#TheSaints

[punkrockhistory]

46 years ago

Eternally Yours is the second album by Australian punk rock band The Saints, released in May 1978

[vainaspaver]

Assassin Nuns by Busha_b

[monteiros1890world]

One of the Saints

[shirtlessrunner]

after my #saturdaymorning #longrun, #dancing and #carbingup with #thesaints on #saturdaynight at the #blastfromthepast #dance on the #upperwestside #nyc #onrunning #onambassador #onroc (at New York, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/Co2hyIbLHSf/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[arcadebroke]

[atypeekmusic]

The Saints - Paralytic Tonight, Dublin Tomorrow [FULL ALBUM] ☆☆☆☆☆

[raurquiz]

#happybirthday #elizabethshue #actress #TheKarateKid #AdventuresinBabysitting #Cocktail #BacktotheFuture #part2 #Part3 #Soapdish #LeavingLasVegas #TheSaint #HollowMan #Piranha3D #BattleoftheSexes #DeathWish #HouseattheEndoftheStreet #Greyhound #CSI #CobraKai #TheBoys #GenV

[shpwy]

[punkrockhistory]

Two years ago today

In memory Chris Bailey, Australian singer, songwriter, musician and co-founder of punk rock band the Saints.

Chris Bailey died in Haarlem on 9 April 2022, aged 65

Photo by Gus Stewart

[austerulous]

◈   @thesaint​​​ said:   ❛ a  bloody  kiss.  //  anriiiii- (: ❜  //  a fucked up kissing meme

Snow fell like feathers, muffing all sight and sound.  Anri thought of Icarus, of angels, of doves eviscerated.  The city was a snow globe with horror lurking on its periphery.

Frost crept, clung, kissed.  Cold was a colourless flame that licked her calves.  It burned her extremities, scraped at her bare arms, bringing roses to bloom in her cheeks and staining the tip of her nose pink.  Hypothermia did not cross her mind.  Frostbite was not a concern.  Instead, she feared only the glinting, enamel edges of a too-wide mouth.

Against the backdrop of slaughter, of feasting, beneath the glittering vault of stars, Anri lived on, stumbling and numb.  Ill-fated members of the congregation were split open like pomegranates.  They lay discarded among the slush, leaking all over the cobblestones, blood already beginning to freeze.  On their lips, silent exaltation.  In their unseeing eyes, life’s last revelation – that their god was ravenous, that they would not be spared.  Living counterparts scattered like marbles, praying to the very god that pursued them.

Seeking shelter in the shadow of a frozen fountain, its silvery rivulets long turned to glass, she paused, breathless, doe-eyed and darling as she trembled with trepidation.  Saint Aldrich would gorge until he bloated like a tick, until he had his fill of followers’ flesh, until the decreed day of purging passed.  A looming, crimson wave that moved with inhuman agility.  It might have been dismissed as fantasy, save for the dead that littered the ancient streets, save for the skirt that hung around her legs in tatters.  Her god toyed with her, tormented her, hunted her.  Each time, he came close – close enough that Anri was sure her heart would seize, cease beating altogether – and then receded, retreating to exact his divine wrath on another.

Now he swept over her like the sea, irresistible as tidal currents, imbued with the spiced scent of incense and saline tang of blood.  Anri had not seen him approach, had not heard his footfall despite the churned blanket of snow.  A breath was lodged in her throat, tight with fear, displaced by the cry that bolted from her when she hit the ground.  Aldrich took her into his arms in a new, terrible way, pinning her body to the ice.  Here, there was no pulpit to keep them apart.

“Holy Father, have mercy, I beg of you!”

Blanched, blue-tinged, bruised, she shivered in his grasp.  He was the source of her immeasurable fear, her only hope of salvation.  Her comfort, her anchor, her penance.  Trembling hands fisted clumsily, numbly, in his robes.  Bold, needy, demanding and desperate.  Aldrich gave no sign that he was moved by her plight, by his lamb’s quiet pleading.  Jagged silence was the only answer as viscera dripped from his chin, painting her with hot droplets, falling like so many plum petals.  

How small she felt, how imperfect, but while the face of god was turned her way, she touched him.  Frozen fingers tentatively traced his jaw, gliding through sticky spots of drying blood.  Hungry for the heat that dripped slowly into her, she breathed in his bestial exhalations, his low growls boiling in her ears like honey.  As if to explore the source of that sound, her fingertips dipped past parted lips to touch the saint’s ornate mouthpiece, to test the sharpness of those artificial fangs.  Curiosity was punished with a prick to her finger, blood rising in a crimson bead.  Aldrich mantled her, predator arched over prey.  Death might yet follow.

Perhaps it was a reward for her courage, or an attempt to assuage her fear, that saw him move to kiss her brow, her cheeks.  Slowly, tenderly, he branded her with remnants of the night’s butchery.  Anri squirmed in both terror and desire, aching inexplicably for his divine, ruinous mouth on hers.  Indecent, how her thighs had parted as she fell, how they now hugged the hips that nailed her to the snow-strewn street.  Her god could have her, if he wished.  With her ceremonial gown hitched to her waist, he might mount her here, spoil her in the sight of many.  Anri would permit it.

The mouth she craved pushed against hers, in a kiss that was thick with blood.  Saint Aldrich all too soon moved to nip at her jaw, to kiss and nibble her throat, while coaxing the delicately embroidered strap of her dress down with a gloved finger.  At any moment, he might sink those gargantuan teeth into her flesh, might bite her with such power and purpose that there would come the creaking, splintering sound of enamel scraping against bone.  He snarled possessively, approvingly, against his congregant’s skin, lips peeling back to trail the ridges of his teeth along her clavicle.  Such dark promise.  To the Anri’s dismay, a breathy sigh escaped her, blending into a soft moan of approval that bordered on blasphemy.

“Oh, God.”

[lastamericangentlemansavage]

[bonnettsbooks]

Closed through Friday, but here's some of what you can find on Saturday! See image alt-text for more info. Scroll our feed to see more examples of what may be in store for you!

[mommasaystoread]

https://www.mommasaystoread.com/2023/03/audiobook-review-saint-by-nana-malone.html

First, you just can not go wrong with Shane East, and he proves that once again with Nana Malone's The Saint. Kyo Sija was completely new to me, but she certainly held her own as the voice of Kaya. Both narrators did an excellent job of bringing out the drama and intrigue as well as the romance.This is the third book in the Gentleman Rogues series, and while I haven't had the pleasure of reading the first two, the storyline here is easy enough to keep up with. I do intend to catch up on those earlier books because now that I've met the Rogues, I want all the details. If they're as fast-paced as this one, I'm in for some heart-racing reading and/or listening time. As mentioned, the storyline is easy to follow, and we're given everything we need to know for this book. That said, I still hesitate to call it a standalone because there are some unanswered questions, and the epilogue leaves us with a bit of a cliffy (I'm assuming that's a lead-in for the next book).Do be prepared for plenty of action with your romance. Kaya and Saint's story has flavors of Mission: Impossible and Bourne Identity combined with a steamy romance that certainly sees its fair share of miscommunication. This pair also sees plenty of danger with some near misses and, of course, a kidnapping - once you start reading and figure things out, you'll understand that mentioning a kidnapping is not giving away the book's secrets. It pretty much has to happen with this kind of storyline. To sum it up, The Saint is everything I've come to expect from Nana Malone, and paired with Shane East and Kyo Sija for the narration, this one is a must-listen.

[expatmichael]

Thank you Dan Mathews for this flashback. Shooting Lene Lovich at The Saint for PETA circa 1987. #TheSaint #crimp #lenelovich #peta #newyorkcity #1987 #pregoldy (at East Village) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqOO3iltlnPlAXlNwR070w_FCsOCGtww8w48m80/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=