Avengers temporary tattoo sheet with six characters

Her grandson Sol was nine and had opinions. The armoured man who could fly was his, and the red-and-gold one with the blasting palms, but he would trade them both at every lock for the great green fellow who smashed things, and Mags let him, because the lock-keeper's boy at Hatton had a hammer-bearing chap in a cape that he would part with for a sheet of blue bridge stamps. Trading was the only sort of commerce the cut understood.

At the top of the Hatton flight the wind got under the sheet while Sol was leaning over the gunwale to show a moorhen his prize. The paper skated across the water like a playing card. Sol went in after it up to his knees, arms wide, and came out with nothing but the star-shielded man stuck to his thumb, sodden and grinning, the rest gone under the brown.

Mags didn't scold. She peeled the last figure from its backing, the bowman in purple with an arrow at his shoulder, and pressed him onto the inside of the boy's wrist where the pulse ran. "There," she said. "Now you've got something that can't be lost in a lock."