Amphibia is wild ride. A 13-year-old girl, Anne Boonchuy, gets zapped to a world full of talking frogs and quirky creatures. She teams up with Sprig, Polly and Hop Pop, navigating this strange place while plotting her way back home. Challenges pop up, adventures unfold and secrets reveal themselves. Get ready for fun!

Meet the characters from Amphibia

Anne Boonchuy

Anne is this total whirlwind of chaos and heart — scrappy, brave, and always ready to punch a weird bug if it disrespects her friends. She arrived in Amphibia like a skateboard-carrying hurricane and somehow became both a battle-hardened leader and someone who steals snacks from the pantry at midnight (she denies it, obviously). She’s way cleverer than she looks, keeps a secret stash of duct tape and stickers, and also cries at tiny sunsets — which is adorable and slightly terrifying. Oh and she misses home constantly but also keeps making new rules in her head about how to live in a place with giant frogs, so, you know, complicated but lovable.

Sprig Plantar

Sprig is the kind of kid who bounces off walls and then apologizes to the wall, full stop — endlessly optimistic, forever scheming, and somehow always scrapes his knees like it’s a hobby. He’s loyal to a cartoonish fault, fiercely protective of Anne and Polly, and convinced that every problem can be solved with enthusiasm and maybe a slingshot. He also collects weird little trophies (shiny pebbles, partially eaten berries) and will tell you a long, half-true tale about his “heroic” past that keeps changing. Basically sunshine with a mischievous streak, and yes, he will prank you and then help fix it immediately because that’s who he is.

Hop Pop

Hop Pop is the grumpy, rules-first grandpa who actually has a heart the size of a pond if you can get past the scolding and the cane taps. He treats tradition like sacred scripture but will break his own rules for family — and then scold you for making him cry about it, so classic. He’s part historian, part curmudgeon, and secretly enjoys singing really off-key sea shanties at 2 a.m. (don’t tell anyone), plus he makes the best—okay maybe overbearing—pep talks when things fall apart.

Polly Plantar

Polly is tiny, loud, and inexplicably terrifying — a tadpole with the ferocity of a Viking and the attention span of a glitter bomb. She chews through pretty much everything (shoes are a favorite), communicates mostly through dramatic gestures and squeaks, and somehow has a sixth sense for when snacks are present. She wants to be taken seriously as a warrior and will smack a bad guy for you, but will also jam her face into a soft blanket and purr like a cat sometimes, which is both contradictory and the cutest. Honestly, she is chaos distilled into a baby-sized package and I stan.

One-Eyed Wally

One-Eyed Wally is this big loveable lug with one glorious eye and a smile that suggests he’s either plotting or genuinely happy, sometimes both. He moves slowly, talks slowly, but has surprising wisdom — like, he’ll give you a life lesson about patience while chewing on a very suspicious sandwich. He’s clumsy, prone to knocking over things, and yet somehow the calming center in the most hectic situations (don’t ask me how that works, it just does). Also he collects things that no one else wants, which makes him oddly fashionable in a way that makes zero sense.

Mrs. Croaker

Mrs. Croaker is the neighborhood gossip and proud proprietor of “I Know Your Business” — in a good way? She’s warm, slightly theatrical, and treats everyone like family even when she’s absolutely spilling secrets at breakfast (sorry, not sorry). She runs a little shop/tea corner/den of mildly ominous trinkets, and she has opinions about everything, from fashion to morality to who stole whose pie last Tuesday. Don’t be fooled by the tea-cup smile; she can be surprisingly sharp and will drop a cutting comment with a smile that makes you rethink your life choices.

Mayor Toadstool

Mayor Toadstool is the theatrical, pompous mayor who loves parades, ceremonial ribbons, and hats — like, a lot of hats — but is also secretly terrified of being irrelevant. He’s all pomp and speeches and very public handshakes, yet behind the podium he’s a nervous ball of insecurity who buys scarves to feel important (I may be projecting). He can be hilariously over-the-top with rules and proclamations, and then turn strangely sincere about his weird little town because he actually cares, which is confusing and kind of endearing. Also he carries a tiny ceremonial cane for reasons that are probably symbolic but mostly dramatic.