M.G. Hauck - Fantasy Author
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insomniauthor.bsky.social
M.G. Hauck - Fantasy Author
@insomniauthor.bsky.social
170 followers 220 following 77 posts
Die-hard millennial who crushes a can of Celsius every night to write between my day job and momming. Latina. #TeamTriada
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@callmeghostbird.bsky.social
August 15, 2025 at 12:39 PM
Reposted by M.G. Hauck - Fantasy Author
kellylbeck.bsky.social
August 6, 2025 at 4:02 AM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
is that popcorn I smell?
August 6, 2025 at 4:32 AM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
chef's kiss
August 6, 2025 at 4:30 AM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
Arette returns to the fencing club after five weeks away. 🤺

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The elevator groaned to a stop as the soothing, familiar rhythm of blades clinking, shoes scraping, and scoring machines beeping brought her back to herself. The smell—a unique blend of Eastern European aftershave, rust, rubber, sweat, and pine cleaner—beckoned her inside. Despite everything, it felt like home. “We’re here for you, if you need anything.” Matthew compressed the gate and motioned for Arette to exit first in some cheesy attempt at chivalry. Arette had grown sick of all the platitudes at this point. It hadn’t taken long for everyone else to move on. The meal train ran dry, the flowers all wilted, and no one outside her immediate family had called since the funeral. But sure, everyone was there for her.
July 24, 2025 at 5:06 PM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
No minor. But… miner?

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“Is he serious?” Arette asked. “They’re miners from the Duchies,” said Talan. “Here to deliver ores and make their feelings known, it seems. Pay them no mind.” “Feelings?” “The people of the Duchies are proud. There is great resentment toward Raelta.” Arette inclined her head, considering. She couldn’t blame them after what she’d learned from Sebastien. But still—her skin prickled in defense of Gaspard. The other brute joined in. “Doesn’t say much for the women here. Hope it still works when our little princess is old enough to marry!” Arette bounded for the men without a second thought, without any regard for her physical safety or the station of her company. “Open your mouth one more time. I fucking dare you,” she said, gesturing toward the men with the singlestick as she approached.
July 23, 2025 at 4:43 PM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
Arette got a boo-boo. 🩹

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She shooed those memories and silly thoughts away to focus instead on the literal task at hand, picking at the athletic tape until a small piece tore free enough for her to unravel it from around her palm and knuckles. Blood rushed back to her fingers in a tingle of pins-and- needles.
July 22, 2025 at 11:59 AM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
Thank you so much for your encouragement!!!
July 21, 2025 at 8:33 PM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
A mysterious disappearance… where could he be? 🧐

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The text accompanied a black-and-white photo of Henry Newton—Dottie’s brother and her son’s namesake—who had been missing for over twenty years. Several more clipped newspaper articles cluttered the tabletop, all of them about his disappearance. Dottie spoke about it often. He’d vanished when Henry Bermúdez was a baby, and though the coroner had produced a death certificate, his body had never been found. The loss had almost destroyed Dottie. She often blamed it for the dissolution of her marriage, and baby Henry never knew the uncle whose name he shared.
July 21, 2025 at 12:58 PM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
I humbly accept all the support peppers 🥹
July 21, 2025 at 3:01 AM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
I sincerely appreciate the support!
July 21, 2025 at 3:00 AM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
Appreciate the supportive peppers!!! ❤️‍🔥
July 20, 2025 at 9:22 PM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
❤️‍🔥🌶️ 🌶️ ❤️‍🔥
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The layer of linen between them suddenly felt suffocating. Reaching for the hem of her nightgown, she gathered the fabric and pulled the bulk of it over her head, baring herself to him entirely. She caught his stare, the green of his eyes glinting in the sliver of moonlight spilling through the gaps in his shutters. “A goddess sent to torment me,” he murmured. And God, she knew exactly what he meant. She returned her mouth to his, pressing her breasts into his chest, and for a moment, she could only think about how close their hearts were—mere inches apart inside them. Was his beating this fast?
July 20, 2025 at 12:56 PM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
Thank you so so so much for your support! It means a lot to me. 🙏
July 19, 2025 at 11:43 PM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
Talan plays the lute for Arette.

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He leaned forward, his black hair falling in front of his face, and when Arette searched for the green of his eyes, she found that he had closed them. Gently, slowly, an enchanting vibration traveled the space between them—reaching for her, wrapping around her, and pulling her into its current. A tender song. A wave of hopeful chords and runs that sang of youth—of discovery and wonder. Each pluck was a star’s ascent, a burst of light upon the heavens, a flash of brilliance as the music swelled into a dramatic crescendo. Then… nothing. A moment to breathe, the flicker of a candle—a single note. Its reverberation filled the breadth between it and the next lone pluck, a half-step higher, a solitary peal. A star had burned away at its brightest, leaving her with nothing but the fading resonance of its memory.
July 19, 2025 at 7:06 PM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
Thank you much for your support for this story! 🙏
July 18, 2025 at 9:01 PM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
Ohhh thank you so much for your support. Means the world 😭
July 18, 2025 at 5:00 PM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
From Chapter One of THE EMERALD KINGDOM

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“Are you any good after all this time off? I was about to go fence the boys.” Arette tied her long, dark hair into a sleek ponytail, the strands reaching past the middle of her back. She’d grown out the cascade of wavy curls because Henry had liked it long— mermaid hair, he’d called it. But it required constant and cumbersome upkeep. Her to-do list included scheduling a haircut, penciled in right after getting the rest of her shit together. “We’ll see about that when we fence,” she said. A weak attempt at a taunt, rusty in more ways than one. Anya’s smirk widened. “Good.” Arette slipped out of her athletic slides and into her fencing knickers, her socked feet meeting chipped tile. “Give me ten minutes,” she said, her body already heating in anticipation. For the first time in weeks, a spark of her former self flashed within. Forget the cramps. Forget the grief. She intended to wipe the floor with Anya Lamianskaya—and for that, she was almost grateful.
July 18, 2025 at 3:22 PM
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#IYKYK
July 17, 2025 at 9:49 PM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
Always Ignis appreciation hour! That devotion 😭
July 17, 2025 at 3:27 PM
insomniauthor.bsky.social
Gaspard is jaded to an unhealthy degree.

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It was strange to think that the remedy for fucking torture was lip jelly, NSAIDs, and salt water, but sure. She’d go with it. “Why didn’t you fight back?” Gaspard shook his head. “For Sebastien’s true mission to succeed, no one can even suspect our dissent.” They all huffed, scoffed, and sucked their teeth. Arette’s fury threatened tears, her eyes stinging. Gaspard could command more authority than the King himself if he wanted to. She didn’t doubt he could take on the entirety of Raelta’s Javelins and win. “So, what? You just yield?” “My father is the one orchestrating this entire agreement with Vin and The Duchies. King Máel trusts him more than anyone else in Díoltas.” He winced a little as he shifted his weight. “He and Máel have to believe in their plan so strongly that they never raise their guard. I have to yield to him, Vin, and thereby Gaelle, so they never suspect that I’d rebel.” “The most honorable among us,” Sebastien said. “By far.” Gaspard scoffed. “I’d prefer to discuss something else.”
July 17, 2025 at 3:14 PM