feast of saint valentine

A heart-shaped box of chocolate is a sign of love, a symbol — and often tool — of romance, and an intrinsic part of Valentine’s Day.

From at least the time of the Aztecs, chocolate has been seen as an aphrodisiac. So it’s reasonable to assume that it has been connected to love’s dedicated day of celebration for many centuries. But, that isn’t the case.

The roots of Valentine’s Day are ancient but far from clear, and likely originated in the pagan Roman fertility festival of Lupercalia. Those Romans, though, exchanged not candies but whippings — part of a complicated fertility ritual that began with sacrificing a goat and dog.

This morphed into a tamer Christian feast day in A.D. 496, when Pope Gelasius I commemorated a martyred saint, Valentine. Or saints. In the third century, the Roman emperor Claudius II executed two men named Valentine on Feb. 14th, albeit in different years.

How Chocolate Became A Sweet (But Not So Innocent) Consort To Valentine’s Day

Illustration: Alex Reynold/NPR

Teasing is caring (Derek Morgan x Reader)

Request (by @latina-spice​): Derek Morgan, #12 and #14 please and thanks!⇒ “Wait, I have an idea.” “Really?” s/he looked at him with a fake seriousness “Your mother would be so proud.” & “What’s your biggest regret?” “Trusting you.” “You make it so dramatic. All I did was eat the last piece of cake!” “Exactly.”

Fandom: Criminal Minds (no specific season)
Pairing: Derek Morgan x Fem!Reader (romantic)
Summary: You work at the BAU and, besides your job, the thing you love the most is teasing a certain agent. Valentines Day comes around and you have no date but who knows what can happen.

Warnings: fluff
Word Count: 829

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okay so my sister got me these thor valentines a couple of days ago and immediately I was like, wow, no way thor would give such lame-ass valentines. have a ~mighty~ valentine’s day? ooooo-kay.

anyway, that got me thinking… what would it look like if thor really did valentine’s day? and I think we all know the answer is: PRETTY DAMN IMPRESSIVE. so I wrote it.

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Today I learned another name for Valentine’s Day
is the Feast of Saint Valentine,
and something about the way I want
to dine on you
makes that discovery so appropriate.

You know the scent of my bed
and the anatomy of its overturned sheets,
now give me the scent tucked in your curled hair,
the taste behind your honeysuckle ears.

I want to cup the backs of your knees
the way an alcoholic priest wraps his lips
around holy wine.
I want to gnaw on your legs
as if they’re holy bread and
together we’ll whisper everlasting moans
with these four walls as witnesses.

And these moans are a siren’s call,
giving birth to solar systems in my brain,
synapses firing and exploding like supernovae.

I want us
on body,
over love,
lust for every
dizzying lust:
I want us to confuse my hand for yours
and your mouth for the stars.
I want our hearts as confused as our limbs,
we’ll be a tangled mess of heartstrings.

Kissing you will be like walking in a garden:
hovering and exchanging
breath for breath,
sighing into each other’s mouths.
We’ve never felt air so precious.

And our lips will click with a subatomic
exchanging electrons in this endless
dance for equilibrium.

And I’ll keep finding new places to feast on,
new sighs to dissect and inhabit
and take into my lungs.

They don’t know that your face is
what every religion tries to remember.
And you’ll keep reciting new prayers
that aren’t from any holy book,
your very own feverish language of sin and lust.

And you’ll whisper a little prayer
to Saint Valentine himself,
a quick and silent “thank you”
before confessing in a thunder of hushed whispers
the sound of my name on your lips.

—  “The Feast of Saint Valentine”