Inspired by the Twitter post in the summary. This fic is also available on ao3; FFN is where I was first exposed to Animaniacs fandom, so I decided to post it here. You know, for old time's sake!
INT.— THE WATER TOWER. DAY.
Dark as an endless night, however, inside the Tower — Wakko and Dot sit on the couch, plugging uselessly at the TV remote, not realizing their couch is pointed in the wrong direction and their instructions reach only a sad-looking succulent plant.
But Yakko, don't we already have a tragic backstory? Dot asks as her elder brother paces, hearing more than seeing him - his footsteps and the drag of his pants cuffs and the crunch of paper scraps on the ground.
Weren't we locked in the Water Tower for ... Wakko's voice trails as he begins counting on his fingers, goes over ten, and removes his false hand to count those fingers, too.
How many fingers are you holding up? Dot asks. I can't see anything since someone decided to eat all the lightbulbs.
I really thought plugging his tail into the electrical socket would work, too, Yakko finally says, clicking his teeth. You just don't get electrocuted like you used to.
He stops in front of his siblings, watching the gray haze of them through the dark. Dot is now filing her nails; Wakko is counting the fingers of his eighth fake hand, the other seven shoved up into his armpit and against his chest and shoved under his hat.
But more to the point, Dot, Yakko begins — how funny, he instinctively stands up straighter when he uses his Authoritative Voice even though he knows they can't really see him. He holds the scraps of suggested tragedies fanned out like playing cards, feeling the relieves of their artwork with an ungloved hand. Abusive parents. Drunkard parents. Divorced parents. Trekkie parents. That last one in particular makes him shiver. He says, People don't take neglect by itself seriously as a form of childhood trauma unless you're showing up to your tenth birthday party in the same diapers you did to your birth. What kids are gonna see that we have no parental supervision and feel bad for us?
But isn't that a good thing? Wakko asks; Don't most kids want escapist entertainment to take their minds off their own messed-up lives?
Yeah, Dot says; Why do we need bad parents now?
Because the producers saw some article about how we can't survive "in a Bojack Horseman world" and insisted we needed to introduce more dramatic elements.
Dot asks, Who's Bojack?
Some sitcom actor from the 90s, I think, Wakko replies.
What's he look like? Maybe I went on a date with him once. I never forget a face until it's time to take co-star pictures at award shows.
Guys! Yakko pauses for their groans, then clears his throat: We gotta come up with ideas before the writers do.
Would that really be so bad? Wakko asks as he begins to slide down into a puddle of boredom on the floor. You already let them come up with all of your jokes.
(And pick-up lines, Dot adds behind her hand.)
Yes, it would, Yakko asks; And you know why?
In unison: Why?
Because they hired fans to write the new show.
Yakko stands unfazed but understanding as his siblings' screams of terror echo across the lot.