•••••••••••••••••••••••Requests Open!••••••••••••••••••••••••
Will update upon receiving requests. Check chapter cleverly titled "⭐️Requests Open!⭐️" for more details (it's the 10th chapter!)
You can never have too many classic rock one shots, can y...
Muse: Swedish Actress Marie Liljedahl Musician: American Guitarist, Singer and Songwriter Jimi Hendrix Time: Late Sixties
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Suede Sally; that's what they'd call her. S.S., for short. Pronounced'Eses', or by close friends, 'Essie'. Some would even call her Suedy, a play on the word sweetie. But why Suede Sally? Well, it was all she ever wore. A lot of rockers dig wearing leather and denim from head to toe, but Sally cared for the gentler things. She was your average hippie kid. College-aged but out of school and hitchhiking the country. Beer in one hand, joint in the other — possibly a tab on her tongue. Peace and love was all the rage.
The lovely brunette sat slouched on the bright red carpeted floor, barely there as she flipped through the channels on television set. She was crashing at some male nurse's pad free of charge; she found that people will do just about anything for a pretty lady. She was currently alone, as the young short-hair was almost never home — his work was quite demanding, after all.
She didn't particularly like to sit there wasting away in front of the boob tube, but she didn't dislike it either. Either way, there wasn't much else to do in butt-fuck Arizona, so she settled for it.
The dude had a rather fancy television console, gorgeous glossy pinewood with concealed record players on either side of the color TV. Something about the console's speakers reminded her of the Vatican. He even had a wireless TV remote, so Essie could laze on the soft, fluffy floor just in front of the couch while channel surfing.
She landed on the local news and readied her thumb to change the channel. She usually found the news to be a drag — it seemed only bad things happened in the world. But before she could skip it, she noticed what they were talking about: Woodstock.
Popular news outlets had been claiming for the past few weeks that Woodstock was going to be 'The biggest drug-fueled hippie circle jerk in the history of music festivals', so of course Essie had to be there. But it was already August 10th; if she wanted to go, she needed to leave soon. Like, now soon.
Without another second of thought, she rose up from her cross legged position, leaving the small remote on the floor before her bare feet padded to the kitchen. Essie scribbled out a quick explanation on a post it note, hastily sticking it on the man's refrigerator. She ran to the spare bedroom, grabbing her brown leather duffel bag with neat red stitches; a cowboy she was staying with down in New Mexico made it for her himself.
She stuffed if with her few possessions that idled around the well furnished room, keeping them safe wrapped in a blanket of suede garments. Yanking the zipper closed, Essie winced after remembering it was handmade, and threw the long strap over her shoulder.
The hot Arizona air hit her face as she opened the front door, her pale blue eyes squinting in the sun. She stepped into her snakeskin cowboy boots on the wooden porch, hopping down the stairs to fully secure her feet inside of them. She trekked for a good twenty minutes, enjoying natures sounds and the sweet comfort of the occasional gentle breeze against her skin.
