Time

A primordially molten mass some might venture to call a planet sat in an otherwise aging solar system near the edge of all things real. It was a chaotic place, for the beauty of the fiery world was surrounded by a countless pantheon of asteroids, meteorites and debris. Cosmic fields of stone would fly past the magma, or just graze the surface, but never pierce it. They would journey out past the horizon of this desolately gorgeous thing, only to disappear into black space. Small minds might dismiss them once they were apparently too far to be important. Others might conjecture they had simply vanished. But only those with the correct eye for detail would, given the chance to survive long enough in the endless siege, notice the uncanny familiarity of each stony facet, each nook and cranny.

Let the record be set. Their faces were the same. Now, a patch of magma almost imperceptible from the outlook of space would cool, and become igneous rock. Slowly but surely, the rock became sand, and the sand became glass. Inside the small haven was a flash of green, which soon disappeared behind molten chaos once more. It journeyed down to the very singularity within, in a place close to the center of a galaxy far far away. And in it's own way, it was comfortable again.

On a rooftop in downtown San Francisco, two old lovebirds and partners in discovery fell onto their knees as they caught their heads in their hands. They quickly got hold of themselves, stood up, and dusted off their clothes. Hank Pym, inventor and protector of the dangerous Pym Particle, and his wife Janet Van Dyne, were simply happy to be alive together.

The happiness was soon replaced with confusion when Hank noticed a distressed voice coming from the transponder he had apparently dropped in his stupor. He and Janet exchanged a look, communicating wordlessly. It was a strange occurrence, yes, but what was so out of the ordinary about weird anymore? They'd already seen it all between the two of them. Hank picked up the transponder, and recognized what he had been doing. Scott!

"Hey, anyone out there? Hello?!? I'm ready to come back."

Hank coughed, and answered. "Yes Scott, keep your cool. Just a little hiccup. You get into this line of work and you have to expect a little weird."

Scott sighed a sigh of relief on the other side. Floating in a mist of multicolored particles between the very fabric of reality, he took one last look around before repeating his request. "I'm a little wigged out now Hank, let's just call it a day. I mean I like this and all, but I'd rather not go missing in action."

Hank was about to argue the point, when he noticed he hadn't seen his daughter in the last few minutes. He immediately put down the transponder, forgetting Scott entirely. "Hope! Tell me you're alright. I'm here!"

Meanwhile, Hope Van Dyne was very much nearby. She was just finding herself on the ground, and finding that strange, she scrunched her face and made to get up. Only to feel the grime and grit on the rooftop brush against her bare hip.

She shook it off and stood up, only to notice she was standing on her bare feet. She looked down and immediately she screamed at the sight of her entirely nude body. Hank spun around, and immediately covered his eyes at the sight of way too much Hope.

Janet was close behind, and Hope wasn't sure what was worse. Her father's shock or her mother's concern. "Hope! Goodness, where are your clothes? Jellybean?"

"Oh no! I will not have MY Hope running around in the raw like some-"

Hope interrupted him with another scream, throwing one arm over her rosy nipples and another between her legs. She turned around, then instantly regretted it, immediately baring her fine naked ass to both of her loving parents.

Janet laughed. "Hope! What's gotten into you?"

Hope thought she was going to break down in tears of humiliation, when she heard at least one of them walking away. Turning around and still cradling herself, she saw her father walking back to the van.

He was muttering to himself. "Scott, you've done it this time. Scott!"

Hope's eyes went wide. No no no no no!

"Dad, no!"

But he had already pressed the button. Suddenly, a fully suited Scott Lang popped into reality right in front of Hope Van Dyne, standing there looking sheepish in her best birthday suit.

She almost waved, then thought better of it, and jerked her head in his direction instead.
"Um....Hi Scott....... yeah, I'm really naked, can we move along."

She was almost as red as his suit by this point. She shuffled awkwardly before curling up and screaming again. "WILL SOMEONE PLEASE GET ME SOME CLOTHES?"

Hank, ever his daughter's protector, resigned his beef with Ant-Man himself, and decided to do just that.

Janet looked lovingly at her daughter still, trying to help. "I mean if I still looked that good I don't know if I'd be so shy either."

Hope looked to Scott, who was practically drooling, but then caught himself and looked away. She just say there and squirmed. Would the embarrassment ever end?

Peter "Ol' Pete" Gransom lie asleep in a hospital bed, all 76 years of him, a hard life's work as a mechanic catching up to him as he tossed in his slumber. He dreamed dreams that would be irresponsible to repeat, but he spent a lot of time in his head these days. Unless SHE visited, or his son. He'd been helplessly picturing a young Heather Locklear in a school girl outfit (he had no control in here, so it wasn't worth being sheepish), when something roused him from his doldrums and took him back to the stark, cold hospital room where he'd spent the last seven months.

Since he was waking for the first time today, he made to press his buzzer and ask the nurse on duty to bring him his pills. He swatted in a wide arc through the air with a big hand stained dark from years of exposure to oil and transmission fluid. He was stopped, gently but firmly half way through by what could only be the fine fingers of a woman. "That won't be necessary Pete. Every morning, or in this case late afternoon, is Sunday morning for you now, isn't it?"

He knew that voice. Could it be? Oh boy!!! He thought it might be the cutie, the one who he'd almost lost to that Strange buffoon before he ran off with the super-friends. He opened his eyes painfully, squeamish about the light as it stung his weathered vision. There were a few things Pete expected to see as he listened to the sounds of bottles shuffling, paperwork being straightened. He expected to see long legs, or at least legs, shuffling about by his bedside in hurry to get the job done. It was her all right.

What he didn't expect, as his vision focused, was for those legs to be bare, and attached to equally two bare and shapely feet, dancing around the linoleum. "Miss.....", he mumbled, half concerned, half deliciously amused. The light stung his eyes again and he turned away, only to feel a finger prod him in the neck. "No, don't go away on me now. As painful as it is, I'd like you conscious for a few minutes, okay?". Then, under her breath, "Jesus, I almost hoped you'd finally kicked the bucket".

Well, Pete thought, he certainly hadn't kicked the bucket, but perhaps he'd gone somewhere nice all the same. If he could just get a look.....

Pete turned around just as the nurse turned away. What was her name? Ah! How could he forget. "Chrissy! It's you. I should have recognized, you have mighty soft hands. Makes sense, what with the doctor business. Yes....soft hands." She snapped at him, not harshly, but he sensed a fire in her intonation."It's not Chrissy, it's Christine. I am a medical professional. Mr. Gransom, if you'd allow me to finish we might be able to get you all your pills just in time for you to meet your maker."

Well, screw it, Peter thought. The light couldn't hurt him as much as missing this feisty piece of work. They were the best ones for sure. Pete rolled back over and opened his eyes, a little more level now, and wondered if he was going quite pleasantly mad. Right in front of his face, jiggling from the busywork at hand, was a pale and unabashedly bare pair of cheeks. He was looking right at her naked bottom, perky and full. He wanted to touch it. A little poke wouldn't hurt.

First he looked upwards, and could only make out a tumble of auburn hair falling over....yup. That was it. Whoever it was was confirmation that he had indeed gone to a higher place. She was tending to his every need....and she was pretty and buck ass naked too. He moved back down the womanly curvature of her bare back, and reached out. "Don't worry miss Chrissy, I'm awake. And might I say, I think that's just the cutest little outfit you put on for me today."

Christine Palmer squeaked as a finger poked her little butt. And then it turned into a snarl. Jesus, she was mad. She'd put up with enough from Pete over the last seven months. She turned around to slap the poor bastard, only to catch her reflection for just a second in the window as she looked up from the desk. She almost screamed, then chalked it up to the long hours and her caffeine intake. Until, that is, she spun around and saw a grin begin to break out on Pete's scraggly old mug. She immediately looked from his eyes, to their focal point which seemed to be- "OH MY GOD!". Christine wrapped both arms around her apparently bare breasts, which were just out shaking in front of the perviest old fucker in the ward.

And then she felt the cold between her apparently bare toes, flexing them as she looked down, eyes sliding down her slender bare navel.....and she immediately threw one hand between her legs and began to royally freak out. She was totally buck naked, at work!

It was like a nightmare! That must be it, a naked nightmare. She didn't have fingers left to pinch herself. Maybe if she said it it would end. "Oh, I must be dreaming," Christine cried hopelessly. Nothing.

Christine looked out the window again and her eyes went wide as she saw at least a dozen equally naked women scrambling down the street. "What the fuck is going on?"

She turned to Pete as if he could answer for this, still totally naked, still humiliated and turning redder by the second.

Pete just smiled in hopeless bliss. "If you want I could pinch your cheeks- er... cheek?"

This time he did get slapped.

"Oh hell! What is this? Oh my god oh my god , not again! Not now!"

Ava Starr, the Ghost herself, was finding it very hard not to be noticeable as she suddenly found herself in an alley without a stitch to her name. Where was her suit? Where was anything?

Dr. Foster had split ways with her about a block back, they were going to rendezvous at the bridge......but she was NOT going to show up starkers! Ava held herself tightly.

Ava quickly put her hair into two braids like she wore at home, desperately placing one over each exposed rosy nipple. Being a superhuman with the ability to phase, she had of course had embarrassing incidents in the past....but in those events, there was always something nearby to grab once she finally got hold of herself.

Her heart sunk to her trim and exposed bare navel. She wrapped her arms around herself and sighed deeply.

At a loss, Ava sat down on her notably shapely behind, and tried to think, watching her small toes curl against the pavement. She was at a loss. Of all things, why did she have to be NAKED?