Author T.G. Joye

@authortgjoye.bsky.social

161 Followers 76 Following

Trans man, cat dad, author, and occasional solo ttrpg designer. https://linktr.ee/author.tgjoye Sword of the Voivode released 10/19/2024 Last Wolves of Paris out 10/26/25

Image of a table decked out with a rainbow flag. On the right side, two books are displayed. One is titled Sword of the Voivode. The other is Last Wolves of Paris. On the left is a black sign with the name of the author and prices for the books, along with several colorful zines.
Two men, the one on the left side significantly shorter than the other. The short man has long hair and a goatee. The taller man has horns, pointed ears and short hair. The tall man is holding a strip of cloth against the shorter man's chest. He says, "I think this color suites you quite well." The short man responds, 'Uh huh..." The tall man asks, "Are you listening?" The short man responds, "Oh...? Of course!"
picture of a twilight sky with the words: T.G. Joye will be at: Rehoboth Beach Pride, July 18th
“If mum and dad already know, then who else might know?” Kenneth stared out the window, concern creasing his features. Razvan reached over and took Kenneth’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ve been very careful. Your parents finding out was inevitable,” Kenneth’s features began to soften as Razvan spoke, and he squeezed Razvan’s hand in response, “I think our relationship is still safe from the people we need to hide it from.” They’d both agreed a long time ago to keep their relationship as private as possible for their safety and the safety of their families, but Razvan found the secrecy stifling after so many years together. Sometimes the secrets felt like too much. Being stealth due to attitudes towards trans people in his home country of Borgovia, to his double life as a supervillian, telling Kenneth’s parents they were dating would provide Razvan some much needed relief and it would be one less secret he’d have to keep.
words over a pink and pride progress flag background that reads: Books for Pride by Authors you may not have heard of: Day 2: Sula Sullivan
Graphic with a grey to black gradient background with a pride progress behind text that reads: Books for pride by authors you may not have heard of: Day 1, Michael G. Williams
To the right, there is an image of a long haired man holding a sword. in the center is the picture of a black book with a floral cover titled, 'Sword of the Voivode' by T.G. Joye. to the left is a list ob bullet points that read: - trans man main character -Setting based on Eastern Europe and Central Eurasia -Personal Stakes and intimate story -Two dumbasses struggle to say, 'I love you'. -Soft magic and sacred body autonomy
T.G Joye Writing Update: What I've been up to these last couple of months
I washed my glass in the sink and turned to place it back in the cabinet. A figure standing on the far side of the room made me jump. With a swear, I threw the glass at the angel just as they said, “Be not afraid.” They sighed as the glass exploded on the wall beside them. A goat-headed demon I hadn’t noticed lounging by the back door laughed. “Holy shit! What an arm!” She doubled over, laughing harder as I whipped around to glare at her. “What the fuck? Why the fuck? FUCK.” Members of both the Celestial and Infernal Host standing in my house was a very, very bad sign. All I could do was curse. “This is so much easier with monotheists.” The angel sighed, taking a seat. “You are correct in believing the situation dire.” “Alright,” I gestured between the two of them, “How dire is it, then?” “We cannot elaborate on the nature of the threat.” The angel said. “Pretty fucking dire,” The demon snorted. They glared at one another for a few moments. “We don’t have as many stupid rules about mortals,” the demon made a rude gesture at her angel counterpart, “I don’t have to be as vague about this shit.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “So, why are you in my house?” “You must remain focused,” The angel stood, opening their other eyes to gaze upon me. I felt parts of my soul flinch, and my vampiric curse burn from the scrutiny of a Celestial being. “The boy might be the divine instrument by which you defeat this evil, but you are the key. You must not lose faith. You must not submit to this evil.” The stove dug into my back where I cowered against it. “Wh… Why me? Why am I so special?”
“Why are you here, Rudolph?” he threw two heaping spoon fulls of sugar into my coffee before handing me the mug. “We’ve lost nearly all our humans on staff at the Knights of Saint Cyprian of Antioch,” I started, watching Easton’s face grow stony, “I’m not even sure you’d want the job, but Cephra wanted me to come out here and ask in person.” Easton let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Why are you really here, Rudolph?” I thought long and hard about what to say. Taking a few deep breaths, I responded, “I want a second chance.” He turned to face me, and I him. Smartly dressed, Easton made me look positively old fashioned. Over sized ‘plus four’ khaki trousers tucked into argyle socks, with a crisp white shirt and wide tie. He had his sleeves rolled up, tie loose and several buttons undone. He kept his auburn hair neatly cut and styled with a disconnected undercut. Instead of brushing it back he styled it to the side, making his hair curl in the middle of his brow. His blue eyes bored into me. “Say it again.” “I want a second chance.” I repeated. “With you.”
Daumantas gasped and Laurent grunted in unison at the damage inside. The tiled floor had been haphazardly dug up to reveal a hidden stairway underneath. Broken stone, piles of earth, tile, and broken pieces of a massive grave marker littered the interior. Darius lit the wick in a lantern, and held it over the the stairs marching into the darkness below. “Those men with Hadeon Zhupensken did this,” he threw a sharp glance at Laurent before turning back to the mysterious stairwell, “they sacked our monastery after we left to protect former Voivode Tymor.” Without another word or further explanation, Darius began to descend the stairs. Daumantas followed with Laurent close behind. The narrow set of stairs descended into a brick vaulted chamber. Inside, the layers of dust bore traces of the recent intrusion, and ancient caches of weapons lay strewn about, thrown from rusting metal crates where’d they’d been laid to rest an age ago. “As you can see, this is no tomb,” Darius gestured around at the austere space, “but it does seem to have had significance during the War of Madness.”
blue and gold image of a book cover. The title is, 'Last Wolves of Paris' by T.G. Joye. A styalized wolf sits above a styalized moon and raven on a skull.
Two men facing each other. The figure on the left; Cyril Valentin, is much shorter than the figure on the right, with long hair and a goatee. The tall figure on the right; Daumantas Borzhegov, has horns and pointed ears. Daumantas: I think this color suits you quite well Cyril (gazing dreamily up at Daumantas): uh huh.... Daumantas: Are you listening? Cyril: Oh...? Of course!
“Mr. Fox! There’s nothin’ to worry about,” The ogre named Toby relaxed, but didn’t let me out of his grip, “I got this vamp under control.” “That’s Rudolph Corvin.” Easton’s words were clipped, “Rudolph who?” Easton sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “Rudolph the Huntsman?” Understanding slowly dawned on Toby’s face. “Oh!” The big ogre looked at me, set me down and tried to smooth my crushed lapels. “Uh, sorry ‘bout that Mr. Corvin. Things have gotten tense with Vasili’s gang lately.” Pushing past the mobsters, I walked back out to the main street with Easton following close behind. Comfortably out of Toby and Niko’s sight, we leaned on the front of the building next door to the 555.
“Mr. Martinescu?” a heavyset man called his name, beckoning him over to a desk. The customs official flicked through a tablet and glanced at Razvan’s forms while Razvan stood stiffly in front of the counter. “Everything seems well in order, so this last bit is just a formality,” he flipped Razvan’s passport around, tapping a spot near his name. “The gender marker isn’t a typo, is it?” Razvan shook his head. “You have to do quite a bit to change a gender marker in Romania.” He paused, looking away from the official behind the desk, “There are things about my body I don’t want to change.” The man behind the desk sighed. “It’s a right shame, what the world puts you through,” he handed Razvan back his documents, “My daughter has had a right terrible time with the NHS, then the Tories and hateful lady novelists want to pile on like it’s a bleeding sport to hate trans folks.” Razvan sat quietly, waiting for the older gentleman to regain his composure.
Nora, our secretary, intercepted me before I could slip up the back stairs as she usually did. “You have several appointments waiting in the lobby,” she blocked the stairwell with a crutch so I couldn’t escape, “and Cephra wants to see you in her office before you start anything. Larry quit this morning.” “Damn,” I mumbled, “Thanks for the heads up, Nora.” She gave me a quick smile before heading back to her desk. I watched her maneuver down the hall on her crutches for a few moments before taking a breath and heading upstairs. The Knights of Saint Cyprian of Antioch was no longer an organization run or headed by human mages, but it’s charter stipulated we needed at least one mortal on staff or we could be dissolved by the High Magus Society.
They’d both agreed a long time ago to keep their relationship as private as possible for their safety and the safety of their families, but Razvan found the secrecy stifling after so many years together. Sometimes the secrets felt like to much. Being stealth due to attitudes towards trans people in his home country of Borgovia, to his double live as a supervillian, telling Kenneth’s parents they were dating would provide Razvan some much needed relief and it would be one less secret he’d have to keep. Even though he was a Borgovian citizen, Razvan primarily lived and worked out of a modest flat in Bucharest, Romania. The country’s Christmas celebrations ran from the end of November into January, and the period was deeply intermixed with older pagan traditions. There’d be no goat dancers or Krampus parades here in the United Kingdom, but it was a big step up from having all the old women in the building try to feed him until he burst, then going to the underground gay club to dance and drink until he was too tired to think about being alone on Christmas. They drove on for a while in silence. “Mum and dad love Razvan,” Beth said as they neared their destination, “You’ll be fine! Everything will be peachy keen. You’ll see.” Beth pulled the car into the driveway of a modest rowhouse on a quiet street. Many of the neighboring houses sported colored lights and other holiday decorations strung along eaves, in windows and front porches. Razvan retrieved his bags from the trunk and the group let themselves in the front door. Beth and Kenneth’s mother walked out of the kitchen to greet them, hugging and kissing her two children before moving to Razvan. “I’m so happy you decided to join us!” She gave Razvan a warm hug, then motioned for everyone to follow her into the kitchen. “Let’s have a cuppa and catch up!”
“How dare you try to kill my family!” Renewed anger flared within Cyril, and he lashed out at Ruslan, forcing him to defend. “It never had to be this way!” Ruslan shouted back. “I only wanted to save you!” They broke, circling slowly around one another. Anger mingled with despair in Cyril’s heart. “I thought we were friends! We used to do everything together!” Cyril lamented, holding out a hand pleadingly. “Why can’t you accept me the way I am?” “I loved you the way you were. Strong and beautiful. You were like a rose made of steel!” “I’m not a real man to you, am I?” Cyril asked quietly. “You are not.” The words cut the last pity and hope Cyril had for Ruslan out of his heart.
Center of the image is a picture of a book cover that reads, 'Last Wolves of Paris' by T.G. Joye. On the right is a picture of Notre Dame Cathedral, on the left are a list of bullet points that read: Black Transmasc MC, Romani love interest, Plot adresses the colonial nature of the Catholic Church, Relucant werewolf X vampire teamup, fighting back against repressive systems
image of a book titled, 'Sword of the Voivode, by T.G. Joye. To the right is a picture of a man with long hair and a sword in his hand. On the left side is a list of bullet point that read: Trans man main character, setting based on Eastern Europe and Central Eurasia, Personal stakes and intimate story, Two dumbasses struggle to say, 'I love you', Soft magic and sacred body autonomy.
picture of a black cat laying on a green and white blanket.
Picture of a book with a blue cover surrounded by tarot cards. The cover reads, 'Last Wolves of Paris' by T.G. Joye.
Picture of a book with a black cover. The Title reads, 'Sword of the Voivode'. The author's name is T.G. Joye. The title is intertwined with stylized flowers.
Picture of a book cover that reads, "Sword of the Voivode." Descriptors around the book read: Trans man MC, Secret Royals, Abusers get wrecked, Eastern European inspired setting, Autistic LI, Magical clergy, queernorm setting, a father seeks forgiveness.
Picture of a drop down list of chapters that reads: Meteors and Radical Transformation, New Kin, Old Flames, Hot Time in a New Town
image of a man with long hair and ga goatee with a ring of roses behind him.
Picture of a book cover that reads, "Sword of the Voivode." Descriptors around the book read: Trans man MC, Secret Royals, Abusers get wrecked, Eastern European inspired setting, Autistic LI, Magical clergy, queernorm setting, a father seeks forgiveness.
article screenshot that reads: But that may not be enough to reassure publishers of children's and young adult titles. Young adult novelist and LGBTQ Reads creator Dahlia Adler noted that publishers are more likely to invest in books that will not get banned, while Irene Vazquez, an associate editor at independent publisher Levine Querido, explained that children's and young adult publishers rely on wholesalers that sell books to schools and libraries for the majority of their sales. Those wholesalers, she said, have become "more hesitant" to purchase LGBTQ+ books.
Picture of a book cover that reads, "Sword of the Voivode." Descriptors around the book read: Trans man MC, Secret Royals, Abusers get wrecked, Eastern European inspired setting, Autistic LI, Magical clergy, queernorm setting, a father seeks forgiveness.
image of a book cover titled 'Last Wolves of Paris' surrounded by descriptors, which read: Black, transmasc MC Romani LI Werewolf X Vampire Romance Anti-colonial Gentle Monsters Autism Rep Chaotic Queerness
"Oh, a rogue!" Daumantas laughed softly at his own poor acting. "Whatever shall I do?" he added, as he leaned dramatically away from Cyril. Cyril grinned and he leaned close to Daumantas, their knees brushed together with every movement of the wagon. "You know you have to pay me to stay in my territory." He puffed out his chest and did his best overwrought brigand impression. Daumantas chuckled and wrapped a large hand around Cyril's thigh. "Is it really 'payment' if I enjoy it?" Cyril moved closer to Daumantas, and they leaned against one another, chuckling together as they acted through their playful farce. "I missed you," Cyril said, and he felt the full weight of his longing.
Image of a cosy bookstore entrance. There is a mural of book shelves on the wall to the right, with windows and a door covered by blue and grey awnings to the left. In the middle is the main entrance, over it a yellow sign with red script reads, 'Browseabout books'. Text above the image reads: Buy Sword of the Voivode at Browseabout Books this #shopsmallsaturday. below text reads: In Rehoboth Beach, DE
Image of a book cover on a dark smokey background that reads, 'Sword of the Voivode'. around it are descriptors, reading: Trans Man MC, Autistic LI, Secret Royals, Magical clergy, Abusers get Wrecked, Queernorm setting, eastern european inspired setting, a father seeks forgiveness.
poster that reads: Fall 2025 Delaware Author fair. Huxley & Hiro. Sunday Oct. 26th. The Queen Theater, Wilmington, DE. Early access os $10 (11am-12pm) 12pm-3pm $5
Blue book cover on a smokey background that reads: Last Wolves of Paris by T.G. Joye. Around it, descriptors read: Black Transmasc MC, Romani LI, Werewolf X Vampire romance, Anti-colonial, gentle monsters, autism rep, chaotic queerness.
picture of a book on a multi pattern background. The title reads, "Sword of the Voivode". The author's name is T.G. Joye
“Where did you get those scars?” He asked, then clapped his hands over his mouth. “ohmygoshiamsosorry.” He made and agonized squeal that made me chuckle. “I. Should. Not. Have. Asked. That.” Well, my thirst trap failed, but he was definitely checking me out. I smoothed my shirt back out, my face serious. “A six fingered man gave me these scars.” I joked.
I bit back my own angry response. “First things first. If those responsible are snatching werewolves at night, then we can’t make ourselves available!” Everyone leaned away from me as my voice rose to a shout. “Bertrand is right,” an older man agreed with me, “something out there is killing us werewolves, and he or they can’t kill us if we aren’t there to kill.” “I’m not giving up,” I glanced around the room, hoping to lift spirits a little, “it’s clear the gendarmes can’t catch the killer on their own, so I’ll continue to investigate. In the meantime, let’s try to spread the word and keep as many werewolves as possible inside after dark. Understood?” Those gathered sullenly agreed, and we officially disbanded our doomed vigilante troupe.
silver script on a blue background with a decorative gold half circle that reads, Last Wolves of Paris
How we sat so still for so long, I do not know. Stoically posing for our portrait, my heart ached with the fleeting nature of the moment. I wished I could sit there forever, taking in the dewy night air with Radu perched in my lap. There was something here I’d been missing for most of my life, and I hated how it might be gone with the morning sun. After what felt a lifetime, we got up and gave our spot so someone else could have their picture taken. Radu and I observed the brownies as they processed the photographs through a combination of chemicals and heat. “Isn’t it fascinating?” Radu breathed. He stood in awe of the images developing before our eyes. Belphobe spared no expense. Everyone received their photos on the spot, framed and protected by glass. “They smudge easily, so please leave the plate in the frame.” The brownie who gave us our photo cautioned. “Look at how dark I am!” I laughed, turning the photo this way and that as we made our way back inside. “I love the way the light catches in your curls. You look so distinguished.” Radu purred against my side, leaning in to observe the daguerreotype for himself. We spent the rest of our night getting drunk and dancing into the wee hours and fell asleep in one of Belphoebe’s anterior rooms.
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Image of a book laying on a red jaquard brocade cloth with a pride progress flag sitting in the upper left hand corner. The title of the book is Sword of the Voivode. Intertwined with the words on the cover are styalized flowers on a black background.
text on a sparkle background that reads, "You mean to tell me natural born men aren't secure in their manhood?" He rolled his eyes for dramatic effect. "Do tell me something I don't already know, love."
a man seated on a motorcycle reads a message written across a boarded up window at the Stonewall Inn. A man shouts off page, 'Hey, you! You can't be out here!'