Well, I'm back! And, with a new F.A.C.E.S. fic! This one takes place in 'Guess Hoe's Coming to Dinner'-verse as well. If you aren't aware, GHCtD is my previous F.A.C.E.S. fic.

Let me start off first with telling you guys, the other Micronations make up a BIG part of this story. For reference, or if you have trouble picturing what they look like, go to , and type in "Micronations". It gives you pictures of ALL of them, because it's an anime image board site. It's what I used.

This is not beta-read. I only sorta looked over if for grammatical errors, because I'm lazy. Sooo, imma cross my fingers, close my eyes, and hope my grammar is spot-on!

This story will be a nice, little threeshot. Three chapters, each a bit more disastrous than the last. This threeshot features Peter, being forever alone, with his cousin, Wy. And don't worry if you don't understand what Wy is saying half the time. That's the point. Her Australian-ness is intense. XD

In terms of the Micronations, because they do not have names of their own, I have taken up the liberty of giving them names for the sake of this fic. I kept them VERY similar to their country's names, if possible. That should help clear up confusion, because if you're like me, then you do NOT want to expend too much effort remembering each of their names.

And, because I forget what character name is what, I included the whole list right at the top, in case I forget along with you guys. Believe me, it happens.

Warnings: Language! And sexual implications at times. And the occasional jab at whatever topic I choose to abuse with the pointy end of my "wit".

But, ENJOY!

Principality of Hutt River – Hutt Kirkland

Principality of Wy –Wy Kirkland

Australia –Oliver (Ozzy) Kirkland

Principality of Seborga –Sebastian Vargas

Niko Niko Republic –Niko Honda

Molossia –Mike Jones

Ladonia –Oxenstierna

Kugelmugel –Maximilian Edelstein

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"I'm bored, Peetah'."

Peter looked at his cousin, who glared right back. Wy sat high on a plastic playhouse rooftop, kicking sand out of her shoes.

"But why?" Peter whined, "We didn't even get to start playing 'Emotionally Dysfunctional Relationship' yet! I'm supposed to be the boyfriend with commitment issues and prone to excessive anger and violence on occasion, and you're supposed to be the overly-obsessive girlfriend with daddy issues and severely unstable, borderline suicidal thought processes!"

Wy scowled, and wrinkled her equally fuzzy eyebrows. "Yeah, well maybe this game is starting 'ta get boring! I'm tired of having to be ya' pretend girlfriend!" Her Australian accent came out thick and loud whenever she talked, matching her aggressive attitude. " Do you know how high the imaginary phone bill gets when I gotta pretend call you, 'ta see if you've been going out with other girls behind my back? Soon, I might gotta start makin' money giving other boys kisses on the cheek, just so we can pay off the debt! Ya' know how degrading that is?"

"Yeah, well, this is your fault! You knew this would happen when you started to date me! I told you that I've been hurt by one too many girlfriends beforehand, and now I have an icy wall built around my heart to protect myself! I can't trust you, because you'll be like all those other girls!" Peter said, throwing a pretend chair across the playground.

"Well, excuse me for trying to love ya', Peetah'!" Wy wailed, grabbing an imaginary kitchen knife. "I just wanna' be loved, and for you 'ta trust me! Do ya' like to see me suffer?! Do ya' want to see me suffer?! Because I can just end it all, right here and now!" She waved the knife over her wrist, making her intentions clear.

"Oh baby, please don't do it!" Peter cried, dropping to his knees in the sand. "I love you too much to let you die! Baby! Baby, please!"

"Crikey! Get out, before I burn all your clothes! I'll burn all your clothes, and throw away your toys!" Wy screeched from her spot on the plastic house. "I'll find another man! Just you wait!"

At once, Peter scowled, and the game came to a halt. "Don't joke about that," he pouted, "You know that Jerk-Alfred burned all my junk, just 'cause he's a jerk."

"I thought it was 'cause you didn't DVR Oprah for him, when he got kidnapped." Wy murmured.

Peter began to respond with a nasty curse, but was interrupted almost immediately.

"Ahhh… exactly what is going on here?" another voice interrupted. Looking up, the children spied their fourth grade teacher, Mr. Edelstien, glaring at them in disapproval. "Am I mistaken, or were you children enacting such adult themes as suicide and abusive relationships? Is that how you children honestly occupy yourselves?"

Peter looked up at his teacher boredly, rolling his eyes. Wy slid down the roof of the plastic house, coming to land down beside her cousin. "Mistah Edeelstienen–"

"My name is 'Edelstein'. You should know that already. I've been your teacher for a while now."

"Mistah, what else do we do?" she asked, frowning. "Ain't nothin' else 'ta do! I'm bored shirtless ova' here! I'd rather have a blue wit' a dunny-monster, than be here!"

Mr. Edelstein looked over at Peter. The boy shrugged. "I dunno," he said, "I can't speak Australian."

"I'm BORED, ya' fruit loops!"

Mr. Edelstein's face turned bright red. "Excuse me! I am not gay!"

Wy stomped her foot. "I never said ya' were, ya' galah!"

"Young lady! That is not the kind of language we use here! I think…" the man hissed.

Grabbing both children by the hands, he pulled them out of the sandbox and closer to the other children on the playground. He gave them an encouraging shove, trying his best to look polite. "Why don't you two ever go play with the other children? I'm sure it would be much more fun than that little… performance you two enjoy putting on so much."

Peter's face suddenly took on a sour look. "I don't wanna' play with them." He kicked the grass viciously, expressing his dislike.

"Why not?" Mr. Edelstein asked cluelessy. "Little boys and girls always enjoy the company of one another!"

Wy piped up beside him, swinging her ponytail like a wild horse, all to occupy herself. "It's 'cause nobody likes him. Calls him a loser 'n suchlike…"

Peter growled, giving her a swat on the shoulder. "Nobody likes you, neither! You're just as much a loser as I am!"

"Oh yeah?" Wy bristled, giving her cousin a hefty shove, "You wanna' come say that to my face, ya' dirty bitzer?"

Peter shoved her back, just as hard. "You wanna' speak English for once in your stupid life?!"

Wy smacked him viciously, stomping on his foot in the process. "I do speak English, ya' stinkin' clacker!"

The two shrieked loudly, before throwing themselves at each other. Hair pulling and knee kicking was fast and furious as they fought, and Mr. Edelstein fought himself, trying desperately to pull the two apart.

"Enough, children!" he growled, after getting a wayward punch to the stomach, and a stomp to the foot. "Enough! Children, stop it this instant, before I'm forced to take drastic measures!"

The children looked up at their teacher sullenly.

"Now, I want you to go play with the other children," Mr. Edelstein said calmly, "And I want you to play decently, like good little children. Make friends. Have companions. Maybe they might think you two are strange, because you may not be trying hard enough to become friends with the rest of them."

The two scowled fiercely, but their teacher pressed on nonetheless.

"Maybe invite some of the children over sometimes. Set up a play-date. Or a party. If you'd like, I could even talk to your parents, and see if they could help!"

"I don't have parents." Peter said flatly. "My mom is dead. I dunno who my dad is either. But sometimes I ask my brothers, and they all say he was a real creepy, skeevy kind of guy. They also said he had tons of chest hair and a gold tooth though!"

And he smiled, waiting for his teacher's response. Mr. Edelstein didn't speak. Only frowned.

"I have, like, a billion brothers though!" Peter said, trying to make his teacher feel a little better. Mr. Edelstein's expression didn't change.

Wy nodded next to him. "I don't got me a mum or dad neither! I got me two brothers, and one is real big. I like him the most. He's grown up, and his name is 'Oliver' –except we call him 'Ozzy'– and he does whatever he wants. Ozzy likes to go campin' in the wild and wrestling crocodiles, so it's real hard to contact him sometimes."

Letting out a world-weary sigh, Mr. Edelstein removed his glasses to rub at his temples. "Fine. Whatever. Again, I say, go play with the children. Smile, act friendly, and they're sure to flock to you like insects to garbage."

Peter wrinkled his nose. "That's a nasty example, Mr. Eddyste–"

Without another word, the teacher dumped his students roughly in front of the other children, and walked away.

Awkwardly, the two stood before their fellow classmates. The children were all gathered around each other, gossiping and laughing, taking turns on the swings. They were loud, flashy, and interesting.

They were the popular kids.

On Peter and Wy's arrival, all commotion stopped. The children fixed the newcomers with emotionless stares. One boy moved himself to the front of the group, and fixed the two with a mean squint. It was clear he was the leader of the pack.

"What do you two rejects want?" he asked, sneering. It was Peter's cousin, and Wy's older brother (by only three minutes, the arse!), Hutt Kirkland. Not surprisingly, he shared almost all of his sister's traits, down to the horrible bossiness and sharp tongue. The only difference, was his princely aura, his lighter brown hair, and the fact that he turned out to become the most popular boy in 4th grade, while Wy was left in the dust, along with the other losers (coughcough*Peter*cough). His Australian accent was slightly more subdued than his sister's, and he tended not to let out his inner Australian as easily.

Wy scowled, raising an angry fist into her brother's face. "You wanna' say that again, ya' damn cockie?! Just because you think you're all fancy, like a little prince, you think you can talk to me how ya' wanna?"

Hutt rolled his eyes, brushing back his miniature cowlick as he turned his back on them. "Didn't I tell you not to talk to me in public?"

Wy hissed like a feral cat, and Peter stepped forward to contain the situation. "Actually," he began, "We just thought it might be fun if we could play with you guys for a little bit."

"Ve~ Like ah… hide and find?" an abnormally tall (for his age), brown-haired boy asked, ahoge bouncing as he tilted his head. It was the 4th grade eating machine, Sebastian Vargas. He was famous for being the only boy to eat an entire class's worth of goldfish crackers at snack time. He was also rumored to be a relative of the Don, and a member of one of the oldest (and most ruthless) Italian Mafia families in existence.

A quiet Asian boy patted the boy's head fondly. "It's not 'hide and find', but 'hide and seek', Vargas-san," the boy said, smiling. It was the Japanese boy, Niko, the 4th grade genius. "You were close, Vargas-san! Good job." The boy reached over, and handed his friend a small egg, roughly the size of a coin. Vargas grinned immensely at the gesture.

Needless to say, Wy and Peter were confused.

"Ve~ Niko! You're so nice to me!" Sebastian whispered, smiling back at his short friend. "I promise to steal a whoooole bunch of chicken eggs for you tomorrow!"

Niko seemed overjoyed by the promise. "Eggs! Very much appreciated, Vargas-san! No, Vargas-sama!"

A bright eyed, red-headed boy broke the two up, by inserting himself in between them. It was the school's artist, Oxenstierna. Nobody knew his first name, but everyone was familiar with his last. The boy was loud and rough, and aggressively competitive redhead; even more so when it came to sports. The only thing he hated more than people criticizing his football skills (soccer to the American percentage), was his lifelong rival, Maximilian Edelstein.

"Sorry to interrupt, but can you two stop being gay for each other for a second?" Oxenstierna groused, shoving the two apart. "Don't you see we gots us some company?"

Quickly, all attention turned back to Wy and Peter. Eyeing them both thoroughly, Hutt circled the two. "I dunno if I want you two… weirdos hanging around with us. You're too… wild."

The platinum blonde boy beside Hutt scoffed in agreement. "They're as refined as wild bulls," he said, tossing a long braid behind his back, "Nothing I'd ever want to play with…"

It was the school's artist, Maximilian Edelstein. Also, the little cousin of their teacher, Mr. Edelstein. He resembled the man in every way possible, down to the creepy way he'd occasionally spaz out and stab the nearest person with a violin bow. He was the snootiest of the bunch, second only to Hutt himself.

Peter twisted the hem of his shirt nervously. "Wild? Nah. We're pretty tame. Tame as highly medicated lab rats, really. Honest!"

Wy simply rolled her eyes. "Rack off, ya' figjams. You're all no better than a bunch of lame ol' posties, if ya' ask me.

Peter scowled darkly, stomping on her foot discreetly. "Speak English, darn it! You sound crazy!"

"I am speaking English!" Wy hissed back, stomping on her cousin's foot in retaliation. "It ain't my fault none of ya' know nothin' bout nothin'!"

Ignoring his squabbling relatives, Hutt turned back to his round of friends. "Whaddaya' say about these guys, boys? Should we let em' in?"

"No." Oxenstierna said instantly. "Too weird."

"Ve~… well, I… uh… ve~" Sebastian said nervously, toying with his little ahoge. "Ah… maybe… maybe, yes… ve~"

Max snorted, redoing one of his platinum braids, and righting his red beret. "Hardly. They lack class and tact. I doubt if they even know the fundamentals of molding Play-Doh into a decent remake of Leonardo Da Vinci's 'Mona Lisa'."

"I doubt if you know how to do that yourself…" Oxenstierna muttered irritably. Earning a glare from the long-haired boy, he quickly shut his mouth and looked away.

"You?" Hutt asked, pointing to Niko.

The boy nodded his head. "Ah… these two are funny. Like Seinfeld–"

"What's Seinfeld?" Peter whispered to Wy.

"Pinch me if I know!" Wy whispered back, equally as baffled.

"They remind me of… the American television, 'Simpsons', ne?" Niko continued, " I saw that show on the television. I watched a whole episode of Food Network too! Did you know that 3 sticks of butter, and an entire block of candy chocolate can make you the best pancake? One lady even made it with meat! Lots and lots of bacon!"

Hutt pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's nice, Niko. Can you please answer the question now?"

Niko cocked his head to the side, pausing in his efforts to transform a dirty paper napkin into an origami toad. "What was the question, Hutt-san?"

Hutt ground his teeth together. "Do you want these two to play with us?"

"Ah, you know, there is a saying on friendship." Niko said, smiling. "An ancient Japanese proverb, told by one of my favorites, Yosa–"

"What about you, Mike?" Hutt interrupted, turning to the last child. It was a dark-haired boy, eyes covered with a black pair of sunglasses. He stood tall and silent, staring off into the distance at the slides below. He was one of the coolest 4th graders to ever walk the planet (besides Hutt, of course). He never spoke much, and blended in with the background almost too easily, but nonetheless, he was a big hit with the surrounding elementary schools in the area.

Lowering his sunglasses just enough to keep the sun from reflecting its glare, Mike simply responded with an indifferent "Hmph…"

Eyes narrowed, Hutt gave a sharp nod. "Well then, it's settled." Without any preamble, he turned to Wy and Peter, and with a sharp glare, uttered a simple phrase.

"Beat it, ya' creeps."

"But–"

"Good bye!" Hutt said with blatant finality, and turned away. The other children, however reluctant they seemed, followed suit. Hutt had made up his mind, and his word was final.

Disappointed and in despair, Peter and Wy shuffled off to another section of the playground, stubbornly kicking up dirt as they went along.

"S' alright. I didn't wanna' be in their stinkin', bloody group anyways." Wy said, mumbling faintly. Peter stayed quiet, settling on spending the rest of recess sitting on the tarmac with his cousin, in silence.

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:::

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"Mattie! Is there any more beer that isn't fuckin' boiling hot?!" Alfred shouted into the kitchen, glaring at the can of beer in his hand, as though it had committed a heinous crime.

Matthew poked his head into the doorway, shooting his lazy brother a look. "It's one in the afternoon! Can you at least try to control your inner alcoholic?"

The look Alfred shot him, answered all questions. Growling, he shoved one of his heavy textbooks onto the floor with a 'bang'. "Political science is a bitch to learn! I have to bust my nuts all over these damn books just to graduate –stop laughing Mattie, it's not funny!–and you're telling me I can't even pause to have a drink (or twenty)?"

Matthew sighed, throwing a dirty towel at him. "Look on the bright side! At least you're kinda doing a decent job on working towards your academic major, instead of partying your life away–"

"I already do both those things." Alfred interrupted. "This just means that I can multi-task."

"Multi-tasking is virtually impossible. It was scientifically proved a while ago," he said, ducking as Alfred threw the hand towel back at him. "Besides, can't you just settle for drinking a beer warm? I mean, a beer is beer, no matter the temperature."

Alfred smiled dryly. "Mattie," he began, as though he was speaking to a child, "There's only one thing I ever do with a warm beer, and that's drive."

Matthew glared at his brother with thinly veiled disgust. "Not funny."

"Wasn't a joke."

The front door banged open loudly, announcing the arrival of the youngest member of the large family. Peter crashed into the living room, stomping like a deranged bull. He marched right past his two brothers, not stopping to look at either one of them, and continued to storm straight up into his bedroom. Alfred and Matthew watched silently as the little ball of hissy-fit passed before them. Once the boy had made his disappearance, the conversation picked up once again.

"See? See that?" Alfred asked, leaning over a couch arm, "See how rude this kid is? Just walks in, and doesn't say 'hello' to his two wonderful, loving brothers. I think he gets that from you."

"Shut up, Al. He actually kinda looks bothered by something," Matthew murmured, peering up the stairs that the youngest had disappeared up.

Alfred groaned. "Ugh, does that mean we have to pull that whole 'Perfect, Caring Big Brother' routine, and ask him all those questions, and pretend like we give a crap about his problems?"

Matthew nodded, still looking up the staircase. "Probably. I mean, he looks upset. Maybe if we talk to him…"

Alfred groaned again, burying his face in the sofa seat. "But Mattie, his problems are always so stupid… It's always dumb crap, like 'Sally Whosawhatsits has a huuuge crush on David Whogivesafuck', or 'Steven Stupidface didn't share a piece of his birthday cupcake with the rest of the class'. Mattie, we haven't had those problems since we were, like, ten! I can't bring myself to care anymore!"

Matthew walked over, giving Alfred a light smack on the forehead. "But he is ten! Remember, those problems were really important to us back then, as well!"

"No they weren't." Alfred mumbled. "We were worried about practical stuff, like, which one of us would die first. 'Cause remember, that was the year when I stole a shopping cart full of cans and ran you over, and then you ended up with a concussion? And then you got mad at me, and shoved me off a roof, and I fell into the street and got hit by a car, and landed in a coma?"

Matthew stiffened, grinding his teeth together.

"And remember, Iggy said you were crying for days 'cause you thought that you killed me, since I wouldn't wake up? And then, like 2 months later, I woke up, and then almost had to repeat 4th grade?" Alfred continued, lost in nostalgia. "So I got super pissed and threw that football in the gears of your bicycle, and you fell off and broke your arm?"

The urge to choke Alfred into silence began to win over Matthew.

"And then all the girls thought you were so cool, and they all took turns signing your cast? All those stupid girls started sharing their goldfish with you at snack time, because they thought you didn't know how to eat anymore? And I always had to help you in the bathroom, because it was always hard for you to g–"

"OKAY. I get it." Matthew hissed, smacking his twin on the back of the head. "Our lives were a bit more eventful at ten. But still! We can at least help the poor guy!"

Scowling, Alfred gave Matthew a shove in return. He groaned some more, still not willing to get up and play child psychiatrist to their youngest. "What about Iggy? Huh? He's the guy's brother too! Why can't he play guidance counselor?"

"Because he's out, doing British things somewhere–"

"He's always doing British things somewhere. What does that even mean?"

"–Plus, he's absolutely no good when it comes to comforting others." Matthew continued, "Remember that time we won a rabbit from the carnival, and it died by the time we got home?"

Alfred nodded, face turning sour. "Yeah, I remember. We started crying, and Artie, the asshole, laughs and takes it away, and then butchers it in the kitchen sink and gave it to us for dinner. Then he stuck his bloody hands in our face as a joke, and Francis laughed, downing liquor like a damn drunkard."

Matthew smiled. "Yeah… good times…But still! Get up!"

He grabbed onto his brother's arms, and sharply yanked him from the couch. Stumbling along, the two made their way up the staircase, and barged into the youngest brother's room. Upon their sudden entry, the boy jumped, shocked from his position on the bed.

"What? Why are you here? Go away!" Peter shouted, taking the nearest thing (a random pack of neatly packaged Pokémon cards) and chucking it their way. Ducking rapidly, the two avoided the playing cards, and they bounced off the wall harmlessly.

"We just want to know what's wrong." Matthew said, making his way into the room. "You didn't seem too pleased when you came in, and we thought we should try to see if we could help. I mean, that's what big brothers are for! Right, Alfred?" he asked, turning to his twin.

Not surprisingly, Alfred was nowhere near his brother's side.

Crouching on the messy floor, Alfred was busy scanning through all the playing cards that had been chucked at him. "Oh shit, you have Misty's Psyduck? No way!" He looked up at his little brother in amazement. "Dude, I'll trade you my Zapdos for this! No, wait, I'll trade you my Lucario for it. I have two of those already, so I don't need one anymore."

"No way!" Peter said, scowling. "Gimme something better than that! Like, a Dark Raichu or… a Mudkip!"

"What? Why? Those aren't even rare!" Alfred protested, clutching the Psyduck card tightly. "I just offered you two very valuablecards, and you want a damn Mudkip? Why? Your decisions are terrible!"

"Well, Psyduck is a stupid duck! That's why it always sucked whenever important stuff started to happen." Peter sneered, looking for something else to throw at his brother, "It's like, the one Pokémon that failed at being a Pokémon! Even Team Rocket thought it was stupid."

"Well, screw you!" Alfred snapped, "You know damn well, that when push came to shove, Psyduck always pulled through! That's why Misty never traded it!"

"Please… will you both SHUT UP?" Matthew hissed, rubbing his temples exasperatedly.

The two fell silent, and Matthew turned to look at Peter.

"Now, tell us what's bugging you," he said, smiling forcedly. "We can't help but to want to make you feel better."

"Yes, we can!" Alfred chirped. A glare from Matthew shut him up again.

Huffing quietly, Peter looked away. He busied himself with scanning the large posters tacked onto his walls. The Dragonball Z poster was wrinkling around the edges, and the Sailor Moon one had a rip in the corner. And he was really starting to rethink the Twilight poster sitting over his bed. He had a feeling that the guy with the dirty-looking, uncombed hair was watching him sleep…

"Well… nobody likes me," he finally mumbled, looking shyly at his brothers.

Matthew blinked in surprise. "Nonsense! We like you!"

"Most of the time, at least. Sometimes." Alfred said, still digging through Peter's Pokémon collection.

Peter hissed in annoyance. "I don't mean you guys! You're not important!"

"Well!" Alfred scoffed, "Glad to know my love doesn't matter to anyone!"

"Maybe that's why you can't hang on to a girlfriend for more than two weeks!" Peter spat.

"You LITTLE SHI–"

"What do you mean, Peter?" Matthew asked, holding back Alfred by the collar. "Does this have to do with school?"

Peter nodded quietly. "Yeah. Nobody likes to play with me. They think I'm weird. And they say that I'm no fun. But I am fun, aren't I?" he asked, blue eyes big and bright.

Matthew gave the boy a sympathetic look. "Of course you are! Those kids just don't know the real you. They might think you're no fun, because they don't know you very well."

"That's what Mr. Edensteen said. He said I gotta do more things to get friends, like throw parties 'n some other dumb stuff."

Matthew's eyes seemed to spark at the boy's words. "That's a great idea! Like, one of those play-dates? That could actually be fun!"

"Are you out of your mind?" Alfred asked, now upside down on the carpeted floor. "You're inviting children into this house? Are you not aware that people like Arthur and Francis live here? And you want to invite little 4th graders?!"

Matthew waved him off. "Don't be stupid. I'm sure they'll have a fun time if they come over."

"Who? The kids, or Iggy and Francis?" Alfred asked sarcastically. "Iggy will probably try to jump one of them, so he could feed them burnt hockey pucks and tell them horrific bedtime stories. And I'll bet money that Francis would honestly try to flirt with a child. I'm telling you, you're asking for a disaster."

Peter looked at Matthew worriedly. "NO! Jerk-Arthur and Francis wouldn't do that, right?"

Matthew was silent.

"It'll be fine, won't it?" Peter asked desperately. "Nothing bad will happen, right?"

Matthew looked away.

"MATTIE!"

"Okay, okay," Matthew said, "I can't guarantee that things will go smoothly, per se, but it's worth a shot!"

"A bad shot." Alfred murmured from his spot on the floor.

"Go ahead, invite them!" Matthew said, smiling. "It'll be fun!

If you might be wondering in your heads, yes, all these Micronations exist. For those who are unfamiliar with them:

Kugelmugel used to be in Austria (before it basically went obselete and turned into some tourist attraction/museum thingy)

Niko Niko Republic used to be in Japan (before they renounced their micronation-ness and turned back into mainstream Japan)

Molossia is here in America (Nevada, I believe)

Principalities of Wy and Hutt are in Australia

Seborga is in Italy

Ladonia is in Sweden.

This explains their ethnicities, and why they speak the way they do. Hooray for impromptu geography lessons!

So, whaddaya' think so far? :D