Chapter Text
To say that Sasha doesn’t think about Anne and Marcy would be a lie. Before— back in High School, back before she’d learned how to deal with it—she thought about them all the time. They’d always be in the forefront of her mind, even after Marcy moved away and their contact slowed, even after Anne drifted away to the occasional catch up. Now, though, it was more subtle. Quiet thoughts.
She sees Anne in the Boba tea and Thai food she buys sometimes, she sees Marcy in the ads for new games coming out and the Flick console she rarely uses. She sees Grime, too, in the swords tucked away in the back of her closet. The thoughts are quieter, but they’re not silent. Manageable, but still present.
Sasha thinks they’ll never fully leave. She’s okay with that.
(And, yeah, sometimes it hurts. The sadness sparks in the scar on her cheek that she sees everyday in the bathroom mirror, burns in the scar across her back. They both mark how she’s changed, and they’ll be with her forever. It hurts, but Sasha’s learned that sometimes it feels good to hurt.)
So, when Sasha stumbles across Marcy’s Pinstagram account when putting off finishing one of her many essays, she’s surprised, but pleasantly so.
(It’s a new one, the one she used back in Middle School abandoned. Sasha won’t admit that she used to scroll through Marcy and Anne’s old photos, but she definitely did.)
There’s no mistaking the girl in the picture. It’s Marcy, in all their nerdy glory. Her hair’s longer and she’s older, but she’s still got the same spark in her eyes–and they’re wearing a cosplay of a character from Vagabondia Chronicles VII .
(Sasha remembers seeing an ad for it a few months ago, the character on the front wearing the same armour as Marcy in the photo. She wonders how many games they’re gonna make in that series. She wonders if Marcy has an opinion about the dragging out of the previously planned trilogy.)
The username is delightfully nerdy too: MasterMarcyWu_24
Sasha knows that the newts, Lady Olivia and General Yunan, called Marcy that. Remembers how Marcy was sad she never got to know them better once they left Amphibia for good.
Sasha also knows that 24 is Marcy’s lucky number. It’s the number of attempts it took them to beat the world record for speed running Darth Rathian: Return of the Kragor .
(In the back of her mind she wonders if Marcy still holds that title. Maybe she’ll check later.)
The account, with just a minute of scrolling, doesn’t seem too new. The oldest photo is from when Marcy was in High School. The old Sasha, before Amphibia, before the (intense) therapy, would be hurt Marcy never let her know. Never tried to follow her—unlike Marcy, Sasha and Anne still had the same Pinstagram accounts.
However, the new Sasha is at peace with that. Besides, Anne isn’t following this account either. It’s not a personal slight (and even if it was, Sasha would be okay with that.)
It’s funny, she thinks, how much Marcy’s changed, and yet how much she hasn’t too. Her hair is longer, she wears glasses, she’s older, but she’s still Marcy Wu. The girl who geeks out over bugs, and videogames, and nerdy movies, and anything else that grabs their interest.
Photos of cosplays, fan art, new games, and random assorted bugs and animals fill her page—alongside a selfie every now and again
A part of Sasha wants to reach out. Send a message. Ask to catch up. Another part is scared. Of what, she doesn’t know. Rejection maybe?
(She really doesn’t feel like psychoanalyzing herself right now—that was what she did to other people in her life.)
Instead Sasha decides to indulge herself with some light stalking. Thankfully, she doesn’t have to be too creepy, since Marcy has her other socials linked.
At first it’s nothing too eye-catching. A twitter filled with retweets about nerdy stuff Sasha doesn’t understand (but finds endearing nonetheless) and random opinions about random stuff.
But then Sasha sees Marcy has a website, (MarcyWuBB.com) and that piques her interest. She finds it’s an essentially a portfolio of Marcy’s art—which has improved by miles since they last saw each other.
Sasha recalls the notebook her old friend carried with her everywhere, filled with diagrams and sketches of anything that caught the girl's eyes. Those drawings were good —way better than anything Sasha could do—but these?
(They take her breath away, if she’s being honest. A warmth stirs in her chest, proud of how far Marcy’s come.)
It’s an accident, when she clicks on the sidebar, and notices a page labelled Braven Bogwalk . Again, her curiosity gets the better of her, and it opens a link to a website. That’s where she finds the full extent of Marcy’s talent.
(It seems cheesy to call it the holy grail, but Sasha’s always been a lover of all things cheesy.)
It’s a web comic, written and drawn all by Marcy Wu. 503 issues, more to come, four arcs, and so many readers.
(If Sasha was proud before, then now she’s… she doesn’t even know.)
She reads the first issue, and Marcy’s inspirations are immediately obvious. Of course, elements of the games and books and movies she loves—but also elements of their time in Amphibia.
One of the characters reminds her of Grime (Sasha knows he’d be over the moon to know someone thought he was cool enough to be a comic character, once she had explained what a comic is. The thought makes her heart ache with longing, and she pushes it aside.) The setting reminds her of the grassy landscapes of Wartwood and the cold stone walls of Toad Tower and Newtopia.
What shocks her the most, though, is the main character. Sasha would have assumed that Marcy would have subtly written herself into the story, wanting to live out her fantasy life on page instead of the failed attempt in real life.
(When Sasha thinks about it harder it makes sense why Marcy didn’t. After the battle against that thing, Darcy, they had made it clear they were no longer going to put their longing for a fantasy world above real life.)
Instead, the character—not in appearance, but in personality—reminds Sasha of herself, before she changed. Arrogant, head-strong, literally strong. Manipulative.
(She isn’t sure if she should take it as a compliment or not. Maybe it wasn’t a purposeful inspiration, maybe Sasha’s thinking too much into this.)
It isn’t the presence of her old self, or the reminder of her other home, that draws her in though. It's Marcy's great writing and even better art. Sasha lies back on her bed as she clicks to read the next issue, curious to see where this goes.
//
Okay, so maybe Sasha’s a little obsessed with Braven Bogwalk. She’d stayed up all night reading issue after issue, and debated skipping her 9 am lecture (she didn’t, but it was a close call.)
For some reason it feels weird. Sasha reasons with herself that it’s not . Sure, she found the web comic through some light (barely even counts!) internet stalking, but Marcy was her old friend. They’d almost died together for Frog’s sake (Sasha had never been able to kick the phrase from her vocabulary, even after returning home. It’s earned her a lot of strange looks over the years.) She’s just being supportive, and besides, Marcy’s a great writer and artist. Any sane person would be just as obsessed as she is.
So what if Sasha hasn’t really been interested in comics up until last night and any attempts Marcy and her other friends made in the past to get her into them failed? People were allowed to change their minds. She’s just trying a new thing.
(Sasha doesn’t even know who she's arguing with. It’s in her head, so maybe herself? Whatever.)
It’s at 11 am, when Sasha’s lounging the communal area of her dorm building and 242/503 issues deep into Braven Bogwalk, that Diego finds her. He’s a friend she’d made her first year in college, and they’d been close ever since, even if their meeting was sorta unconventional.
“Hey Sash,” he says and he drops his bag by her feet and sits down beside her. When he gets no response he leans over, looking at her phone screen which she’s been intently staring at for the past hour and a half. “Wait. Are you… reading a web comic?”
“Huh?” Sasha jumps, just noticing his present, and turns her phone off. “No! I mean– I–”
“Dude, chill.” Diego shoves her shoulder lightly and grins. “I am the last person to judge you for this. Just curious as to why you’ve started reading one now.”
She frowns at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“As supportive as you are about my interests, you rarely get involved. Last year I tried to get you to read Jaxtor Violet and the Shadows and you said, and I quote: ‘I love you, D, but comics are not for me. I’ll drive you and Raf to your geek conventions and watch your weird, but oddly cool, TV shows—but I won’t read comics on my own.’” He tries, and fails, to mimic Sasha’s voice.
“How the fuck do you even remember what I said word for word?” she asks, a sly attempt at avoiding his question.
Diego taps his temple. “I’ve got a great memory,” he says before raising a brow, “and if you think I don’t see what you’re doing then you thought wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Sasha tries to act oblivious, innocent, even though that would never work with him.
“You’re avoiding the question.” He leans closer and narrows his eyes. “So, tell me, why so into comics all of a sudden?”
As much as Sasha had tried to justify it to herself, she isn’t prepared to do that out loud. Nor does she want to admit she’s obsessing over this because it’s Marcy.
“Just ‘cause,” she shrugs and she looks away from his gaze, “there’s not some deep reason to everything.” He huffs, unconvinced. “Seriously, dude, I just thought it looked cool. That’s all.”
“What’s it called?”
Shit.
“Uh…” She debates making one up, or maybe just making a run for it right now. “I don’t know.” Is what she settles on.
Diego barks out a laugh, leaning into her eyeline and forcing her to look at him “Liar.”
“Am not!”
“You’re hiding something, Sasha Waybright.” He sighs and crosses his arms. “Come on, I’m your bestie, you can tell me.”
“Diego…” Sasha hates it when he does this, reminding her that they’re technically best friends. Sure, Sasha loves him and would do anything for him, but still.
“Please.” Now he’s doing the puppy dog eyes that Sasha swears only work on his boyfriend. (They also work on Sasha, like, a lot.)
They stare at one another for a long moment. A battle of the ages, until she quickly gives in. “Fine,” she sighs, deflating from her defensive stance. “My friend made it.”
“Your friend?” Diego questions, perking up. “Which friend? Jasper? Miley? Is it Brady ? I always thought she was hiding something!”
Sasha stifles a laugh, watching her friend jump around with such excitement. Plus, she also thinks Brady is hiding something. “No, no. You don’t know them,” she says and Diego settles down, and tilts his head.
“Oh.” He’s silent for a moment, thinking. He looks away, scratching his cheeks. “Are they… You know? From the—”
“Invasion?” she finishes, they both know that the only friends besides the ones he just mentioned are Anne and Marcy. “Yeah, they are,” she says and spots the curiosity flicker in his eyes, “I know you want to ask, so go ahead.”
Diego's eyes widen and she shakes his head. “I couldn’t.”
“Dude, you literally came up to me and introduced yourself by saying ‘Hi, I’m Diego Rocha. Are you one of the girls that stopped the apocalypse in LA years ago?’ and almost passed out.” She smirks at the memory.
At the time it had freaked her out that someone had recognised her from her brief appearance on the news, especially since Anne took most of the spotlight that day. She even worried that other people knew and that the news would spread—the one thing she wanted to avoid was people asking her about all of that , she got enough of it all through High School. Going to College was supposed to be a fresh start.
Luckily it had been, and Diego was one of the few who recognised her. He’d been obsessed with what was deemed the frog-vasion, and that's why he recognized her straight away. It led to a beautiful friendship, and gave Sasha the confidence boost she needed for the start of a new year.
In some ways Diego reminds her of Marcy, but he’s totally different in other respects. He shares interests with Sasha’s old friend and often gets wrapped up in things he enjoys, but Diego also claims theatre is his passion and performs in every play and musical he can. Back in Middle School Marcy had always preferred being behind the scenes, making sure the lights were perfect and the music was on cue.
(Maybe Marcy loved performing now, in the years they’ve been apart her friend might have changed.)
Diego also isn’t as smart as Marcy ( no offense Diego , she thinks) and often bombs on tests. Sasha recalls the time he came to her dorm room in tears over his shitty test scores, and she had to calm him down and managed to help him find a tutor.
So, yeah, they were different.
“Did not!” Diego insists, like a petulant child, and Sasha laughs.
“You were fangirling over me!” she says, waving her arms. “Which, looking back, is hilarious because you’re way cooler than me.”
He huffs and sits back. “I was not fangirling,” he says despite knowing it won’t convince Sasha. “Anyway,” his curiosity returns in an instant and he points to the phone still in her hand, “so you’re reading this web comic because…” he waves his hands, looking for a name,
“Marcy.”
“Because Marcy made it?” he finishes, and he smiles as if he’s proud of himself for making the connection.
“I guess?” Sasha shrugs, she doesn’t even know why she’s reading it. She keeps telling herself it’s for the story and the art , but… “I don’t know. I just found her Pinstagram and then found this. It’s actually good.”
“What’s it called?”
Sasha pauses, pretending she doesn’t remember the name and has to think, even though she could probably recite most of the first arc by heart if she tried hard enough. “Braven Bogwalk.”
To say Diego's jaw drops would be an understatement. He reels, grabbing Sasha by the arm and shaking her. “Hang the fuck on,” he says in a voice that Sasha knows, the voice he uses when he’s just about to freak out—standing on the edge of the fangirling cliff. “Your friend’s the author of Braven Bogwalk?”
“ Old friend,” Sasha corrects and she shrugs again, “and yeah, they are. So?”
“ So ?” he repeats incredulously, his grasp on her arm tightens and he shakes her even more. “Sasha, Braven Bogwalk is one of the most popular web comics right now,” he says, speaking a mile a minute, “you were friends with Marcy Wu ? As in MasterMarcy24? As in CyborgGreenFall? As in—”
Diego's standing now, practically shrieking as he flails his arms. Sasha grabs his hand and yanks him back down to the sofa.
“Chill out, people are staring.” she says, glancing around the room. “Also, yeah, my old friend is Marcy Wu. So what? It’s just Marcy.”
Except it’s not ‘just Marcy.’ She’s never been ‘just Marcy,’ and Sasha knows that.
“You don't understand. They’re like a God in the Vagabondia Chronicles fandom! Not to mention how her web comic has won several awards! Why did you never tell me?”
Hearing Diego talk about Marcy like this makes perfect sense. Back in Middle School Marcy was deemed Queen of the Nerds, and it seems they’ve kept their title—if anything she’s more like Warlord of the Nerds now.
“Because I didn’t know,” she says, because even if it makes sense, Sasha wouldn’t have assumed Marcy was still the same. “We lost touch in High School, and I’m not in these nerd spaces.”
“Wow.” Diego is star struck as he fans himself, and now Sasha’s worried he’s actually going to faint. “This is amazing. Can you tell me about her?”
The question shocks her. Someone asking about Marcy, as if she’s a world famous celebrity. Well, actually, it seems like she is kinda famous.
“...what?” Sasha blinks at him, staring at the eager expression on his face.
“If you thought I was fangirling over you back then, then you have no idea how much I’m freaking out right now.” He leaps forward again and clutches her arm, pulling her closer. “This whole time my best friend was friends with the legendary Marcy Wu!”
“Okay, Diego,” she pats his shoulder and gently pushes him out of her personal space, “calm down. Breathe.”
He takes in breath and nods. “I’m fine,” he says as he knocks her hand away. “Seriously, can you tell me about her?”
“I don’t know. This seems kinda weird…”
No, it is weird.
“Please.” Diego clasps his hands together and he does the stupid puppy dog eyes again.
It’s not Sasha’s fault that she crumbles, she’s only human.
“Alright,” she says as she raises her hands in surrender. “I mean, I haven’t seen her in years, she might be different now. But, back when we were kids she was the smartest person I knew. They were my saving grace in science class, and the nerdiest person I know—even more than you, if you can believe it.”
“I can,” he says with a nod, hanging on to her every word.
“Anyway, yeah.” Sasha rubs the back of her neck. Reminiscing feels good, but it hurts. It’s the good kind of pain she was thinking about earlier—the one she feels when drinking Boba tea and playing on her Flick. “I… I almost lost her, when we were, you know.”
“Really? How?”
She knows he’s excited, but Amphibia is one of the things she doesn’t talk with anyone except her therapist (and Marcy and Anne, back when they were talking at all.)
“We’re crossing over into personal territory here,” she says, trying her best to sound nice. “Off-limits, remember?”
“Right, right.” He nods with an apologetic smile and hurries to change the subject. “So, you gonna reconnect with them?”
The question makes Sasha’s stomach flip. She attempts to keep her cool composure. “Psh, no,” she says.
Yeah, cool, just like a cucumber.
“Why not?”
“Because we haven’t spoken in, like, seven years.” Sasha switches her phone back on just for something to do, to avoid the awkward feeling she gets at the prospect seeing Marcy again. “If she wanted to talk I’m sure she would have reached out by now.”
“Maybe she wasn’t sure if you’d want her to,” he argues. “Come on, Sash, just do it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
She hates when Diego's right, which unfortunately for her is most of the time. What is the worst that could happen? That Marcy rejects her? That Marcy ignores her? That’s no different to her current situation. If she never tries she’ll never know. She’d be giving up the chance to reconnect with someone she misses so much for no reason.
“I guess you’re right,” Sasha concedes, “I’ll think about it.”
Diego grins and claps dramatically, as always. “If you do,” he says, and Sasha can hear the scheming in his voice, “do you think I could meet them?” The look she gives him isn’t menacing enough to make him stop talking. “I mean, I have so many questions, and I would love her autograph, and—”
“Enough fangirling for one day.” She stands and pulls him up with her, looping their arms together. “Let’s go get lunch.”
“Okay,” he says, dropping the subject of Marcy. For now at least. “I’ll text Raf and see if he wants to eat with us.”
//
That night, after Sasha had excused herself from dinner when Diego and his boyfriend were getting too lovey-dovey (and reminding her how single she was), she sits in bed. Her blanket is on the floor, discarded in the heat, the window is open and letting in more warm air.
Her laptop sits on her lap. Marcy’s Pinstagram page is open, alongside a million other tabs (Sasha’s pretty sure a few of them are weeks old,) and she stares.
The Marcy in the photo isn’t the same person she knew. They were friends once, and Sasha would like to think they’re still friends, but it had been so long since they last spoke. It hadn’t been a conscious choice on either part. Life got busy, they never got back to one another. Phone numbers changed, life moved on.
Now, Sasha had a chance to finally catch up. To figure out what had changed, what was still the same.
Sasha and Anne caught up every two months, getting coffee and detailing updates in their lives. Sometimes they hung out besides then, but it was hard when they lived on opposite sides of the city. As far as Sasha knew, Anne didn’t stay in touch with Marcy much either.
(That makes her feel more and less guilty. At least it wasn’t just her, but also it wasn't just her. Marcy had been so scared about not making friends. The reasonable, logical part of Sasha’s brain reasons that Marcy isn’t alone. By the looks of things, she has plenty of friends and fans online. But, that didn’t quell the guilt.)
The cursor blinks over the text box, ready for her to type out a message. Beckoning her, mocking her. Sasha stares at the screen for what could have been hours, agonizing over the decision.
What if Marcy didn’t want to see her again? But then again, so what if she didn’t? It was just a text message.
Just a text.
Before she can think and stop herself she types out a message and clicks enter, only reading what she said once the deed is done.
Hey! It’s Sasha, I just found your account and thought I’d reach out lol. How are you?
It was a little clinical, but it was fine. A perfectly good text, she reasons. And, before her thoughts can consume her and she dies of cringe, Sasha shuts her laptop and locks it away in her bedside drawer.
If she sleeps, she can’t think about Marcy. Besides, maybe Marcy will have replied by tomorrow. Or maybe they never will.
Either way, at least she put herself out there.