Colour tattoo of seven Adventure Time characters in a row across the inner forearm, including BMO, Princess Bubblegum, Ice King, Marceline, Jake, Finn and Lemongrab.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Adventure Time characters along a forearm

Forearm · Colour · Photo

A row of seven cartoon characters from the Adventure Time series runs across the inner forearm, each in a simple outlined box or shape. The linework is bold and clean, with flat colour fills in blue, pink, white, black, orange, yellow and light tones. The tattoo is shown against a plain pale yellow wall, with the arm filling the centre of the frame.

Forearm Adventure time Cartoon character

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lamp has been dark since Tuesday, and BMO has taken it personally. You climb the iron stairs at dusk with a tin of paraffin and the little console balanced on your hip like a grumpy parcel, its screen flashing a frowning face at the lens as if it could shame the glass into working. Finn left the logbook open on the bench with the last entry in his big loopy hand: Lens clean. Bulb fine. Do not let Lemongrab near the oil.

Keep reading

Down on the shingle the whole island seems to be watching. Princess Bubblegum has sent a bulletin by pigeon, which is her way of saying she is only here to help. The Ice King hovers over the rocks in his crown, pelting the water with fistfuls of snow and singing about wives he never had. Marceline drifts above him, unbothered, humming a bass line that sends the gulls scattering. Jake the dog lies on the bottom step with one ear stretched long enough to catch the tide.

You lift the bulb from its socket and find the filament snapped clean through. There is no spare. Lemongrab stands at the foot of the tower reciting regulations at the sea, and you wonder briefly whether he counts as a hazard. Then BMO's screen flickers and shows you a lighthouse drawn in pixels, a tiny flame on top, the same colour as the oil in your tin.

So you do the only thing left. You fill the reservoir, strike a match and let the wick catch. The beam swings out over the water, slow and golden, and far off a small boat turns its bow toward it. Below, the Ice King applauds with his mittens. You close the log and write underneath, in your own careful hand, that the lamp is lit.