PremiumMost lovedXOXO
Sealed with a kiss. Lipstick prints, polaroids, and every tap leaves another kiss.
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Flowers wilt and chocolates don't last the evening. A love letter they open with a tap, a bouquet you picked stem by stem, or a night sky where every photo is a star will still be there next February.
PremiumMost lovedSealed with a kiss. Lipstick prints, polaroids, and every tap leaves another kiss.
PremiumPull the curtain, press the button. Four flashes, and a strip of the two of you prints.
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PremiumUntie the bow. A pink gingham collage of real lilies, polaroids and your song.
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PremiumWind the key. The lid opens, a ballerina turns to the tune and your photos appear in its mirror.
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PremiumTurn the key. A gothic love collage of black roses, red velvet and your song.
PremiumLift the tissue paper. A watercolour scrapbook of your photos, pearls and pressed flowers.
PremiumThe oldest valentine in English is usually said to be a letter: in February 1477 Margery Brews wrote to John Paston as “my right well-beloved Valentine”, while their families haggled over her dowry. The Letter is free and its greeting is yours to change, so you can open the way she did, then write the thing you noticed about them this year that nobody else did.
Make this giftThe booth flashes four times and prints a strip, so give it four photos in order: year one, year two, year three, now. Or four from the same good night. Print it in black and white and rewrite the sign on top, which says “PHOTOS · 4 POSES” until you do: the dot starts a second line, so “STILL YOURS · SINCE 2019” fits its 24 characters. The handwritten line beside it: “the one where you're not looking”.
Make this giftXOXO spells out what you call them in ransom-note letters, “my person” unless you change it, and you should: use the nickname nobody else is allowed to, up to 16 characters. Under the first photo goes a card with the lines you'd underline in a book about them, already underlined. Wherever they tap, a kiss lands.
Make this giftA jar of folded notes they shake out one by one. Fourteen is enough to say something real and few enough to write in an evening. Make each one a moment, not a quality: not “you're kind” but “you learned my mother's recipe from her over the phone, without telling me”. Read them aloud before you send it, and cut any that could be about anyone.
Make this giftBuilt stem by stem, so it can be what they actually like: peonies if that's their flower, sunflowers if roses make them sigh, in the colours of the scarf they never take off. It doesn't wilt by the weekend or cost more on the fourteenth. The card inside takes 30 characters: “Peonies. You said peonies.”
Make this giftA black leather diary, a tarot card, dark roses and a crow: Valentine's for people who'd rather get a crow than a cupid. Three things are yours to rename: the cut-out headline (“you again”), the words torn out beside the playing cards (“all in, again”) and the name on the tarot card, which should mean something only you two get: “the night bus”, “the one who stayed”.
Make this giftFor the ones who don't do mushy. The cats hold a hearing, each one reads out a finding you wrote, and the stamp comes down: guilty, approved, certified icon or pardoned. Charge them with “taking my side of the bed, nightly”, add findings like “claims to hate romcoms, cried at the airport scene”, and go with approved.
Make this giftValentine's plans are better found out than announced. Put the clues on the cards in order: a photo of the restaurant's door with “Friday, 8 pm”, a photo of a train ticket, and on the last card, the one they'll scratch hardest, the big line: “Pack a bag. We're not back until Sunday.”
Make this giftA pink gingham collage that unrolls when they untie the bow, with a ticket in the middle that reads “ticket to happiness” until you change it. Change it to the plan, in 26 characters: “admit two. Bring a coat.” The postcard in your handwriting has room for a line and where to meet.
Make this giftA turntable that plays their song as the record spins. Name the album, the artist and the side: album “Songs I play when you're out”, artist “the one who can't sing”, side “Side Us”. Your photos sit in a crate as album covers, and your message is printed on the liner notes.
Make this giftA tiny retro game: they drag a basket to catch falling hearts, each level clears one of your photos, and the last reveals your message. You set how many catches a level takes, from 3 to 20: eight is a nice game, twenty is a dare. And put something on the title screen: “LEVEL 14: PLAYER 2 JOINS”.
Make this giftThe other free template: a night sky where every photo is a star. They fly from star to star, and once they've found them all the stars join into a heart and your line appears beneath it. Use a photo from each place you've met, and end on the date you'll next see each other.
Make this giftHow to make one
Flowers wilt, chocolates are gone by ten, and the card ends up in a drawer. A gift they open on their phone — a letter under a wax seal, a bouquet you picked stem by stem, a sky where every star is a photo of the two of you — is still there next February, and the one after.
Not “I love you” on its own; they know. Write what you noticed this year: the way they make the coffee, the thing they did when your week fell apart, what you're looking forward to. Keep it to a few lines that only fit them. The Letter is free and opens with a seal; XOXO and Coquette are for the flirt.
Two or three photos are enough here — the first one you took together and the most recent. Bouquet lets you choose the flowers yourself and never wilts; Bloom opens a single flower while they hold the screen. Add a song from the library, or thirty seconds of yours, the real recording, waiting at the end for a tap. A voice message at the end, a paid extra, lands harder than any line of text.
On a premium template, schedule it to open at midnight on the fourteenth, or first thing in the morning, before the day gets loud. If you're doing dinner, print the QR card and slip it under their plate; it opens with the phone camera. If you're apart, it arrives the second you send it, and their reaction comes straight back.
Pick a light template — Kawaii, Arcade, XOXO — write two honest lines, and it reads as a gesture, not a declaration. What you write sets the weight, not the format.
Yes. The editor works on a phone, the preview updates as you type, and photos come straight from your camera roll. Ten minutes is a fair estimate, longer if you keep rewriting the message.
Two templates are free, with up to ten photos, our music library and a real song they tap to hear, and they publish with a small “Made with Ethos” footer. Premium templates are a one-time payment for that template, forever — no subscription — and add video, voice messages, twenty photos, scheduling and a password.