Hope Lives Here

A Transgender Paranormal Romantasy

From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

Copyright 2026 by Sasha Zarya Nexus

Chapter 1: The Shelter’s Shadow

Will Dora's sacrificial love overcome Pastor Mark's failings

and save Hope Shelter's promise that Hope Lives Here?

Chapter 1: The Shelter’s Shadow

The fluorescent lights of the New Hope Community Shelter buzzed like trapped wasps, casting a sickly glow over the rows of folding tables and metal chairs. Wallace adjusted the too-tight collar of his polo shirt-navy blue, the same as the other volunteers-and glanced at the cross hanging above the serving counter. Its shadow stretched long and thin across the floor, a dagger pointed at his chest.

“Wallace! Quit dawdling and grab the ladle.”

Pastor Mark’s voice cut through the clatter of trays, sharp as the creases in his button-down. Wallace flinched, nearly dropping the stack of napkins in his hands. The shelter director stood by the industrial soup pots, arms crossed over his broad chest, his salt-and-pepper beard twitching with disapproval.

“Yes, sir,” Wallace mumbled. He kept his eyes down as he shuffled toward the counter, where steam rose in greasy spirals from vats of chicken noodle. The scent of overboiled carrots made his stomach churn-or maybe it was the way Pastor Mark’s gaze followed him, heavy with expectation.

Act normal. Just be normal.

He’d repeated the mantra all through junior year, through locker room panic and his mother’s lectures about “God’s plan for young men.” Volunteering here was supposed to be his penance, his parents said. A way to “build character” instead of wasting summers at the mall. But the shelter’s cracked linoleum and stained aprons felt more like a sanctuary than church ever had. Here, no one asked why he lingered near the women’s restroom or why his hands shook when someone called him son.

“Need a hand with those?”

Wallace turned to find a girl his age leaning against the counter, her volunteer shirt untucked and rolled at the sleeves to show tattooed forearms-a sleeve of ferns and songbirds. Her name tag read Gail in loopy cursive, the i dotted with a tiny heart.

“I’ve got it,” Wallace said too quickly, fumbling the ladle. Broth splashed onto his wrist.

Gail raised an eyebrow. “Clearly.” She grabbed a rag and tossed it to him, her cropped hair catching the light like polished mahogany. “Relax, newbie. The holy terror’s too busy lecturing Mrs. Kowalski about ‘modest attire’ to notice your existential crisis.”

Wallace followed her nod to where Pastor Mark loomed over an elderly woman in a moth-eaten cardigan, his voice low but carrying. “-and we must set an example, Mrs. Kowalski. Those shorts are hardly appropriate for God’s house.”

The woman hunched deeper into her chair, a bruised peach trembling in her hands.

Gail rolled her eyes. “Real shepherding there, huh? Protecting the flock from… knees.” She plucked a dinner roll from the tray and bit into it defiantly. “Come on. Let’s get the drinks station set up before he finds a new target.”

Wallace trailed her to the corner, where a dented cooler sweated onto the floor. He’d noticed Gail before-the way she laughed with the guests, high-fiving the kids and slipping extra cookies to the teens. Once, he’d seen her calmly correct a donor who’d misgendered a resident: “They use they/them, actually. Easy mistake!” She’d smiled, but her eyes were flint.

“So.” Gail heaved a stack of paper cups onto the table. “You’re Wallace, right? The mystery man who never talks.”

He stiffened. “I talk.”

“Uh-huh. To soup.” She grinned, nudging him with her elbow. “Relax, I’m messing with you. You’re the only one here who doesn’t treat the guests like zoo exhibits. I respect that.”

Heat crept up his neck. “They’re people. Not projects.”

“Preach.” Gail’s smile softened. She started lining up juice boxes-grape, apple, not the cheap orange Pastor Mark insisted on-and Wallace watched her hands. Chipped black polish, a silver ring shaped like a feather. He wondered what it would feel like to have nails that color, to wear a name tag that said something else.

The dining hall doors swung open, and a group of teenagers slouched in-hoodies drawn tight, backpacks dragging. Wallace’s breath caught. The tallest, a lanky kid with faded green hair, paused to adjust their beanie, fingers brushing the pronoun pin on their strap: THEY/THEM.

“Jay’s here,” Gail said quietly. “They’ve been couch-hopping since their mom kicked them out. Pastor Dickhead thinks they’re ‘confused.’”

Jay caught Gail’s wave and shuffled over, shoulders hunched against the room. Up close, their acne scars and chipped nail polish made them look both older and painfully young.

“Hey, Jay.” Gail slid a juice box across the table. “Hungry?”

“Starving.” Jay’s voice was raspy, like they’d been crying. They glanced at Wallace, then away.

“This is Wallace.” Gail nudged him. “He’s cool.”

Jay nodded, picking at their sleeve. Wallace’s throat tightened. He knew that look-the hollowed-out fear of being seen and unseen all at once.

“The, um. The soup’s good today,” he managed.

Jay snorted. “It’s never good.”

Gail laughed, bright and sudden, and Wallace felt something unclench in his chest.

“Wallace! Front and center.”

Pastor Mark’s bark shattered the moment. Wallace turned to find him holding a clipboard, his pen tapping an impatient rhythm. “Time for headcounts. I need you to read the names.”

The room tilted. No. Not that.

“I can do it,” Gail said, half-rising.

“This is a man’s responsibility,” Pastor Mark said, without looking at her. “Wallace.”

The clipboard felt like a live wire in his hands. He stared at the list-thirty names, each a knife:

James Abbott

Maria Chen

Wallace Green

His vision blurred. The W yawned like a wound.

“Begin,” Pastor Mark said.

Wallace’s mouth moved on autopilot. “James Abbott?”

“Here.”

“Maria Chen?”

A hand rose by the windows.

“Wallace Green?”

Silence.

“Wallace Green?”

Gail’s foot brushed his under the table. Jay stared at their lap.

“Present,” Wallace whispered.

The room blurred. He finished the list in a daze, the sound of his deadname ringing in his ears long after the last here. When he handed the clipboard back, Pastor Mark’s frown deepened.

“Stand up straight, son. You’re slouching like a girl.”

The words hit like a slap. Wallace fled to the kitchen, where the industrial dishwasher’s roar drowned out the voices in his head-girlgirlgirlgirl-until his hands stopped shaking.

He didn’t notice the old woman watching him from the corner, her eyes sharp as broken glass.

Hope Lives Here

A Transgender Paranormal Romantasy

From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

Copyright 2026 by Sasha Zarya Nexus

Chapter 2: Kindness in Secret

Will Dora's sacrificial love overcome Pastor Mark's failings

and save Hope Shelter's promise that Hope Lives Here?

Wallace liked the quiet hours at the shelter-the ones before dinner, when the guests drifted in from the heat, claiming their favorite seats with old blankets or battered duffel bags. The fluorescent lights didn’t seem so harsh then, and the echo of footsteps on linoleum was softened by the low hum of fans and the clink of ice in plastic cups.

He found Jay in the rec room, hunched over a battered chessboard. Their beanie was pulled low, hiding their eyes, and their backpack sat at their feet like a loyal dog. Wallace hovered in the doorway, uncertain.

“Want to play?” Jay asked without looking up.

Wallace hesitated. He’d never been good at chess. “I don’t really know how.”

Jay shrugged. “I’ll teach you. It’s not about winning, anyway. It’s about having somewhere to be.”

Wallace slid into the cracked vinyl chair across from them. Jay moved a pawn forward, then waited. Wallace mirrored the move, and they settled into a rhythm, the room filling with the soft click of pieces and the distant rattle of pots in the kitchen.

“Gail says you’re cool,” Jay said after a while.

Wallace’s cheeks warmed. “She’s nice. I’m just… here to help.”

Jay snorted softly. “You actually talk to us. Most of the volunteers just act like we’re invisible, or like we’re about to steal something.”

Wallace looked down at the board. “I’m sorry. People can be… not great.”

Jay shrugged again, but Wallace saw the tension in their shoulders. “You get used to it. Or you pretend to.”

A silence stretched between them, comfortable in its honesty. Wallace risked a glance at Jay’s face, saw the faint bruises under their eyes, the way their jaw clenched when someone walked past the door.

“Do you have somewhere to go tonight?” Wallace asked quietly.

Jay shook their head. “Not really. Couch-surfing, mostly. Sometimes the park, if the weather’s good. Pastor Mark says I can’t stay here overnight unless I ‘make a decision’ about my gender.” Jay’s voice twisted on the last word, bitter and tired.

Wallace’s stomach twisted. “That’s not fair.”

Jay shrugged. “Nothing is.”

They played in silence for a few more moves. Wallace lost, but Jay didn’t gloat. They just reset the board, fingers moving with practiced care.

“Do you ever wish you could just… be someone else?” Jay asked suddenly.

Wallace’s throat tightened. “All the time.”

Jay looked up, their eyes searching. “Yeah. Me too.”

Gail appeared in the doorway, arms full of board games. “Hey, chess nerds. We’re starting Uno in the lounge. You in?”

Jay grinned, the tension easing from their face. “Only if I get to be on your team.”

Gail winked. “Deal. Wallace, you coming?”

Wallace hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Jay and Gail disappeared down the hall, laughter echoing behind them. Wallace lingered, staring at the chessboard. He thought about Jay’s question, about the ache in his own chest whenever he looked in the mirror.

He wanted to be someone else. He wanted to be real.

He packed up the chess pieces and carried them back to the supply closet. The room was cramped and smelled of bleach, but it was private. Wallace closed the door and leaned against the shelves, letting himself breathe.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through old photos-birthday parties, family trips, his mother’s forced smiles and his father’s stern eyes. He didn’t see himself in any of them. Just a boy-shaped shadow, always on the outside.

His phone buzzed-a text from Gail.

Gail: Uno is getting heated. Jay says you’re scared to lose. Prove them wrong?

Wallace smiled despite himself. He texted back:

Wallace: On my way. Tell Jay I’m bringing my A-game.

He slipped his phone into his pocket and headed for the lounge.

The Uno game was chaos. Gail dealt cards with the flair of a Vegas dealer, Jay made up rules as they went, and Wallace found himself laughing more than he had in months. The other volunteers drifted in and out, some joining the game, others just watching. Pastor Mark passed by once, his eyes narrowing at the noise, but Gail just smiled sweetly and waved.

After the game, Gail and Wallace helped clean up. Jay lingered, stacking chairs and humming under their breath.

“Hey, Wallace?” Jay said as they finished.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For… you know. Treating me like a person.”

Wallace ducked his head. “You are a person.”

Jay smiled, small and real. “Not everyone sees it that way.”

Gail slung an arm around Wallace’s shoulders as Jay left. “You’re good with people, you know that?”

Wallace shrugged. “I just… try to be kind.”

Gail squeezed his shoulder. “That’s more than most.”

They finished cleaning in companionable silence. When they were done, Gail leaned against the counter, studying Wallace.

“You ever come to the LGBTQ+ group at the library?” she asked.

Wallace shook his head. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just show up. It’s mostly nerds and weirdos. My people.”

Wallace smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

Gail watched him for a moment, then nodded. “No pressure. Just… if you ever want to talk, I’m around.”

Wallace nodded, grateful and terrified all at once.

Dinner was a blur of trays and chatter. Wallace moved through the motions-soup, bread, fruit-his mind elsewhere. He watched Jay joke with a group of teens, saw the way Gail floated from table to table, laughing and listening. He envied their ease, their confidence.

After cleanup, Wallace found himself in the kitchen, washing dishes with Mrs. Kowalski. The old woman hummed hymns under her breath, her hands red from the hot water.

“You’re a good boy, Wallace,” she said suddenly.

He flinched, nearly dropping a plate. “Thanks.”

She glanced at him, her eyes sharp. “You remind me of my granddaughter. Always helping, always worrying.”

Wallace swallowed. “Is she… okay?”

Mrs. Kowalski smiled, sad and proud. “She’s herself. That’s all I ever wanted for her.”

Wallace blinked back tears. “That’s… good.”

Mrs. Kowalski patted his hand. “Don’t let anyone tell you who you are, dear. Not even yourself.”

Wallace nodded, unable to speak.

He left the shelter as the sun was setting, the sky streaked with orange and purple. Gail walked with him to the bus stop, their shadows long on the sidewalk.

“You did good today,” Gail said.

Wallace shrugged. “I just played chess and lost at Uno.”

Gail grinned. “You made Jay smile. That’s a win in my book.”

They stood in silence, the evening air cool and gentle. Wallace wanted to say something-to ask how Gail made it look so easy, to confess the ache in his chest-but the words tangled in his throat.

The bus rumbled up, headlights cutting through the dusk. Gail squeezed his shoulder. “See you tomorrow?”

Wallace nodded. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

He boarded the bus and watched Gail wave as it pulled away. The city blurred past the windows-neon signs, darkened storefronts, families gathered on porches. Wallace pressed his forehead to the glass and closed his eyes.

At home, the house was quiet. His parents were in the living room, the TV tuned to a news channel. His father glanced up as Wallace slipped through the door.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Sorry. We had a lot of dishes.”

His mother frowned. “You need to focus on your responsibilities, Wallace. Not waste time with those people.”

Wallace nodded, biting back a retort. He climbed the stairs to his room, the familiar ache settling in his chest.

He sat on his bed and pulled out his phone. A new message from Gail waited for him.

Gail: You’re not alone, you know. If you ever need to talk, I’m here.

Wallace stared at the screen, tears pricking his eyes. He typed a reply, then deleted it. He didn’t know what to say.

He set his phone aside and stared at the ceiling. He thought about Jay, about Mrs. Kowalski’s granddaughter, about the way Gail moved through the world like she belonged.

He wanted that. He wanted to be seen, to be real.

He closed his eyes and made a wish-not out loud, not even in words. Just a silent, desperate hope that tomorrow would be different.

The next morning, Wallace arrived at the shelter early. The air was crisp, the sky washed clean by the night’s rain. He found Jay sitting on the steps, knees drawn to their chest.

“Hey,” Wallace said, sitting beside them.

Jay glanced over, eyes red. “Didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Wallace hesitated, then offered, “You could crash at my place. My folks… they’d freak, but I could sneak you in.”

Jay shook their head. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay. Just needed somewhere to sit.”

They sat in silence, the city waking around them.

“You’re a good person, Wallace,” Jay said quietly.

Wallace looked away. “I’m just trying.”

Jay smiled, small and real. “That’s enough.”

The shelter doors opened, and Gail stepped out, waving. “Come on, you two. Breakfast isn’t going to eat itself.”

They stood, stretching stiff limbs. Jay nudged Wallace. “Thanks.”

Wallace smiled. “Anytime.”

Inside, the shelter was warm and bright. Wallace felt something shift in his chest-a tiny spark of hope, fragile but real.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But for now, he had friends, and kindness, and the promise of something more.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.