to all
darcy hadn’t been in nashville long: the diocese had set him up with an apartment a bit aways from the church and he was thankful for the help they had given him, but nashville was a unique animal in its own right. everything seemed both new and old, and building were spread in such a vast array. he wondered if he needed a car while he was here, but he truly didn’t know how long he’d be preaching to the good people of tennessee.
“what would you recommend?” he asked the bartender. claddagh was a block or two away from his tiny abode and it looked aggressively irish, which put his mind at ease.
The rest of them had insisted on hitting Claddagh after the session was over, and Billie hadn’t been hard to ask – but she’d settled by the bar instead of the pool table, bolo tie like a choker around her neck as she sat there, silently counting the beats of the song that played from the speakers. Habit. 4/4, but the fills made sure it didn’t sound boring, drumsticks rattling over the skins with purpose.
She’d been half-lost in it; almost hadn’t noticed the man that stepped up beside her – but then she’d caught a glimpse of his outfit. More specifically, the collar he wore. It had been hard, after that, to not notice him.
The bartender didn’t hear him – but Billie did.
“Depends on what you like,” she said, turning in her chair to face him – her in her white dress and cowboy boots, him in his leather jacket, neither of them from around here.
“You a liquor or beer kinda guy?”
#darcy#darcy 1#dont mind me im deep in my feelings abt a7x#you talked about drums and tHATS WHERE I WENT
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
forsylvians:
sylvie grinned after ribbing the customer and handed him back his id. “go buy that poor lady a drink. she’s got enough to deal with out on a date with you.” the customer scowled and after they entered she slung an arm around billie’s shoulders.
“so, are you here for business or pleasure? the guy who plays darts all night isn’t here. i’m sure i could get a good tourney going, let you in on it.”
The arm across her shoulder was met with a hand snared around Sylvie’s waist, the two of them the definition of an odd couple – but Billie wouldn’t have it any other way. “He ain’t here?” She raised both eyebrows in faux surprise, even gave a gasp just for the fuck of it. “Fuck yeah, I want a tourney. You still gotta teach me that trick of yours.”
She slipped her free hand into the purse that hung from her shoulder. “Here,” she said, “I’ll even bribe ya.” It was a small carved figurine that looked suspiciously like a devil dressed up as a tax man, his tie a snake, papers speared on his devil’s fork. It had become a sport of sorts, finding the weirdest things she thought Sylvie might like. Less a bribe and more a show of favour, in truth.
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
blaircamp:
open starter | coyote ugly
it wasn’t unusual to see blair in coyote ugly, she’d often considered it her second home. dancing, drinks, fun, what wasn’t to love? the change of pace from the rest of nashville was nice, and well… even the blonde could admit that there was still a bit of that old party girl left in her. she’d chilled out, as much as blair campbell could chill out, which may not really be much to the average person. she sipped down on her second sangria of the night, which couldn’t even begin to compare to those she had living in spain, but blair never minded. the drink still tasted good, and managed to get her a solid tipsy on a normal night.
ignoring the noise that consumed the busy bar, she pulled out her camera, flipping through the pictures she’d taken earlier in the day. no shoots, or events, but the pure simplicity of nashville. there was a time when blair simply couldn’t imagine the city as being anything but drab, but after returning back home, she found beauty in the small things. feeling a pair of eyes on her, blair glanced up before putting her camera away into her bag, looking up at the individual and giving them a smile. she tilted her head to see them better, bringing the glass to her lips once more before speaking, “you know, you’d look really great in front of the camera, this lighting is really doing you justice.”
She was sipping on a whiskey sour when her wandering gaze spotted someone that looked familiar in the crowd. Had she seen her around before? She had, hadn’t she. Billie didn’t think she knew her, which meant she’d probably seen her near here–
The blonde caught her staring, and the smile she broke into was infectious. She stuck out a little at a place like Coyote Ugly, with her sangria and her camera and that megawatt smile of pearly whites, but Billie liked that. The whole street was full of misfits anyway, what was one more in the mix?
“Oh, that’s real sweet,” Billie said, and her dark-painted smile was genuine. “Thanks.” Mötley Crue was blasting from the speakers, girls girls girls, but they were far enough in the back that she could hear the woman over the sound of it. Billie was wearing her dark hair loose for the night, waves of it tumbling over her bare shoulders – midriff revealed by the carmine-red top she wore. She could be mistaken for a Coyote, dressed as she was that evening, but most folks around here knew she wasn’t more than another regular. ‘sides, the fact that she wasn’t up on the bar slinging drinks said as much.
“You a photographer?”
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
talonayers:
OPEN STARTER
Location: Claddagh
Status: Open
“She started it.” Talon defended, shaking her head. “’The customer is always right.’ No, sometimes the customer is just a raging bitch. You drink it, you don’t get to walk out on the tab. Especially not for the third time. I’m chill, right? You work with me, I’ll work with you, you dig? But come on.” She reasoned as she poured herself a shot. It wasn’t entirely true — no one in the the history of Talon Ayers had ever called her ‘easy going.’ But that wasn’t the point. Before taking her drink, though, the bartender glimpsed at the clock to confirm that her shift had come to a dramatic close, hopped the bar, and settled into the stool beside the person she’d been ranting to. “Anyway,” she started, flashing the other a smile as she leaned back over and took back the amber liquid. “How’s your day?” She asked, unmistakable levity in her voice, as if she hadn’t just been part of an argument loud enough that half of downtown heard it.
Her and Tal hadn’t worked out as girlfriends – but, as Billie always reasoned, that didn’t mean they couldn’t get along as friends. (She had plenty of exes that would disagree, ‘course, but that didn’t stop her.)
“Bars don’t run on kindness ‘n good thoughts,” she said, nodding at Talon’s story, only to lean back just a little as the other woman hopped the bar. She watched as Tal slammed back a shot, and if her own eyes lingered a little on that spot near the crook of her throat, that was Billie’s business and no one else’s.
“My day’s been good. Pretty much spent it at the studio; fingers felt fit for bleedin’ by the end of it.” She took meticulous care of her hands, but it wasn’t a secret that Billie often pushed herself to the very edge of her limit.
“How’ve you been?” She bumped their shoulders together, looking at Tal out of the corner of her eye. “–‘sides the ‘raging bitch’.”
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
when: evening, sometime around midnight
where: outside Coyote Ugly OR Claddagh; your choice!
Billie didn’t smoke. Not really, not unless she was drunk enough to say yes to a few drags when offered – knew the taste, but her voice was already husky enough, why chance it? offered up with a smile each time.
So. Billie didn’t smoke, not really, but she always had a lighter on her – hefty little Zippos that were warm against her thigh, or, like today, cold inside her little black purse. She’d stepped out for a breather, the cold breeze nipping at the hem of her dress a welcome thing.
She spotted someone patting down their pockets, and sauntered over, like a patron saint of smokers, dressed in all black.
“Y’need a light?”
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
forsylvians:
location: coyote ugly, 9pm
open to: all
security was low that night, and when security was low, sylvie always offered to get the door. she was fairly useless inside– close quarters and low lights made it seem like everyone was the enemy, after all– but she liked getting a little peek at the fresh air. and, of course, she liked harassing the customers that were still as green as the mountain grass.
“you dress on theme?” she asked, chewing a massive wad of bubblegum. she looked the patron up and down as she observed their id. as she scrutinizes them, she blows a bubble. “doesn’t look like it.”
She pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth – it took effort, holding back her laughter as she watched Sylvie intimidate the customer, who looked like he couldn’t believe what she was saying.
“She’s right, y’know,” Billie chimed in, gesturing to her own outfit – white dress that clung to her shoulders with thin straps, black leather boots made for walkin’, and on her right-hand middle finger, a ring designed to look a raven skull. “It’s swamp witch chic, tonight. Y'gotta dress the part.” She flashed the stamp on her wrist for emphasis.
26 notes
·
View notes
Photo
stats: Billie Marquez, 26 (b. July 16th, 1993.) she/hers (cis woman.)
occupation: session musician at Gold Star Recording Studios (guitar, vocals) / singer-songwriter working the Nashville scene
drinks: Sidecar, Corpse Reviver, whiskey sour, pomegranate margarita
sounds like: Lera Lynn, Marika Hackman, Larkin Poe, Billie Marten, Ruby Friedman
+ driven. charming. adventurous. observant.
– fickle. self-destructive. macabre. private.
misc.
likes banter, likes fun, is laidback and Chill TM. bi af. loves a good boot, enjoys bolo ties, has a pen on her at all times. lighter, too, though she doesn’t really smoke. enjoys a good Bad Idea. dresses like if morticia addams was into southern / southwestern gothic and disco, with a pitstop at hollywood glam & marty robbins’ wardrobe. macabre. likes a good murder ballad. jokes to Cope.
history
( tw physical/verbal domestic / child abuse, murder and suicide, death of parents, implied self-destructive behavior. tl;dr at the end )
The version of Billie Marquez that Billie willingly presents, is this:
City like Nashville, everyone’s got a sob story. Hers isn’t any different – her parents were fucked up, and they fucked her over in the process, but now, it’s water under the bridge, nothing to worry about. She’s got a job, got a roof over her head, and hey – I’m here, ain’t I? Dig a little deeper, get to know her a little more, and she might tell you that her uncle took her in when she was 16. She’ll tell you her parents died in a way that implies it’s an accident, and she’ll tell you that the guitar’s the only constant in her life, ‘sides her aforementioned uncle.
The version of Billie Marquez that Billie has tried to bury, is this:
She remembers it with startling clarity: the sound of crickets in the nearby field, the buzz of the street lamp flickering out overhead. The car that drove past her some ten minutes before she stood out on the porch, red taillights burned into her memory, by virtue of being the last thing of note before her existence upended itself.
If her life was a movie, she’d be saying I’d felt something was off ever since I got off my shift. Couldn’t shake the feeling the whole ride home – but truth is, that evening didn’t feel any more wrong than usual. Her parents fought and Billie drowned it out with her guitar; that was how shit went. For as long as she could remember, the two of them would scream themselves hoarse, eager to break something – themselves or each other, two ill-fitting pieces who had tried and failed to make a home. Hell, she came away with a couple bruises of her own; could smell the booze rolling off them, even on the good days. It was bad, sure. But she still didn’t have a clue about what she’d be coming home to, that night.
The gunshot echoed through her, left her cold as a ghost despite the warmth of a Texan summer.
Mama, dead on the kitchen floor, long-gone by the time Billie came in. Daddy, in his arm chair, shotgun still warm.
She called the cops. Then she threw up, right in the kitchen sink, the stink of hot bile and fry grease clinging to her like it would never leave.
No note. Nothing to explain what had happened, why it happened – if she might have died, too, if it hadn’t been for the extra shift she’d picked up at the last minute. (Could she have stopped it? Done something different? Changed the outcome? She hasn’t found the answer, yet.)
They had no family to speak of in Texas, and besides, Billie didn’t want to stay. Calling her uncle was a last minute idea, the plea of a kid at the end of the line. Mama rarely spoke of her older brother, but when she did – when she had – it had been highly, and never in the company of daddy. Things had gone sour, that much Billie knew. The band hadn’t worked out, and when her uncle kept booking jobs, it had left her father bitter.
“Hey– is this Stavo Marquez?”
“—Gabriela? Is that you?”
“No. It’s– Billie. I’m your niece? I, uh..”
Mama was right. Her brother was a good man, decent and kind, the type who took in his estranged niece and came all the way to Texas to bring her back to Nashville. The kind of man who may not have fathered her, but who became her dad, who saw the talent in her and mentored it further.
The version of Billie Marquez that Billie likes most, is this:
She booked a job because she’s Billie, not Stavo Marquez’ niece; and then she kept booking them because she’s fucking good at what she does. Her guitar and her singing got her through her childhood, got her through those first months in Nashville, and has kept her going ever since. It’s her most singular obsession, the woman a devil at the strings. She’s happiest when she’s working, and her hours in-between her steady gig as a session musician, or going over her own material, are spent roaming oddity shops and the two bars closest to Gold Star Recording Studios – Coyote Ugly and Claddagh. She’s been a regular that bounces between the two for a few years now, leaving her well-acquainted with both scenes. She’s known to be flighty – she falls in and out of love, and while she never tries to be cruel about it, it’s a known fact around the neighbourhood that Billie’s not the kind that sticks around. She likes fun, likes to feel mindless, enjoys the banter and spectacle of the two bars; fuck it, she even participates in it, sometimes. She works hard and plays hard, because if she stops, she’ll have to think about that house back in Texas, and that’s the last thing she wants.
TL;DR
– grew up in an abusive home in Texas with two alcoholic parents.
– the year Billie turned 16, her father killed her mother, and then himself. she doesn’t know why, and it haunts her more than she wants to admit.
– she moved to Nashville to live with her uncle, a well-known musician among the Nashville industry. she took his (and her mother’s) last name.
– she’s a very talented artist in her own right, and has a steady job at Gold Star Recording Studios as one of their most-booked session musicians. she does guitar (both electric and acoustic) and vocals, and has been dabbling at the piano as well.
– loves love, loves to be loved, fucking Sucks at loving others: she doesn’t keep people around for long, and is the kind of dummy that would like to somehow stay friends with her exes. as much as it’s true that Billie’s better at being friends, she’s the one that breaks things off, and it tends to leave people with a sour taste in their mouth.
wanted connections (more TBA)
( i’m super into just seeing where characters go, so if you want a thread but wanna check the chemistry before you hit the past connections, don’t be afraid to hit me up! we can just toss ‘em together and see where it goes✨ )
friends – Garrett ‘Doc’ Reese, ?
While Coyote Ugly’s her current go-to, she’s been flitting about for years, Claddagh right across the street. She’s friendly, likes people, tips as well as she can depending on what the cash flow’s like that month, and doesn’t mind when people have rough edges – she doesn’t have a whole lot herself, but she grew up around people who did.
exes – Sonny Taylor, Talon Ayers, ?
Billie’s.. flighty. It’s not that she’s purposefully cruel, which might be easier to handle. She’s genuinely sweet, genuinely caring, but she can never seem to stomach the idea of settling down. If she doesn’t break up with them first, it’s likely that they’ve met the Billie Marquez Wall: she’s spent years perfecting the easiest version of her story, and she has genuine trouble letting anyone in.
colleagues –
Nashville’s firmly a music town – so who else does she know from the open bars and studio sessions? Any collaborations in the works, people she’s played with?
#coyoteintro#abuse tw#murder tw#suicide tw#alcoholism tw#nothing that's incredibly detailed but! to be safe#shipper#biography#billie.
10 notes
·
View notes