Pranking with the bros
This is a list of random headcanons about the UK+Ireland brothers when doing pranks because I’m 100% sure these five idiots do prank wars at least once a year. If they can’t be direct with sharing their affections for each other, might as well show their love by being absolute menaces.
Scotland is vicious with his pranks. He’s the one who tapes a mousetrap beside the light switch, fills hundreds of cups with water in the bedroom, unleashes a dozen of crickets in the house or hide a dead fish somewhere. It always ends up with at least one injury or a destroyed property.
England’s pranks are intricate and can be as vicious as Scotland if it’s aimed at said brother. His goal is more to scare the person, which can easily lead to disaster if gone wrong. He’s the one who puts a fake spider in the lampshade, fills the cupboard with ping pong balls, puts a transparent wrap at the doorway on eye level or sticks an air horn under the toilet seat.
If the prank is between England and Scotland, it usually ends up with a wrestling match and at least one broken chair.
Ireland's pranks are absurd and so random, it makes him unpredictable. It’s not aimed at the person, but at their surroundings. Unscrewing all the lightbulbs, moving the furniture by one inch, turning the picture frames upside down, wrapping a room in foil or cover the car with post-its.
Wales normally doesn’t participate, preferring to watch from the sidelines and silently judging them. However, the moment he gets targeted, he becomes the pettiest and sneakiest prankster ever. Switching the salt with sugar, pouring water in their shoes, replacing the jelly of a donut with mayonnaise or covering the bar soap with clear nail polish. It’s not harmful, just inconvenient and annoying.
The worst part is that Wales takes his time with his pranks. He doesn’t do it immediately after he’s targeted. No, he waits weeks, even months, before he jumps into action. The others become paranoid when he does nothing, knowing it will come when they least expect it.
The brothers also show no restrain on using magic to their advantage. From a hex of making you screech like a banshee or an itching curse that gets worse the more you scratch to a jinx that makes you walk backward, the possibilities are endless.
However, no one can use magic on the baby of the family: North
Unless you want the wrath of the others.
Having spent most of his life without magic, North relies on his wits and cunning to prank his brothers, and that makes him a terrifying opponent. His approach is similar to Wales in terms of sneakiness, but much more chaotic. He’s the one who puts hair dye in the shampoo bottle, builds a whole slingshot contraption that shoots pies, spreads oil on the floor with a bag of floor on the ceiling ready to drop or puts Lego around the bed in the middle of the night.
North is basically the embodiment of Home Alone.
The others would try to bribe him to be on their team by offering him apple pies, his favourite dessert. It sometimes works but not before North plans a prank on them as thanks for the treat.
Overall, they’re a chaotic bunch of idiots <3
![Algy thoroughly enjoyed his wind-driven ride in the old downy birch tree, but after a while he began to feel hungry again, for he had only managed to eat a few rowan berries before the wind had defeated him.Fortunately there was a handsome cotoneaster growing close to the birch, and it was absolutely smothered in beautiful red berries which the other birds had not yet removed. A single hop and a flutter took Algy into the centre of the bush, where, seating himself comfortably, he began to eat a very hearty lunch, reflecting the while on Nature’s generosity towards fluffy (and other) birds.Algy was inevitably reminded of John Keats’ famous Ode, but despite the mellow fruitfulness which was so abundantly evident in his assistants’ garden this year, other aspects of the poem did not quite seem to fit the character of autumn in the wild west Highlands. Algy guessed that the young poet had had a more southerly clime in mind, for he knew that even back in Mr. Keats’ day the Hebridean coast and islands of Scotland were known for their stormy autumn weather. Algy recalled that entries for September days in James Boswell’s 1773 diary The Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides with Samuel Johnson (published in 1785) were full of observations such as “It was a storm of wind and rain; so we could not set out“... and very little seemed to have changed in that respect as the centuries had passed...However, the poem conjured up a splendid vision of plenty, albeit in a mythical land of warm sunshine, and Algy was happy to recite it for the benefit of the other birds while he munched the ripe red berries. Mr. Keats had got one thing right at least: the red-breast was indeed whistling from a garden croft, and Algy was thrilled to be hearing his wee friend’s song once again:Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the mossd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has oer-brimmd their clammy cells.Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reapd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too -
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.[Algy is quoting the famous poem To Autumn by the early 19th century English poet John Keats.] #Algy #photographers on tumblr #writers on tumblr #autumn#Scotland#fall#scottish highlands#berries#cotoneaster#poem#poetry#john keats#to autumn #ode to autumn #james boswell #journal of a tour to the hebrides #Scottish weather#mellow fruitfulness#Nature#harvest #adventures of algy #original content](https://64.media.tumblr.com/feab494dd7c5f2b6c3754ee72c134548/2bb532a848c5e14e-04/s640x960/6c545449b35ae3248dd8a16def5443e776a5ce39.jpg)
