I typed this up in my local writing group when the theme was "travel" and I couldn't think of anything but the film Your Name/Kimi no na wa. This was originally supposed to be a one shot but… That would've been crazy so I've broken it up a bit.

I should also probably be apologizing for what I'm doing to both of these beautiful, beautiful animes. There's some spoiler-y moment if you haven't seen the movie, which I highly recommend watching if you haven't yet, but the story is definitely more "inspired by" than a follow-along so there's no need to be familiar with the film.

…..

He awoke with the sort of haze of a good night's rest that was expected of small children, not elite soldiers in the universally feared Planet Trade Organization. The edges of his focus blurred and the color purple was the first thing his senses registered. The second wasn't noticed until he inhaled.

Everything smelled like a sweet, foreign flower.

He frowned and tossed the purple blanket to the floor and blinked until his vision cleared. He was sitting on a bed in the corner of a room. A room that was not his; a room he'd never visited before. It was cluttered and messy and feminine.

He jostled and felt the stretch of strange, unfamiliar muscles.

Which was far more disconcerting than waking up in a new setting. And when his eyes darted down, a pair of round, creamy breasts stared up at him from the low v-cut of a pink shirt. He jostled again and collided with the floor.

When he stumbled to standing it was on a pair of naked legs. Weak legs. With bare feet he padded across the floor to the vanity and stared into a pair of wide, strange eyes where his own should have been.

This was, hands down, the weirdest fucking dream he'd ever had.

Ever.

And when he threw open the door to the strange bedroom and started down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, he ran straight past a couple that didn't even looked phased by his being there, half-naked and ragey.

The sun was bright. He squinted and raised his palm, trying to gather enough energy to destroy this entire fucking planet, only… Only, he was helpless to.

So he stood there, panting in the sunlight, willing himself to wake up.

He doesn't wake, and the longer he stood there the less it felt like a dream.

Vegeta glanced down again, facing the cleavage and smooth skin and frowns. What in the fucking hell fire was happening?! He looked up, squinting to find only one sun blazing from the heavens, and he cursed whatever deity had done this to him.

"Bulma?" A voice called from his left, and he turned, slowly, wondering what tongue they spoke here. Staring at him with some degree of familiarity was a tall man with wild black hair. A pair of scars marred either side of his face while his eyes shone with what Vegeta could only discern as concern.

"Bulma? Bulma, baby, are you… Are you feeling alright?"

Vegeta panted. No he wasn't fucking alright.

"Bulma. You're scaring the shit out of me, babe. Are you… What are you doing?"

A strange voice-high and feminine-ripped from his throat and he snapped,

"I'm trying to blast this place to the next fucking dimension. Now leave me."

The strange man blinked. He put his hands on Vegeta's shoulder and Vegeta maneuvered him into a choke hold.

"Fucking hell, Bulma!" The man stared up at him with wide eyes, full of equal parts fear and surprise. "What's wrong with you?!"

It's then that Vegeta balks. He should have the strength to snap this stranger's neck with the barest hint of pressure, but he can't manage it because this body he's inhabiting is weak and frail and what the HELL is doing here, anyway?!

From the chokehold, the stranger rasped, "Are you possessed?!"

Maybe. Maybe that's what this was.

Then, managing to squeeze a bit of hope in his tone, the man in Vegeta's chokehold called out to the sky, "Goku!"

Vegeta turned. He couldn't see anyone, but after a few moments a figure emerged from the sky, flying closer and closer as a shape formed into something recognizable as a person. A male. A tall and fairly strong looking male. The closer he got the more detail Vegeta was able to spot with this garbage vision he'd acquired. The newcomer's hair sticks out in a most familiar manner...

"Bardock?" Vegeta asked, but hears the name in the strange voice of a female.

It isn't Bardock though. The face is too young. The dark eyes of the stranger focused on him under knitted brows.

And then Not-Bardock reached forward as though to smack him, and though Vegeta attempted to dodge the blow, because it should've been simple enough if this body wasn't weak and useless, he's slow and barely managed to move a fraction of an inch in time.

There's a crack and then he saw stars.

And then nothing at all.

…...

Bulma Briefs had been having the strangest dream. She woke and rubbed her head. She'd dreamt of a tiny, sterile room with a small bed. No color, no decor. Just a single wardrobe filled with foreign armor and lycra bodysuits.

She'd picked up a pair, stretched it, felt the durability and strength it possessed.

And there she'd been, standing there dreaming about alien armor until she woke up, laying face-up on the Capsule Corp. lawn with a splitting headache and Goku and Yamcha frowning down at her.

Yamcha looked terrified as he asked, "Is she normal again?"

Her blood boiled. Normal again?! What the hell was that supposed to mean?!

Goku exhaled. "Yeah. Think she's good now. Her energy's back to how it usually is, at least." Then he flashed her a goofy grin. She placed a hand on her aching brow. "Bulma, how're you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck." She applied a touch of pressure to where the pain was radiating and winced. "Did you hit me, Yamcha?!"

"What?! No!" he exclaimed. "Goku did."

She shot him a glare and Goku laughed nervously. "Sorry Bulma. I felt your energy one second and then… Then you were different. So I rushed over and didn't really think it through."

"You attacked me?!"

"I told you." Goku shrugged. "I wasn't really thinking."

Her glare hardened on Yamcha and he subconsciously shrunk away.

"And you," her voice rose with a trill of anger. "You didn't stop him?!"

All Yamcha had to offer was a weak smile. "Goku's really fast, and you were scaring the shit out of me."

…..

A part of his brain knew whatever the fuck had just happened had been more than a dream, but the logical part of him also rationalized that it hadn't been real. Whatever in the seven hells it was, he didn't want to dwell on it, so Vegeta slammed the wardrobe closed and shook his head.

Outside his room, Raditz and Nappa stood chatting about nothing he cared to hear about. He did, however, catch himself staring at Raditz for a moment. In his not-dream, not-reality (where he had tits and no power, so again he didn't want to dwell on that particular fall of circumstance) he'd thought for a moment he'd come face to face with Raditz's dead father. Only, it hadn't been Bardock. Maybe Bardock's youngest son. Vegeta clenched his jaw, trying to remember what Raditz's brothers name had been, but he couldn't recall.

"Uh, Prince Vegeta," Raditz said. He blinked. He'd done nothing to warrant the Prince's wrath but there the shorter man stood, glaring at him. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Vegeta shook his head. Whatever it had been, he didn't need to dwell on it. "S'fine."

…..

She's been here before. Once, in a dream.

She lifted her hand to rub the sleep from her eyes, but froze. And stared.

And stared.

And stared at the thick, tan forearm. She twisted the strange arm before her eyes, marveling at the limb. She flexed her wrist and felt her bicep bulge. Grinning, she did it again, and poked the muscle for good measure.

Then she crossed the room and hesitated before a door. There was no handle, but a small blue pad sat to one side. She pressed her palm against the gridded screen and the door slid open, revealing a small bathroom with strange, futuristic apparatuses. Part of her wanted to explore all the foreign bathroom doodads her brilliant brain had thought up, but first she grinned at the reflection in the mirror. Without a second thought, Bulma reached for the hem of the white sleep shirt and tossed it to the floor.

"Heck yes!" she exclaimed, the voice tearing from her throat deep and masculine.

She pressed a fingertip against one of the abdominals, feeling the tough, springy skin and the musculature that lay there.

"...four, five aaaand six." She grinned, winking at the reflection in the mirror. The man who stared back at her had a low widows peak and dark hair that upswept from the crown of her head. She moved a hand to feel the texture of the locks and blinked.

This certainly didn't feel like a dream. She racked her brain, trying to remember what experiment her father was in the middle of and whether or not it involved any hallucinogenic gases. A couple years ago she'd thought she was purple-haired pop star for nearly 15 minutes, but it had just been a leak of pshychlotian in her father's lab.

She grinned, revealing sharp, white teeth. She blinked the set of dark eyes that seemed to frown back at her beneath slanted brows. A fairly typical bad boy of her fantasies, maybe, but it was far more realistic than ever before.

And then she squirmed.

"Shit," she whispered. The deep voice echoed around the stark bathroom. "I have to pee…"

Her eyes lowered to the loose sleeping pants and she felt her cheeks flush. She didn't particularly feel like dealing with that just yet, so she left the bathroom and entered the sparse sleeping chamber. Frowning, she spotted a second door and inhaled.

"Fine." She gave a steely nod. "Let's do this."

The second she opened the door, she was confronted with two impossibly huge men.

"Holy beefcakes," she exclaimed, moving her gaze from one burly man to the other. Their attire would've been matching if the one with hair would've bothered with pants. Instead, his bulging thighs were on full display. This hallucination might've been strange, but Bulma had no doubt it was her brain that had cooked it up.

She grinned.

"Uh," the bald one started, flashing her a look of concern. "Are you okay, sire?"

Sire. Bulma blinked. Sire?! Was she like… their boss or something?

"I think so?" she replied, the deep voice lifting in question. Was she? She doubted it. Two men that looked like crocodiles wearing clothes waltzed down the hallway and she pressed herself to the wall with a shriek.

The man with hair scratched the back of his head. "You sure? You're not wearing your amour or scouter and you're acting kind of…" he hesitated, as though she might punch him in the throat for saying it, but finished with, "...strange."

"Oh." Bulma peeled herself off the smooth, stainless wall and glanced down at the naked chest, grey sweatpants and bare feet. "Do I have to wear armor?"

"No!" the bald man exclaimed. "You don't have to do anything, sire!"

Bulma frowned. "Uh. Give me a second."

And then she ducked back into the room, opened the wardrobe and dressed in a blue lycra suit and some of the strange, flexible armor. She tugged on a pair of white boots and debated about whether or not she should bother with gloves. Who the heck owned this many pairs of identical gloves?

There was also a piece of equipment she didn't recognize. It looked as though it clipped over an eye, but she didn't feel like wearing eyewear so she decided against it.

When she glanced at the reflection in the mirror, she shook her head. She wasn't sure what was going on, but surely she'd wake up soon.

Once back in the hallway, the two men were all business.

No-pants said with a flash of excitement, "You're late to your meeting with Crive. He completely fucked the mission to Zanzli, and Frieza's left you to deal with his punishment."

The big, bald one flashed his teeth and Bulma's stomach sunk with dread. She didn't want to punish anyone, and had no clue what the heck Crive or Zanzli or a Frieza was. Plus, she was now squirming with the urgency to pee and she didn't feel entirely comfortable dealing with that either.

But she nodded, tried to look cool and collected, and followed the pair down the strange, winding hallways. She soaked in the sights along the way, the sound of her boots filling the sterile hallway with echoing thuds. All the sleek touchpads at the doorways, all the species of men and women with places to go, their hair vibrant and shapes unique. Earth had variety, sure, but she was 90% sure she wasn't on Earth.

This was confirmed when they passed a circular window and she nearly tripped over whoever's feet she'd shoved into boot earlier that day. The window overlooked the blackness of space stretching infinitely in every direction. White stars speckled the dark and the occasional nebula painted the sky with soft hues of violet and pink and crimson.

She'd never stood so close to a cloud of ionized gas. And even though this was a dream or a hallucination or… something, it felt real.

"Prince Vegeta," the bald man said. He shot her a worried look and she tried to return it with a comforting smile. This just made him look even more worried and she sighed.

"This way," the bald man continued, and Bulma worried her lip the remainder of the jaunt. At least she knew her name in this strange place. Vegeta. And her title. She nearly swooned-a prince!

Though a logical part of her brain registered that this was no palace and no way for a prince to live. She faltered as the pair of men-the prince's bodyguard, perhaps?-led her into a room where a man sat quivering in a squat, grey chair.

"Uh. Hi," she greeted. All three occupants of the room looked at her like she had three heads, and she wondered if there was something wrong with her voice. Maybe it should be… gruffer? Meaner? It sounded deep and masculine, and whoever she was dreaming about was obviously, well, someone tough and important if he was dolling out punishments in his spare time.

So she cleared her throat and tried to inject a bit of confidence in her tone as she repeated, "Hi."

The man in the chair shivered. A shock of orange hair fell over one of his eyes. His unobstructed eye met hers and shone with fear. Bulma felt queasy.

"I hear you weren't, ah…" What had No-pants said? 'Rightfully fucked'? She settled with, "...successful."

"Yes, sir. I'm so sorry. The ship got caught up with Treviers. We lost seven of our men after landing and couldn't complete the mission as quickly or without casualty after the loss of so many good and loyal soldiers." The man's tone was pleading. He quickly added, "Sir!"

Bulma felt her heart sink in her chest. "Oh, dear. I'm so sorry."

"...Sorry?" one of the men behind her asked. The bald one or the one with no pants, she couldn't tell, but she realized they were probably mocking her.

And since she didn't give two fucks, she shrugged. "Well, they lost lots of men. Can't be helped."

The man in the chair was still shivering, like this was all an act. Like he expected Bulma to lash out and kill him at any moment. Whoever this Prince Vegeta was, she was not a fan.

"And my punishment, sir?"

"Oh. Ah. Did you apologize to whoever you let down?"

He blinked. "I brought shame to your unit, sir."

"Oh." Bulma nodded slowly. "Okay, then. Apologize."

"I-I… I'm sorry, sire."

"And do you promise to try harder next time?"

Everyone was backing away from her, and she chewed on her lip, wondering how else she's supposed to handle this. Her parents had never scolded her and she'd never been to any formal schooling with tutors or teachers, so proper discipline was lost on her.

"Uh. Y-Yes, sir. I will be successful next time. I swear it."

Bulma grinned and clapped her hands together. "Good! Then that's that."

The orange haired soldier scrambled from the room before she could change her mind, and Bulma watched him go with an innocently timed blink.

Baldy and No-Pants stared openly at her.

"Uh. Are you sure you're feeling all right, sire?"

Bulma frowned. Was she?

"No." She squirmed and wined, "I have to pee."

After she took care of… that, she followed Badly and No-Pants to the training rooms. She should probably ask their names, but decided against it. They were already looking ready to medicate her, and really, she just wanted to go home.

The training rooms were airy and open. The walls a same cold metal as the rest of the ship, but there was a certain energy of excitement, a buzz that tickled her skin there that she hadn't found in the hustle of the hallways.

She lined up to spar and felt unsure of herself. Training rooms weren't her specialty, but she was more comfortable with them than the average earthling. She'd spent a good deal of time on Roshi's island and had watched her friends spar. She knew the basics. The poses. The-

SMACK.

"Ow!" she cried out. She tried to open her eyes but the pain was too much. It wasn't until she moved into a sitting position that she realized she'd been laid out on the floor.

No-pants was staring openly at her, fear in his eyes.

"V-Vegeta, sire, I'm sorry."

Baldy snickered at No-pants. "Are you going to promise not to make the same mistake again?"

"I… I must be feeling off," Bulma managed through a throbbing lip. Tears pricked her, or whoever's body this was, eyes. What the fuck was happening? This pain was far too real for either a dream or a hallucination. There was another explanation. There had to be...

"You… You didn't defend yourself," No-pants was sputtering, looking entirely too guilty for a man who stood over a foot taller than her.

When the pain began to subside, Bulma felt something else entirely. It was a gut-wrenching emptiness she'd never experienced before. Like something was clawing at her insides. She registered the discomfort at the same time she voiced, "Hungry."

And without a second word she was led to the cafeteria and… Holy shit!

Her eyes shone, her mouth hung agape. She praised whatever kai had sent here there, because this was heaven.

At the end of the buffet, a large, rectangular table hosted a spread of treats. Rows of tarts in black shells with creamy red meringue. Hexagonal puff pastries dusted with blue powder. Little square spit cakes with smooth taupe icing. Exotic fruits Bulma couldn't name each garnished in pink syrup.

Baldy heaved a sigh of relief. "You were hungry. That's why you were so off. Did you eat at all yesterday?"

"I can just take all I want?" she asked, eyes bright and wide.

And it was unlike any dream or hallucination she'd ever had. She piled a plate with desserts, sampling everything. Baldy and No-Pants followed her to a table, and once seated Baldy asked,

"Are you sure you don't want anything more substantial, sire?"

"Nope," Bulma replied, popping one of the tarts in her mouth. It reminded her of a dark cocoa. The puff pastry was flakey and the blue powder a fruity confectioners' sugar. Everything was delicious. The icing spread across her tongue, the delicate layers of cake melted in her mouth.

And in her dream, she was never satiated.

She was a bottomless pit and could eat and eat and eat to her heart's content and never get full. And since it's a dream or a hallucination, and it's definitely not her body, she doesn't have to worry about getting fat.

The two men across the table stared openly. Spongy breads and gelatinous porridge sat untouched on their plates. A slab of meat hung from Baldy's fork, but he can't bring himself to eat with the image of Prince Vegeta fawning over gerbba berries.

"Uh. Sire. Are you… Are you going to eat any protein?"

"No." She grins, blushing, inhaling some more of the red, ripe fruits that remind her of strawberries. She dips one in a thick, white cream that's richer than vanilla but not quite as sweet. Yes. Whatever this place is, it's heaven.

And after she'd had her fill, Bulma rubbed the slab of rock-hard abs she'd somehow acquired and sighed. Baldy and No-pants lead her back to the training facilities, but she was too full to move and she really didn't want to get sucker-punched again. So, in a voice she hoped is a demanding, she cracked,

"You two spar. I'm going to watch."

And she spent the day watching buff men in tight-fitting clothes beat the shit out of one another. Not entirely sure why she didn't imagine some of the men to be a touch more attractive, Bulma rested her head against the wall and exhaled.

Yeah, peeing was a horrid thing and she's not quite sure why she's still dreaming, but later that night when she laid back and sighed happily in the too-stiff bed, she drifted off in a peaceful slumber with a belly full of sweets and fresh bruise on someone else's face.

And when she'd woken up, her soft purple down comforter is rolled into a ball at her feet, blinking sleep from her eyes, she yawned. Only to find both her mother and Goku frowning down at her.

"Honey, are you…?" her mother asked, wringing her hands at her side.

"Yep!" Goku replied. "She's Bulma again."

"Was I not me?"

Her mother sighed. "You came down in your pajamas, your hair a mess, and you didn't remember anything about the prototype you were presenting to your father, and you called Yamcha some really horrible things, and… Oh, sweetie, what's happening to you?"

Bulma ran a hand over the soft material of her bed sheets, trying to recount the memories from the day before but she had no tidy, scientific explanation. But this might've been outside of the realm of science. Perhaps she should visit with Kami, maybe he'd have an explanation at the ready.

Satisfied that she wasn't possessed, her mother and Goku left. Bulma took a seat at her desk chair. If she hadn't presented the prototype to her dad yesterday, then the plans should still be…

She froze.

There was a notebook open on her workspace and written in a small, compact handwriting that looked nothing like her own was three words:

Who are you?

And four days later, when she woke up and it's the strange, unfamiliar world of a floating fortress in space, she wondered if this wasn't a dream after all.

Bulma bit her lips together. If she was here, what if this strong, strange man from who knows what universe isn't here. Maybe he's on Earth, in her body, threatening her family and making shit more complicated than it already was with Yamcha.

Bulma rummaged through the drawers of his sparse furniture until she found a leather-bound notebook. She flipped past the first three pages filled with the same, cramped writing as before, opened up a new page and wrote:

I'm Bulma. What the hell are you doing in my body?!

And then she peed and dressed and went into the hallway, not surprised to find the two familiar burly men waiting for her, looking at her like she was supposed to tell them what to do. Bulma smiled sheepishly and they both sprung to attention.

"No sparring," she commanded, and the voice was deep but probably not as gruff as it ought to be. "Let's eat."

…...

He leaped up and, thankfully, he was back in his room and not the stupid, fucking wasteland that woman's from.

On his desk he found a note written in loopy, feminine handwriting. He frowned at it. It's in a notebook intended for documenting his crews' ships statuses when they return to the PTO station.

"Bulma," he growled, reading the word aloud. He is quite familiar with it because yesterday it'd been what everyone had called him.

He dressed and clipped his scouter over his eye. He smacked the keypad with his palm and waited impatiently as the door slid open. When Raditz met his eyes Vegeta glowered, and the taller man exhaled.

"Aw, man. You seem more yourself today."

"Was I not myself yesterday?" he snapped, already knowing the answer.

"Nope," Raditz replied, a dopey smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yesterday you were kinda… cute."

A vein on Vegeta's temple throbbed and he fought the urge to slam his fist into the nearest wall. Fucking Bulma. He didn't know how or why this was happening, but when they finally came face to face he was going to end her for putting him through this.