"So when are you going to publish that?"

Bella visibly cringes, shrinking behind her notebook. From the driver's seat, her mom sends her another one of her looks.

Most of Bella's outrage has died by now, but the mortification lingers. She doesn't think her face will ever return back to its normal shade again.

In retrospect, it's her own damn fault. She couldn't just be a normal teenager and date. No, instead she had to read cheesy romance novels about knights, sorcery, and vampires in her spare time, which in return gave her ridiculously high expectations in men.

So ridiculously high, in fact, that it got to the point no one in fiction, much less real life, could meet her standards. Hence, she had to create them… by writing her own.

She may or may not have based the love interest off a classmate in her Biology class.

And um, made him a super sexy, super rich, super single vampire. With superpowers.

Who just so happens to fall in love with her.

Because...

Just because.

And wow, look at that, the burn of perpetual humiliation is back. God, why did she do that. Why, just why.

Did she mention her mom found the notebook and read the whole thing?

"When are you going to drop it?" Bella weakly snaps back.

"When you publish! I'm serious, Bella. You've got major talent there. It's the best thing I've read all year."

"It's trash. I'm trash." Before her mom could interrupt, she says, "And there's no talent in it. I had a stupid dream. I wrote it down. It's just some embarrassing fantasy, okay, and I'd appreciate it if you stop reminding me just how embarrassing it is."

Her mom thinks she's helping. She's not. All her advice is going to do is make Bella a huge laughing stock. No editor is going to take her work seriously. No publisher. And certainly not the world.

"You say it as if the entirety of literature isn't based off human fantasy."

"Oh my god, it's not literature, it's a cheesy romance."

"You say it as if love and desire aren't the most universal of human emotions."

Unamused, Renée turns to give her the look again. "You want to call it a fantasy, sure. But I don't know where you're getting the assumption that your fantasy is somehow less worthy than theirs, or that your voice is somehow less deserving than theirs. What I do know is, you're probably not the only one who feels the way you do, and that your writing has the ability to fulfill dreams, even if it's just for a moment. You have the power to make a lot of people happy."

She returns to the road.

"But you're right, I can see how you'd get criticism. I guess you're just going to have to decide who matters more. Other so-called "trash" who will think this is the best thing they've read all year. Or the people who will mock and dismiss you for the things you enjoy."

Bella says nothing.

The rest of the car ride is more quiet. Here or there, a few more things would come up in conversation. Phil. Jacob.

Despite the disaster of Bella's stay at Forks, at least she found a good friend in Jacob and a few of the other Quileutes. Last she heard, they were visiting Leah on the East Coast - after the girl had gotten into Columbia University, she packed her bags and never looked back. Seth, who had never been to New York before, was excitedly munching away at all the hot dogs and halal the city had to offer.

They exit the interstate. The boxes in the car trunk rattle with every bump in the road. Bella looks out at the southern California landscape, her fingernails nervously scraping the spirals of her notebook.

Finally, a cheery sign for the county of Sunnydale greets them, and further down, the street leading up to the Bella's home and school for the next four years.

The parking lot is already packed with other cars. Students surround them left and right, many chatting and wearing lanyards like hers.

Swallowing, Bella tries to avoid eye contact at all costs and buries herself in the campus map.

After some struggle, they find her new dormitory. To her surprise, one of her new roommates has arrived even earlier than she has, some girl in a t-shirt and converse shoes.

"Oh, Bella, right?"

In her abrupt attempt to stand, the other girl knocks over one of the boxes precariously stacked on nightstand. It nails her right in the feet, of which Bella winces in empathy.

Their room is hardly larger than a closet, and Bella has to admire the other girl's courage when she tiptoes over all the packaging to come introduce herself. Bella herself would have never survived the journey, at least not without tripping over the lamp and face-planting on the floor.

"Um, hi, I'm Ana."

Ana gives a small shrug and nervous smile, before remembering to shake Renée's hand too.

After another awkward pause…

"Huh, I like your shirt."

"Um, those are cool shoes."

They close their mouths simultaneously, before bursting into nervous laughter. But after some time, that laughter becomes not-so-nervous anymore.

Bella's impression of college takes a quick turn afterwards, going from terrified to comforted. She can't remember a time they has hit it off with anyone so quickly.

Ana just gets it. Gets her. The divorced parents. The hectic moving throughout childhood. An introvert's struggles. Uncontrollable teenage hormones. They even like the same books.

Strange how they would end up together, especially since Ana was originally set on WSU and Bella was considering Dartmouth. But wow, is she glad they met.

Bella has not even noticed the time until Renée puts an hand on her shoulder. "It looks like you're all set here."

Bella returns a blank stare, not understanding at first. But once she does, her stomach drops. The unease from the road comes back full force.

That's when she decides, screw it, and drops the pretense in favor of giving her mom the tightest hug since elementary school.

Renée squeezes just as hard and whispers into her hair, "You'll do great."

Ana watches from the sidelines. After the door closes, she says sheepishly, "You want to… maybe try and find that dining hall?"

Blushing, Bella wipes her eyes. "Yeah."

Bella doesn't get much sleep that night, but she utterly collapses into the mattress the night after. In the week-long freshmen orientation, she finds herself slowly exposed the the college lifestyle, from navigating across the campus to choosing classes. All the while, the bunk above hers remain empty, their third roommate strangely absent.

"… I'm not sure, English 110 or 145?" Ana says, tapping a pencil to her lip. "I think I'll like Victorian more, but I heard you'd never want a class before 10 AM? Oh wait, no, that'll conflict with Philosophy. Are you still taking that?"

Bella furrows her brows, scribbling in her own schedule. "I would if I can get in. You signing up for the Friday seminar?"

"Let me see?"

They swap papers.

"I kinda want to get the Quant requirement out of the way," Bella mumbles, flipping through the courses booklet. "Both Math 220 and Neuro 101 sound kinda interesting but-"

Their pencils drop at the sound of an interrupting announcement. Cursing, they hastily pack their stuff, before scrambling from the student center to the main auditorium, where crowds of students are flowing in en masse.

The stage turns out to be huge, and the seats spiral out as far as the eye can see. The place feels strangely bigger on the inside than out, and Bella is wide-eyed at the sheer amount of how people gathered. It can't be just the freshmen, but the other years too, she concludes.

With the help of staff and student volunteers, Ana and Bella find two empty adjacent seats. They collapse into the cushions, then pass the time by returning to their schedules. Bella is still trying to choose her last class when there is a sudden hush.

The opening ceremony commences with bang.

Bella jumps in her seat at the performances. Dance. Swordsmanship. Magic. Student clubs and organizations of all kinds come to showcase their talent. Bella peeks over at Ana, who clearly has not been expecting this either, her hands over her mouth as the ravens scatter into the crowd. Black feathers fall down enchantingly.

Once the audience has been awakened, all the glamour disappears with a burst of smoke. Standing instead on stage are rows upon rows of the university faculty.

Representatives from each department take turns stepping up, each providing their own flavors of welcome to the students. Their speeches are short and sound much like a standard address, with varying sprinkles of optimism, humor, or pride.

One professor, however, manages to garner the most cheer from the moment she steps up. The noise comes loudest from the balconies, presumably where the upperclassmen are seated. Bella even hears someone's declaration of love, eliciting much laughter from the crowd.

The woman is apparently a highly beloved professor in number theory, and stands conservatively dressed with bushy hair. When she speaks, she speaks with a British accent.

Within a minute, Bella can see why she is so well liked. Everything about her is genuine and honest. The professor is the first to acknowledge the students' anxieties and to not sugarcoat; their next four years won't be easy, nor any of the years after that.

Expect to be stressed. Expect to be tired. Expect to be wrong.

Expect to fail.

And that is okay.

Failure is a part of progress. Of challenging oneself and pushing forward. Of courage and ambition and excellence.

A pause.

"But with all that said, try not to do things that will get you killed… or worse, expelled."

And so, the laughter is back. The audience booms. Their fervor is contagious, and Bella finds herself clapping along.

The professor smiles and looks to her left. There is a new figure approaching, a petite woman with blonde hair. Biker jacket, heels, and what appears to be a chai tea latte in one hand.

Bella does not know what to make of this new person, nor can she hazard a guess as to who she is. It would appear Bella is not alone, as some of the freshmen are also muttering in confusion. A few apparently do recognize her, however, and start clapping excitedly at her appearance.

"It is my pleasure to present to you President Summers!"

The university president exchanges a hug with the professor, before stepping up to take her place on the podium. From there, she sets down her latte and waits for the students to calm, studying the faces before her with quiet contemplation.

Bella studies her in return. Almost immediately, the president gives a distinctively different vibe from everyone thus far. Her aura is calm. Controlled. Though small, almost doll-like, everything about her radiates power and respect. Her eyes are like those of a hawk, capable of singling each and every face out from the crowd.

Bella freezes when they make eye contact. But then, her shoulders slowly lower.

After the auditorium is silent, the president begins.

"When I was a girl, I was told that into every generation a chosen one is born. And that she alone will wield the strength and skill to save the world from the forces of evil. And I thought to myself, well, sucks to be the person stuck with that responsibility."

A few chuckles erupt, and the president breaks into a smile. She leans into the mic, as if to whisper a secret. "I was told a fantasy."

"The fate of the world," she explains, "is not decided by the hands of a lone individual."

No, the world they have today is the cumulation of every decision in human history.

It is the combined labor of hundreds of billions of different faces.

Every building they enter. Every road they walk.

The food they eat. The clothes they wear.

Someone starved so you will not starve. Someone froze so you will not freeze. Someone killed so you will not kill.

Someone gave up their body so you can have your body. Someone gave up their pride so you can keep your pride. Someone gave up their dreams so you can nurture your dreams.

It took a thousand lives to create the story you read. It took a thousand lives to cure the disease you hold.

Technology passed through a million hands before it shaped into magic.

Knowledge passed through a million minds before it shaped into enlightenment.

This is the world their ancestors have created. And this is the world left in the hands of every living person today.

There is no one hero responsible for saving the world. Shaping the world. Changing the world.

"Everyone is," she says. "And everyone will, in one way or another, willingly or not, knowingly or not, decide what the world is to become."

Slowly, one by one, the faculty behind her rises from their seats.

"The past generations standing here before you have been giving you with their lessons. They have been showing you their discoveries and instilling in you their morals. They have been revealing to you their greatest triumphs and their deepest failures.

"For most of you here today, all your life you have been learning from them. You have been reading their books. Playing their games. Listening to their music. You have been studying their principles. Absorbing their concepts. Understanding their frameworks. Following their laws.

"For most of you today, all your life you have been watching them. At home. On the streets. In the news."

The president pauses. The auditorium has gone still.

Bella doesn't know why, but her pulse is up.

"You are no longer watching the news."

And up.

"You are the news.

"You are our politicians. Our scientists. Our explorers. Our architects. Our writers. Our teachers.

"Look at your neighbors. Now look at yourself. Because this is now where all the good comes from. And all the evil."

All the love and all the hate.

All of humanity's hope and dreams.

Its first and final defense.

It does not matter whether or not they are ready. Their calling has come.

The president picks up her latte. Her smile returns, sharp and bold.

"Welcome, my Slayers, to the new frontier."

Ana holds her folders close to her chest, careful in her descent down the stone steps. "So Bella, are you sticking with Math 220 or...?"

Bella fidgets. She really should. Math has always been her strongest subject after Bio. She had been top of the class even.

And math is useful.

Math is prestigious.

Math would open the doors to being a scientist or engineer, allow her to explore everything from the cosmos above to the oceans below, create the tools that can stop the next disaster or cure the next disease.

Math would make a statement.

"Actually... I think I'll try Creative Writing," she confesses.

Ana steps forward in excitement. "You write?"

The annoying blush is back. "Err, it's more of a hobb-"

When the papers go flying, Bella is ninety-nine percent convinced it is not her fault that time. Nonetheless, an apology is already on her lips.

Their eyes meet.

The words never escape. Her mind is also stuck, lost within the spirals of gold.

When she finally comes around, all she can think is… how absolutely cliche. What simply lazy writing. Even in her story, the heroine doesn't meet her love interest like this. No, she keeps it realistic - their first encounter is in a plain old high school cafeteria, with him biting into an apple.

Huh, apple. Symbolism. She should make a note to do something with that later.

Bella accepts the stranger's hand.

"My apologies," he says with a smile far too charming and a voice far, far too sexy to even be real.

And thus, her suspension of disbelief is thoroughly annihilated. Gone.

Getting accepted to some seemingly amazing university she doesn't even remember applying for? Strange, but stranger things have happened.

Finding the perfect friend who understands her in almost every way? Okay, maybe she just got incredibly lucky there.

Getting excited about school and learning of all things? What is life without a few game-changers.

But this? Nope.

Just another dream. She knew it; she has been stuck in a dream this whole time.

So why does he feel so damn solid.

"Her name is Bella," Ana finally says when it becomes clear Bella herself will not be making the introduction.

"Itachi."

AFTERWORD

Permission to Castrate Please began over seven years ago in my days as an overly-jubilant high school student. A few distinct moments went into the spirit of this fanfiction:

1. When reading a particular scene in the fanfiction Harry Potter and the Methods and Rationality. In it, Harry had just unleashed his patronus, version 2.0.

2. When doing research. Only after a year of staring at computer screens and stacking petri dishes did the implications of what I was doing sank in. I was moving atoms. One by one. I was a sixteen year old girl who, with a single chemistry notebook, held the power to. Move. Individual. Fucking. Atoms.

3. When watching a video of someone flabbergasted by people who complain about flying because delays or luggage. His response was something along the lines of, "You are 35,000 feet above the earth. You are flying. On a chariot. In the sky. Throughout most of human history, this is a power of the gods. DO YOU REALIZE ARE A GREEK GOD RIGHT NOW."

4. When riding Walt Disney's Carousel of Progress. I rode it twice. I cried both times.

When I started this crossover, I had just learned about Campbell's monomyth in literature class, and I knew I wanted to construct the hero's journey for myself. Specifically, I wanted to tell a story of the protagonist leaving her plain, banal world for an exciting, magical one. I would write a Naruto fanfiction, but the exciting, magical world wouldn't be the Narutoverse… it would be the real world. Because the real world is, well, incredible?

The second thing I knew I wanted: the protagonist would be Sakura. Because she's awesome. She's average and she's exceptional. She's the nerd and the jock. The goofball and the teacher's pet. The prude and the pervert. The popular kid and the loner. She's everything feminine.

Which led to the third thing: I wanted the setting to be from Twilight, and I wanted the spirit of Twilight to permeate throughout, including the unapologetic, unabashed desire for teenage romance. One thing I love about Sakura is her enthusiasm for romance, how she crushes so hard. It's ridiculously cute to me. I once imagined a scene of Edward complaining, in a very Shakespearean fashion, about the agony of unrequited love, and asking if there were anyone in the universe who understands his suffering. And Sakura just politely raises her hand all while never looking up from the book she's reading. And thus, their dynamic is born.

Finally, I knew I wanted the epilogue to belong to Bella Swan. Her role is marginal in the main story, but the themes would not be complete without her making a final stand.

Once again, thank you so much for reading! It's been such a pleasure writing this and reading everyone's comments.

For the Twilight fans, if you enjoy genderflipping and paradigm shifts, be on the lookout for Nightfall, a horror featuring 17-year-old Blue Higginbottom and his dangerous courtship with the mysterious Esmeralda.

For the Sakura fans, if you are in the mood for some insanity and madness, check out Firestorm.

For my long-term readers/followers in general, expect to have your inbox spammed by a sudden surge in Victorian Gothic romance and Tom Hiddleston. And the occasional update for the story you actually care about before another year's hiatus.

And with that, I shall retreat back into hermit mode. :)

Until next time!

Lily