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English
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Published:
2025-06-12
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1/1
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Twice Anne, Once Sapphic

Summary:

Written for the Burning Bright zine!

Something is wrong with Anne, because instead of thinking about boys, all she can think about is feminine smiles and butch carabiners, about Sasha and Marcy and Angie from tennis. Which is weird, because she didn't think she was gay before... right?

(Or, Anne is in denial about being lesbian)

Notes:

This was written as part of the Burning Bright zine, a zine centering LGBT creators in the fandom, which you can access here!

https://t.co/C62RH9sWUC

A biiiig thank you to Helix who drew the amazing cover art for this fic in conjunction with me and was so nice to work with! Mega talented. As is everyone who worked on this! For real, go read it.

Work Text:

Something is wrong with Anne.

Well, there’s a lot of things wrong with Anne. She may or may not be a clone of herself, for starters. She’s got a nasty procrastination habit. And there’s also that “teenage attitude” her mom keeps getting on her case about. 

But no, there’s something else wrong with Anne. Instead of thinking about boys, all she can think about is soft skin and gorgeous smiles, about Sasha and Marcy and Angie from tennis. 

Shouldn’t she be drooling over guys? Isn’t she the prime age for that magical high school romance with singing and dancing? Then again, she already had her big “moment of growth” like in the movies. Maybe she’s just ahead of the curve? Or maybe she’s so thoroughly traumatized from Amphibia that she’s not capable of being a normal human anymore–

Ahem. Anyway.

It doesn’t bother her most days. She just doesn’t think about it at all. There’s a lot of other things to think about, like homework and home and how her heart definitely does not race anytime she sees a pretty girl. It only really comes out in bits and spurts, when she sees couples in the hallway, when her friends ask her about crushes.

“I’m not interested in any guys,” she’ll say. And maybe that’s true, but it’s not the whole truth. It’s not like she doesn’t try; there’s at least 3 guys she has felt marginally positive about, only for the relationship to last under a month. It just never works out. Something about the thought of holding their hands, riding in their cars, touching lips– it just leaves her feeling empty, like a bird carving her chest hollow. 

Sometimes, late at night, she’ll cry into her pillow, wishing desperately for someone to talk to. Not just someone, some frog. She wants Sprig to tell her who to date, she wants Hop Pop to pat her hand and reassure her that it’s ok, she doesn’t need to like anyone. She wants Polly to slap some sense into her and laugh at her exes. She wants them to quietly, lovingly, point her to who she needs (wants) to be, just make her life easier and tell her who she is. But they’re gone, unreachable, and Anne has to figure this out alone. 

She knows, realistically, there are answers for this. A quick google search or hell, even looking around her classmates could tell her that. She knows the terms, she knows the flags, the pronouns, the everyone is welcome here. But she’s not gay, is she? Has she ever thought about girls like that? (Yes) Has she felt her heart skip, has she felt her cheeks heat up at the sight of long blonde hair or shining brown eyes? (Yes) Could she imagine herself spending the rest of her life with soft hands and softer hearts, with carabiners and roguish grins? (Yes, yes, yes )

Every time she tries to deny it, tries to bury it back beneath, the truth chips another rock away from her wall. It’s only a matter of time before she can’t deny it any longer, before enough people start questioning that she admits it. One day, she’ll snap, and she’ll go: Fine, I like girls. I love the idea of being with a woman for the rest of my life. I want to get married to a woman and hold her hand and kiss her cheek her her her her. Are you happy?  And her mind will say yes, I am happy. Oh, if only that day would come. Why is she stopping it?

Something fears the possibility. Something about it just feels wrong. Maybe it’s because if she’s a lesbian, then she has all the positives and the negatives. The hostility, the culture, the TERFs, oh god what if someone is mad about that what if I’m seen as a– thought as a– what if what if–

It’s better to just pretend. To say she hasn’t “found the right guy”, pretend she’s “focused on other things”. It’s easier that way. Sure, she might be a coward, or have some internal homophobic tendencies, but doesn’t everyone? It comes with being a member of this society! Bias, and all that! Besides, she doesn’t need to know right now. So what if the idea makes her sick in both the best and worst way? It’s easier to pretend to be something you’re not than to accept who you are. 

(At least, that’s what she tells herself). 

She meets up with Sasha one day. They’re standing at the lockers, preparing for their respective sport practices. Students are filing out, leaving for the weekend. 

“I told my mom I’m bi the other day,” Sasha says.

Anne blinks. “Oh, woah. How’d that go? Is she cool with it?”

“Yeah, she is. Stepdad’s kinda a jerk though.” She flips her hair back. “He thinks I’m too young to know that kinda stuff. Which is weird. There’s kids our age who get pregnant. ”

“Mm, yeah. It’s dumb.” Anne nods. “I mean, I know I’m probably a lesbian, I’m just in denial about it.” 

Sasha starts. She closes her locker. “Anne.”

“Hm?”

“Anne.”

“What?”

Sasha takes a deep breath. “That’s not how denial works.”

“What do you mean?”

“You just said you think you’re a lesbian.”

“Yeah?”

“So you’re not actually in denial.”

… Oh, shit. 

She goes home deep in thought that day, her mind racing a thousand miles an hour. All of the past ruminations are careening into her brain at once, every argument she’s had with herself replaying in a cacophonous roar of gay gay gay. Why is it so damn loud? Can’t being gay be quiet? She knows, logically, that it can. Sasha’s so damn casual and free about her bisexuality. Marcy changes pronouns at the drop of a hat. But here Anne is, screaming silently all the bus ride home, wondering if people see it, the big neon sign? 

“It’s not a bad thing, you know,” Sasha told her before she left. “I’m proud of you.” And yet it feels so very wrong. Something about it feels so… not good. Shouldn’t accepting who you are be a good thing? Isn’t that why it’s called pride? She used to be so good with this, back in Amphibia. Why does it feel like she’s wearing the skin of someone else when she tries on the title?

She picks up the phone. “IthinkImightbegay.” Anne blurts out. 

Marcy’s voice rings over the speaker. “Hi to you too, Anne.”

“I’m being serious!” Anne whines. 

“So am I! Also, Sasha already warned me this was coming.” she laughs. “Kinda. She said you’d call me later. Didn’t say why. I guess this is why?” 

“Yeah,” Anne sighs. “I might have come out to her before I came out to myself.”

“What?” 

“I mean like, I said I was in denial about being gay.” Anne groans, covering her eyes. She flops over onto her bed. 

“Well, are you gay?”

“I don’t know! Do I take a quiz or something?” 

“Annie… if you need to take a quiz, you’re gay.” 

Anne sighs. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Hang on, I’m adding Sasha to the call.” There’s a click on the other end. Anne might not have the Plantars, but frog damn is she glad to have her friends. 

“Do we need to have an intervention?” Sasha asks.

“What? No, I know I’m probably gay.” Anne replies.

“Then what’s the holdup? Why not just say you’re gay?”

“I dunno!” Anne whines.
“...What’s wrong with being gay?” Marcy asks.

“Nothing!”

“Then why can’t you be gay?” 

“I dunno! I just… I don’t want to be alone, maybe?”

Sasha scoffs. “Who says you’d be alone?”

“Society?” 

“Anne, we are both literally gay and your friends. You would not be alone.” 

Anne frowns. Everything they’re saying is factually correct, but it doesn’t feel that way. Why doesn’t it feel that way? 

There’s something she’s missing here. There’s something missing in her. What piece is missing that would allow her to accept this? What’s stopping her from allowing this new identity to take hold, to accept and change like she wants? 

It used to come so easy. Back in Amphibia, she changed like the tides, and accepted it just as readily. Did something change since then? How has she changed?

The answer hits her like a sledgehammer. 

“It’s my death.” 

“What?” Marcy asks.

“I wasn’t gay before I died.”

“Anne,” Sasha groans. “That is quite possibly the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Ok, maybe I was,” Anne starts pacing around her room. “I dunno. But like… this is the first big change since I died. I thought I was still me . Now I’m not so sure. What if I’m not the real Anne? What if the real Anne wasn’t gay and the Guardian made a mistake? What if I’m a mistake?” 

“...I take it back,” Sasha says. “ That is the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.” 

“Anne, you’re not a mistake,” Marcy promises. “You’re just scared and confused. That’s normal.”

“I think you’re putting yourself on too high of a pedestal,” Sasha explains. “You’re holding up the past version of yourself as The Anne, and any deviation from that idea is somehow bad.” 

“...Maybe.” Anne says. 

“Well, how do you know the “previous Anne” wasn’t gay too?”

She did call Mrs. Croaker hot that one time… “I don’t,” Anne admits. “Maybe like… I’m looking for someone to tell me who I am. I thought I knew who I was, and then that stupid cat…” 

Marcy hums. “We can’t help you with that, Annie. You gotta decide for yourself. Not who Anne should be, who you, this Anne, is .” 

Anne stops pacing. She stands there, basking in the words. Who this Anne is. Not who I should be, not who I want to be. Who I am. 

“I think…” She clutches at her chest. “I think I’m gay. And I think… I think I can work on being ok with that.” 

The other line erupts in cheers, and Anne can’t help the smile on her face.