Notes: Shamelessly self-indulgent, this is a tribute to all the girl-falls-into-canon-universe stories I read and loved as a teenager. This is not a fic that takes itself, or its content, too seriously. I hope it's as fun to read as it was to write!

I'm not a superstitious person, or prone to spouting clichés. But if there's ever a time where 'be careful what you wish for' applies, this is it.

Well, to be strictly accurate, 'it' was an hour ago, slogging through the wilderness with nothing but the clothes on my back. But this particular moment isn't looking too great, either.

"Excuse me, I think the dehydration is going to my head. What kind of shop did you say this is?"

The shopkeeper looks like he's seriously wishing he had some security here. "Materia. Like I said. Twice."

I've been wandering around in the freaking wilderness for an hour, there is sweat dripping off my nose, and I lost a shoe in a gully. So I'm possibly not at my best. But just like the last twenty times I looked (gaped), this little shack is full of faintly glowing orbs that can't possibly exist. "…huh."

This cannot be happening. Okay, yes, somewhere between the sixth replay of the original game and watching the teasers for the remake on repeat, I possibly wished that I could experience the world of Final Fantasy VII for myself. But that kind of thing doesn't actually happen.

"Look, if you're not going to buy anything, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. My valuable time is for paying customers only."

Paying customers, my ass. There isn't another soul in the shop. But I'm not rude, unlike some people, and I don't mention it.

Besides, I have slightly larger concerns at the moment. Accepting, for the moment, the premise that I really am in Gaia, the first step is to determine where I am. There's mountains looming over the town, along with a mako reactor that's either really bizarrely constructed or not finished yet. With Shinra, it really could go either way. Also a sign that says 'Welcome to Corel', which, probably should have started with that.

Panic tries to set in, but this is one of those rare occasions where fanfiction prepares you for real life. I went through a Tenth Walker phase, and I've read plenty of secret twin self-inserts. Either (a) I'm in a coma, or (b) I was in a fatal accident and I've been reincarnated here by mysterious means. And whichever it is, the response is the same: act like I'm really here. Otherwise this could be a really long, really boring coma sitting on my ass, or a really short, really pathetic death from starvation. Or thirst, rather, since that would happen sooner.

Ah, and there's the panic again. I stumble, my bare foot catching painfully on a rock, and I go down on my ass in a puddle. Yeah, I'm just making one hell of an impression on the townspeople.

But I have no money—I suppose it's gil now—and a lot of immediate needs, like water, food, dry clothes and a left shoe. I don't know anyone in this world, know very little about how it operates when not on the verge of apocalypse, and somehow Shinra doesn't strike me as the kind of people to have a good welfare system in place.

"Okay," I say aloud, "first things first. Breathe. Good. Now get out of the puddle."

I stand up and try to brush off the excess water, though nothing really helps with the discomfort of wearing wet underwear. Still, it feels good to be doing something.

"You can do this. Just break it down into manageable tasks. You're going to need some help."

I look around, but the townspeople are pointedly not looking at me. I want to warn them about the reactor, especially Barret, but why should they believe me? And anyway, I'm not even sure where I am in the timeline. There's a lot of time between when Shinra first starts building the reactor and when it explodes. I think. And anyway, most of the information I know is super, super classified, and is zero help to me unless I secretly enjoy being interrogated by the Turks and having my body dumped in a river somewhere.

Which I don't.

"Just keep breathing. Think. Who is a total badass, definitely an adult at this time, and has a lot of time on their hands?"

In retrospect, I should have put some more thought into this. Yes, Nibelheim is conveniently also on this continent, and in a generally southwesterly direction, but a two-dimensional, pixelated map does not actually translate into actual terrain as well as one might think.

I definitely remember having to walk along the tracks for the mining carts in the game, so that seems as good a place to start as any. And it's marginally easier on my poor, shoeless foot than the rocky ground.

Still. This is going to be a really long walk.

Also, turns out that that useful-stuff-just-lying-around-everywhere video game mechanic? Total bullshit. Two hours of scrounging and all I came up with was a blanket and a broken handle that must have once been attached to a shovel or a rake or something. I suppose it's better than nothing, but I was kind of hoping for a phoenix down.

Something tells me I'm going to need it.

Water turns out to be reasonably plentiful, and I'm thirsty enough not to have too many qualms about it being unfiltered. The mako reactor probably hasn't had too much of an opportunity to poison the environment yet, and maybe Gaia doesn't even have giardia.

The food situation is getting kind of dire, though. I'm not the outdoorsy type, but I had to read Hatchet in seventh grade like everyone else, and I know you can eat wood sorrel and dandelion leaves and rock tripe because my dad's kind of weird, but for all intents and purposes I'm in an alien environment. None of the vegetation looks vaguely recognizable, not even suspicious mushrooms, and some of it is definitely menacing me.

Now why couldn't I have been stranded in Banora? At least they have apples.

Wait. Are those mushrooms? I've done just enough random research on the internet to know that trying to judge which mushrooms are edible in the wild is a terrible idea, but, desperate times, and all that.

Except, those mushrooms are moving. On tiny little mushroom legs.

Shit.

There's five or six of them now, little red caps on top of excessively long stems like some kind of bizarre periscopes. They look more like Star Wars droids than any sort of plant life. Fungi. Whatever.

Question: Am I too proud to run away from a slowly advancing squad of mushrooms?

Answer: Hell, no.

The mushrooms are coming out of a crevice in the mountain, not quite blocking the path but definitely getting there, so I hustle out to the very edge of the path and scoot around them, as quickly as possible.

They turn in unison, though they haven't got any eyes as far as I can see.

It's extremely creepy.

"Heh heh," I say, waving my arms in what's hopefully mushroom for 'I surrender'. "I'll just, be going then. Yep."

As one, they sort of hunker down, their stupidly long stem things folding up like accordions.

I freeze.

And then the closest one explodes in a big yellow puff.

Naturally, I face this new development calmly and reasonably, by which I mean I shriek and fall over, scrabbling backwards to try and get out of range.

The other mushrooms go off, so the whole path is covered in a yellow haze, and then it's clear that nothing too terribly essential was lost in the explosions, because the mushrooms start advancing again.

Definitely time to run.

I flip over and scramble to my feet, only to find that my bare foot feels like I've been sitting on it for hours, the kind of numbness that has passed by 'you are about to be twitching madly' straight into 'you are about to sprain an ankle'.

It has to be the damn dust. It didn't get any higher than my knees, but my jeans are fairly thick (as evidenced by the fact that they are still damp from the puddle incident), and the powder must need direct contact.

Judging by how my foot feels, I'm lucky I didn't breathe any of it in.

Except now the best I can manage is a cautious sort of shuffle, and that's not going to cut it with these mushrooms. They have to hop over the slats in the mining tracks, but that's not slowing them down enough to gain me any ground. Maybe crawling would be faster?

A bird trills, and I look up to see three of them perched on a ledge about ten yards away. Maybe they like to eat mushrooms?

One of them starts sparking. Oh, that can't be good.

There's a much louder, deeper cawing sound, and I'm not even surprised to see another bird, this one perched on the cliff on the other side of the path. It's big, really big, and though it doesn't seem to be giving off electricity it does have this thousand-yard stare that goes straight to my lizard brain. Have you ever been stared down by an owl? Not nearly as adorable as memes would suggest.

This is not looking good for me.

Maybe the various predators will get distracted fighting each other, but I don't want to bank on that. I could possibly sweep the mushrooms off the path with my stick (why didn't I think of that sooner?) but that still leaves the birds. I'm a lot more confident in my ability to fend off slow, semi-sentient vegetation than magical birds.

Off the path. Hmm.

I'm not in that strange part of the track where you drop onto all the items, I'm actually pretty close to the ground here. And this particular ground features a wide, fast-moving river.

I look at the birds, obviously waiting for my first idiotic move. I look at the mushrooms, who are still advancing with a hive-minded dedication that kind of reminds me of a zombie movie.

Well. With a busted foot, I can swim a lot faster than I can run, and a hell of a lot faster than I can fly.

I jump in.

In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have been so confident in the safety of the water. I mean, you don't have too many water encounters in the game, but you also can't really go in the water. It would be just my luck to find a Tentacruel or something, though at least I would instantly die of terror and my suffering would be brief.

But it turns out there really are no water monsters on Gaia, or at least not any in this particular spot in the river. I'm a good swimmer, and since my only goal is 'away' I get a lot of help from the current. Eventually the mining tracks and rocks give way to grass and wide-open space.

I'm starting to get numb all over—this river is cold!—so I make for shore and just flop on the grass, soaking in the warm sunshine and enjoying my state of still being alive.

Finally, however, it's time to consider my situation.

It doesn't take as seasoned a video gamer as myself to know that tall grass equals danger. And to make things even more unfortunate. I simply can't remember what sorts of random encounters to expect. Those possessed Russian doll/Easter egg things are found in the grass, right? And the weird bubbly elephants? Ooh, are there chocobos near Corel? That would be useful.

I would literally kill for access to the wiki right now.

I have never experienced joy like when I finally stumble across a road. It's even paved, and it's all I can do not to fall down and kiss it.

Actually maybe I should. It's not like I really have anything to lose at this point. Maybe I should pray to the Goddess while I'm at it. Canon evidence suggests that sometimes she answers.

I pitch my blanket tent right there on the side of the road, just in case, but no one goes by. The road to Nibelheim must not be a terribly popular one. Or I'm lost. Or both?

But my luck has clearly turned, because only a few hundred yards from my impromptu campsite is a plant that looks very much like clover. Clover is edible, right?

It is.

I sort of follow the rules that anyone who's read one of those disaster survival book knows, touching the plant to my mouth and waiting, chewing and waiting, ingesting a tiny bit and waiting, but eventually hunger wins over waiting and I scarf it down in great handfuls.

Bliss.

With the river nearby for water, I spend a not-unbearably-uncomfortable night out in the wilderness and wake with the sun, ready to tackle the day's challenges. All the clover that I didn't eat last night goes in my stolen blanket, which I tie into a bundle and, in a fit of inspiration, put on the end of my stick. That's definitely a movie-approved method of makeshift transportation.

And speaking of transportation, is that a car engine I hear?

So close to the mountains, I hear the car long before I can see it. It's more of a jeep, really, when it finally crests the hill. I stick out my thumb, realize that's stupid, and wave my arms frantically.

Asshole just drives right on by.

"Dammit!"

I'm tired from walking for a whole day and that whole swimming-for-my-life incident, not to mention the inadequate diet, but I don't want to just sit here alone with my thoughts. So, more walking it is. The road is even going in approximately the right direction.

Assuming the sun rises in the east on Gaia the way it does on Earth. I didn't even think of that.

Oh well. The road only goes in two directions, so fifty-fifty I'm going the right way.

The sun is well on its way to setting and I've been ignored by two more cars when an honest-to-god cart comes down the hill. I'd say a horse-drawn cart, except those are definitely not horses. Mostly they look like really big cats.

The guy driving it pulls back on the reins so he can give me a good, long stare.

"Uh, hey," I say.

"Where are you goin'?"

"Nibelheim."

He thinks about that. "On foot?"

"Yep."

He looks at me.

I try to look as pathetic as possible, which, filthy, sunburned, and wearing only one shoe, isn't that difficult.

"Can you sing?"

"Uh, no. Well, yes, but very badly. I can tell stories, though! You've never heard these before, trust me."

He kind of harrumphs, then clambers down off the cart, efficiently releasing the cat things and setting up his own camp, complete with fire and some kind of mystery meat.

I try really, really hard not to visibly drool.

"Well?" he says, gesturing with a meat stick.

Naturally, every single story I've ever heard just leaks out of my brain. Then I see the cats, and launch into a recitation of a Thor fanfic I once read. Look, Frigga had a chariot pulled by cats, this is a cart pulled by cats, there's totally a connection there.

"Huh," he says, chewing thoughtfully. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

I cringe.

"Still, definitely never heard that one before." He hands me a meat stick, which I fall on like a ravenous animal. "As it happens, I'm on my way to Nibelheim, and it's a boring trip to make solo. You keep up with these stories, I'll give you a lift."

"Thank you."

"And tell you what, these fellows" he pats the giant cats "do most of the hunting, but if you help with the prep work, I'll throw in some food, too."

"Yes, absolutely," I say, even though I have only the vaguest idea of the process of turning a live animal into food. I'll rip it apart with my bare hands if I have to. Though hopefully I won't. "You got a deal."

Over the next few weeks—yes, weeks—I frequently consider nominating this man for sainthood. He knows everything about foraging for food, he has a gun (and two giant cats) to discourage predators, and I really can't say enough about the superiority of even a bumpy, lumpy cart ride compared to walking however many hundreds of miles. I never would have made it on my own.

So I tell him the plot of every single Disney movie I've ever seen, my favorite books, comics, anime—anything except the Final Fantasy games. He's a nice guy; I wouldn't want the Turks coming after him. And maybe I'm being a little paranoid, out here alone in the wilderness, but. Turks.

We get passed by loads of vehicles going to and from Nibelheim—though he says no one actually goes to Nibelheim, and actually they're just passing through there on their way to and from Rocket Town—and most of them are apparently Shinra vehicles.

"Most folks out here just can't afford fancy cars," he grumbles, obviously not overfond of Shinra.

Which is fair, I don't like them much, either.

He does share a few thoughts of his own, mostly when my voice gives out, and I'm able to piece together that most of the tragic backstories of the game haven't happened yet. Except Vincent, obviously. But the Wutai War has barely begun, and Sephiroth is kind of a nonentity, at least to the public.

Which is actually weirder than anything else about this little world-hopping adventure. Who doesn't know Sephiroth?

By the time we finally get there, I've pretty much lost my voice, and he very generously offers to take me back out of Nibelheim, obviously not believing that anyone, even someone as weird as myself, would actually want to go there.

"Thanks, but I'm all set. And really, I can't thank you enough for everything you've done."

He shrugs that off, and goes about his business, resupplying the tiny mountain town.

I square my shoulders and head off. I've got a mission to accomplish.