Emerie Appreciation Week

Emerie Week 2025|| Prompts

As Emerie Week draws closer, we thought today would be the perfect opportunity to remind everyone of the prompts. Just a reminder: it's not necessary to follow them. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask!

Art by cedakotes

Day 1: Tethered bonds

In a world where tethers, the mating bonds are revered above all else, Emerie’s story remains unfinished. Who do you think fate has chosen for her, and how do you imagine their love will unfold? Share your thoughts.

Day 2: Family and friends

Emerie’s life wouldn’t be complete without her chosen family and the bonds she’s forged along the way. Let’s take a moment to celebrate the connections that have shaped her into who she is.

Day 3: Future

Emerie’s life is a palette waiting to be filled. What do you think the future holds for her? Any aspirations, headcanons, or predictions you hold close to your heart?

Day 4: Lessons of past

The past shapes the person you are today. What are the qualities in Emerie that you admire, and who or what do you think played a role in shaping who she is now?

Day 5: Free day

Hello again! It’s time to get our creativity flowing as we prepare to celebrate Emerie Week 2025 with some exciting prompts. Let’s make it unforgettable!

Emerie Week is happening from May 11-15! Don't miss it!!

Hey, Valkyries! You are officially invited to join us in celebrating Emerie—the legend of Illyria from May 11 to 15. Let's get ready to celebrate her strength, resilience, and everything that makes her iconic.

Stay tuned for the prompts!

I meant for this to be done in time for Day 1: Entrepreneur of @emerieweekofficial but alas! Here it is now - a poster for Emerie's future athletic wear line, obviously based on lululemon lol

@emerieweekofficial @christeareads

It was poetic, in a way, that the clothes of the very man who had taken her wings would be what she wore when she found them again.

Emerie stood there calmly as Devlon’s face melted into unrestrained rage. He did not dare refuse her, for not only would he be breaking Illyrian law, but he would look weak and afraid, which would prompt the people to kill him and crown Emerie themselves. In their eyes, even a woman was better than a weakling.

But Devlon viewed this as beneath him. He could not believe he was being forced to fight a woman. Even if, by Illyrian standards, Emerie technically outranked Devlon, considering she won the Blood Rite. His misogyny ran so deep that he couldn’t even comprehend the idea that she was better.

She was far younger too. Though she was the eldest of her Valkyrie companions, 100 years in the faerie lands was considered quite young. Emerie did not know Devlon’s exact age, but she did know he had ruled this camp for at least two centuries, which made him a shit ton older than her.

Emerie didn’t care. She had won the Blood Rite without wings, and she had new wings now. Better wings, in fact. And Devlon would be overconfident. He was also big and bulky. Emerie wasn’t exactly small, but compared to Devlon she was. She would have speed and maneuverability on her side.

“Very well,” Devlon forced out. “Emerie Nevrakis, I accept your challenge.”

Emerie clenched her teeth. He had used that name on purpose, trying to rile her up. Emerie had not identified herself with her father’s last name in about 75 years. She did not even know how he knew that name, for she was from a different Illyrian tribe far far away.

She closed her mind and took a deep breath. Stilled her mind as she had learned during her Valkyrie training.

I am the rock against which the sea crashes. Nothing can break me.

When she opened her eyes, she let it all go. She walked towards Devlon slowly, watching his smug smile. He truly thought this wouldn’t be difficult.

Men. They were truly idiots.

Devlon stomped towards Emerie and slashed his sword. Emerie quickly bent over, her braid grazing the floor briefly before she pulled back up.

“I’m going to cut you into bits, girl,” Devlon snarled. He slashed again, hard. Emerie deftly blocked it, backing up a step. “Alexandros wasn’t hard enough on you. He should’ve cut up your arms for your disobedience.”

Emerie smiled, channelling Gwyn’s charming irreverence. “Ah, but then this wouldn’t be quite so fun. Rest assured, I would’ve found a way to get new arms and wings just to wipe that smug look off your face.”

Devlon roared, swinging clumsily. Emerie easily countered, regaining a step. They exchanged parries and thrusts for a moment. Emerie was quick; Devlon’s angry shot had left him on the backfoot, and Emerie gently stuck out her foot, tripping him. As he fell towards the ground, Emerie slashed at him. Devlon blocked, but in his position, he could not counter completely, and Emerie cut into his armor. Devlon quickly got back up and stumbled away. When Emerie looked at the point of her blade, she saw blood.

“You bitch,” Devlon growled. Emerie rolled her eyes. “Wow, I’ve never heard that one before,” she drawled.

“I’m going to cut you into pieces and hang your ears on my wall, impudent child!” Devlon bellowed. Emerie’s heart skipped a beat. He looked manic, his hazel eyes reminding her a bit too much of her father. Devlon charged her with such force that she barely had time to sidestep. Devlon’s swing in midair was strong enough to cut open her chest had she not been quick enough.

His blows came more ferociously now, and it took every bit of skill and concentration in Emerie to block them. Even then, she was on her backfoot. She could only keep this up for so long before she got exhausted.

Devlon slammed the flat of his blade into Emerie’s temple, and she went flying. She heard a painful crunch as she landed on her hip. She was certain it was broken.

Emerie laid on the ground, defeated. Devlon laughed, walking up to her lazily, drunk with victory. “I’ll admit, you fought well…for a girl. But you are no match for me.”

Emerie’s faerie senses heard the blade singing in the air as Devlon launched his killing move. Emerie rolled over, and Devlon’s sword landed in the dirt.

“Huh?” he said. In his distraction, Emerie kicked dirt in his face. Devlon roared and stumbled back, unable to see. Emerie got up and sprinted towards him, shoving her sword deep in his gut.

“How…?” Devlon whispered.

Emerie smirked. “These aren’t mere wings. They’re imbued with Nuan’s healing magic- so they heal me faster than I normally would. But you, in all your immortal arrogance, thought you had won.”

Devlon began to cough, blood dribbling out of his mouth. “It seems I…cough…underestimated you, Emerie of Illyria.”

Emerie angled her head. “Indeed you did. And that’s the last mistake you’ll ever make.”

She ripped her sword out and cut off Devlon’s neck. Blood sprayed Emerie as his head fell to the grass.

The Illyrians stared at her in stunned silence. All Emerie could hear was her own ragged breathing. Then all at once, they began to chant.

“All hail our leader, Chief Emerie of Windhaven! All hail our leader, Chief Emerie of Windhaven! All hail our leader, Chief Emerie of Windhaven!”

Emerie was speechless as the Illyrians began to fly around her, honoring her by throwing petals and leaves at her feet. Remembering she had wings now, she shakily flew a few feet off the ground. She still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it.

But the Illyrians’ chants got louder as she ascended to the air, and they lowered themselves to her level, flying in circles around her. The petals and leaves formed a beautiful tornado around her, and Emerie could not help but smile. Though she loved being a Valkyrie, this was what she was meant to be. The savior of the Illyrian people.

When she met up with her girls later, Gwyn, Nesta, and Nuan all stared at her in shock.

“You have tattoos now,” Gwyn said in awe. Indeed, although Emerie had always had the Illyrian arm tattoos, she had never showed them because she had despised her Illyrian culture. But she now wore them openly, along with new tattoos along her brow. The mark of a chief.

“Well, yes. I am the chief of the Windhaven Illyrian tribe now,” Emerie said.

All at once, the girls began to squeal and gush over her.

“Oh my god that’s so cool!”

“How did you do it?”

Gwyn sniffed. “Our Illyrian princess.”

Emerie snorted at that. “Shut up.”

“I mean, technically you are,” Nesta said.

“Illyrians don’t have princesses,” Emerie said. “We have chiefs.”

“Same difference,” Nuan said. Emerie rolled her eyes but smiled. She began to tell them the story, and her friends oohed and aahed at all the right moments. When she got to the part where she broke her hip, Gwyn and Nesta gasped, but Nuan smiled knowingly. She was the one who had made her wings, after all.

“You are incredible, Emerie,” Nesta said. Gwyn nodded enthusiastically. “This is such a good thing for the Illyrian women.”

“Not just the women,” Emerie said. “Everyone is suffering under this oppressive leadership; women just got the worst of it. But the job is far from done. Windhaven is just one tribe.”

Gwyn clasped Emerie’s shoulder. “By the Mother girl, take a win when you get it!” Emerie turned to Nuan at that moment. She was staring at her so admiringly that Emerie felt herself blush.

“Gwyn, Nesta,” Emerie said. “Would you mind leaving us alone for a while?”

Her fellow Valkyries smiled knowingly, flashing her identical shit-eating grins as they walked out. When they were alone, Emerie looked down at her fingers. Why was she so nervous??? She could take down a 300 year old Illyrian chief no problem, but she drew the line at confessing her feelings???

“I just wanted to say-“

“I thought you should know-“

They both spoke at the same time, and they dissolved into breathless giggles. Nuan gestured to Emerie. “Please, you first.”

Emerie took a deep breath. “Nuan…I really like you. You’re so smart and self-assured and pretty and you make me so nervous I feel like I’m going to faint.”

Nuan shook her head. “Are you kidding me? That’s literally you?”

Emerie blinked. “Me?”

“Obviously!” Nuan replied. “You’re so tall and strong and drop-dead gorgeous and you run your own business while being a badass Valkyrie and now you’re a fucking princess? If you get any hotter, I think I’ll just drop dead.”

Emerie’s face broke into the widest grin of her life. “Girl, just kiss me already.”

Heres a quick little sketch for the last day of Emerie week cause i wanted to get another one in before it ended

@emerieweekofficial

Heres a little headcanon i have that Elain loves to learn from the experienced people of the Night Court so Nesta sets up a little meeting for her to meet Emerie, the best green thumb in Illyria. I love that sjm gave Emerie the hobby of gardening and growing her own food. Makes her so relatable to me. Headcanon that shes knows all the secrets on how to grow thriving vegetables patches so Elain came handy with a notepad and pen to learn from her.

Az brought her to Illyria naturally so it made sense to add him but I didn’t want to make Emerie week about some ship so i thought it would be funny to add az off wandering around leaving the queens to their business, as he should 🤣 . Tho now he looks a little lost lol

Part 1 Part 2

Over the past few days, over 100 Illyrian women had been rescued by the Valkyries and sent to Dawn, where the best healers in the land took care of their numerous injuries. Meanwhile Nuan had set up shop with Emerie, who had brought a few of the priestesses from the library to help the Dawn Court genius construct as many wings as possible. All measurements of the escaped Illyrian women were sent to Nuan, who had begun making custom wings for each refugee. Many of the Illyrian women planned to return to Night, but in Velaris, and a few had already arrived that morning. This shop was supposed to be a place for Illyrian women who escaped on their own as well (and therefore had no safe transport to Dawn); Emerie just hated that they needed such a place.

When they weren’t working, Emerie was relearning to fly with the help of Azriel. She didn’t like him much, but he would do anything for Gwyn, so Emerie allowed it.

Emerie’s new wings were slightly larger than they had been in youth, a magnificent purple color that matched Nuan’s metal arm.

“Now we can be matching,” Nuan had said quietly. Emerie could’ve sworn she was blushing.

“You know, purple is my favorite color,” Emerie had said. Nuan had giggled at that.

One day, while Emerie was hanging out with Gwyn, Nesta, and Nuan in her shop, the door slammed open. A huge shadow stood in the doorway. When it walked in closer, Emerie recognized them. The male had many silver streaks in his black hair. His eyes were the hazel that was common of Illyrians. His wingspan filled the shop. The man stomped towards Emerie. Nesta and Gwyn hovered in front of her protectively, pulling out their swords. Even Nuan raised a wrench in her good hand. Emerie just stared at Lord Devlon coolly, her demeanor not shifting a bit. “Can I help you?”

“You!” Devlon growled, pointing at Emerie. “Traitorous scum, kidnapping your own people. You’re breaking our High Lord’s sanctum to stay out of our business in exchange for not coming here.”

Nesta raised her sword in warning, her teeth bared. But Emerie merely raised a brow, cool as a cucumber. “He also has a law banning wing-cutting, but you don’t seem to care much about that one.”

Gwyn snickered behind her hand. Nesta smirked viciously. Nuan coughed to hide her own amusement. Emerie could’ve sworn Devlon’s face turned bright red in indigence, his nostrils twitching. “It seems you haven’t learned your lesson, Emerie. You are Illyrian, and ours to punish,” he growled.

Emerie didn’t even crack a smile. Instead, she arranged a group of spices for a meal she was preparing. “Was throwing me in the Blood Rite supposed to be punishment? Strange. You got it wrong, by the way. I’m not merely Illyrian. I’m a Carynthian, and you’re an Arktosian; therefore I outrank you.”

Devlon opened his mouth, then closed it. Then he walked towards the door. When he reached it, he turned back around and snarled, “I don’t give a shit if you’re a Carynthian or a Valkyrie or whatever fucking title you’re throwing around these days; if you continue to interfere in our affairs, I will kill you.”

Nesta began to run towards him, but Emerie grabbed her arm calmly. “Let him go.”

“He threatened to kill you,” Nesta hissed. Emerie smiled. “I know. But killing him this way will achieve nothing. I have a better way.”

Everyone stared at Emerie as she walked into the Windhaven camp. She had forgone her usual Valkyrie attire, opting for heavily traditional Illyrian clothing. She hated that she still had this, as it had once belonged to her father. It was surprisingly snug on her, particularly in the arms and legs, where her muscles had grown amply since becoming a Valkyrie.

Her hair was braided back in its usual style, and she had rimmed her eyes with kohl. When the sun landed on them, her dark brown eyes shone like gold. She sported a ruby choker Nesta had stolen from Amren, which looked majestic in the light. The blade of her sword shone silver. Standing there, with everyone staring at her, dressed as a true Illyrian, Emerie looked like a blessing from the Mother.

Those normally stoic, woman-hating men stared in awe as Emerie walked down the hill towards their camp. Devlon was seething so much Emerie could see it from a mile away. But though it was tempting, Emerie did not laugh. She did not even smile.

She had a job to do.

“My brethren!” Emerie said loudly, though there was no need; everyone was already looking at her. “Too long have you suffered under the poor and weak leadership of Devlon. I have come to offer you what we were always capable of under the right person: peace and prosperity!”

“Do not be ridiculous,” Devlon snarled. “Peace? War is the Illyrian business.”

“Once again, you are wrong!” Emerie responded calmly, in that same carrying voice. “Illyrians are fierce, and courageous, and yes, we are great warriors. Our history is full of noble Illyrians warriors. But those warriors were those who fought for those who cannot protect themselves. They fought for the oppressed, the abused, to ensure that everyone has that same chance for peace and prosperity. War was not our business; it was our way of granting freedom to all: of stopping the violence at its root. Our true business is farming, which we have forgotten. Our lands lay barren, overrun by weeds. We are forced to import from Velaris and the solar courts while greedy leaders like Devlon send our people to fight like mercenaries for petty nobles. Past Night Court leaders saw an opportunity for revenue by selling its people, and assholes like you took it. You are the reason Illyrian males began cutting their women’s wings, to protect them from war. But now it has become yet another form of oppression.”

Emerie blinked hard to keep the tears out of her eyes. Weakness would not be tolerated at this point; she had gotten their attention despite being a woman by her attitude and her attire; she could not afford to lose it.

“It seems that Illyrians have forgotten their history. We have become the very thing we swore to destroy. But it is not too late! I have come to restore Illyria to its former glory.”

Emerie raised her sword, pointing it at Devlon. The audience was spellbound. You could’ve heard a pin drop in the silence.

“Devlon!” Emerie roared. “I challenge you to a duel.”