About “Hazbin Hotel” in a few words:

Hazbin Hotel is an animated series created by Vivienne Medrano that centers around Charlie, the princess of Hell, who dreams of rehabilitating demons to help them find redemption. Set in a vibrant, chaotic underworld, the show features a diverse array of characters, each with their own struggles and backstories. As Charlie opens her hotel as a haven for those seeking to change, viewers are treated to a unique blend of dark humor, emotional depth, and striking animation that captivates audiences of all ages.

Meet the demons from Hazbin Hotel

The Greedy Demon

The Greedy Demon is the kind of grotesquely glamorous hoarder who treats every shiny thing like it personally offended them if you look at it wrong. They collect coins, favors, rumors, tiny porcelain cats — honestly, probably even your leftover fortune cookie — and they’ll arrange them in color-coded piles like a tiny, malevolent museum. But here’s the soft bit that sneaks up on you: underneath the grabby exterior there’s a weirdly reliable core that will literally bargain for your life (and expect an invoice), and they secretly cheer for whoever beats them at their own game. Toss in a suspicious love of spreadsheets and a tendency to refuse to share gum but then bake you a pie on your birthday, and you have the whole chaotic, clingy package.

The Envious Demon

The Envious Demon is all green-eyed glances and competitive sighs, forever measuring everyone against some imaginary scoreboard only they can see. They mimic, they study, they steal aesthetics (that jacket? probably theirs in a timeline where they asked sooner) but it isn’t always malicious — sometimes it’s admiration with teeth. They’ll copy your handwriting one day and give you a pointed compliment the next while plotting a better version of your life in the margins of their notebook. Chaotic, petty, but oddly vulnerable when caught looking at someone with admiration instead of malice — and they will deny being sentimental even as they reread text threads like sacred scripture.

The Wrathful Demon

The Wrathful Demon is basically an elegant storm — short fuse, dramatic entrance, and a voice that makes chandeliers wobble. They defend what they love with terrifying intensity (and then insist it was “a light disagreement” while glaring), and honestly you’d rather have them on your side than off it. Shockingly, they keep a tea set and are annoyingly punctual, like someone who will smash a table and then hand you a teacup at 2:00 on the dot. They can be terrifying and tender in the same breath, prone to monologues, secondhand-embarrassing rage, and an inexplicable hobby of pruning bonsai at midnight.

The Lustful Demon

The Lustful Demon is theatrical, sultry, and obsessed with sensation — not just sex, but color, voice, fabric, and the exact angle of moonlight on a cheek. They seduce with words and playlists, collect perfume vials like trophies, and probably write terrible poetry in a fountain pen they never refill. Also kind of shy? Like, they will flirt like they’re on fire but will avoid direct eye contact when you compliment their earrings — it’s confusing and adorable. Part diva, part hopeless romantic, they betray a tenderness that keeps you guessing whether they’re playing everyone or just playing very elaborate dress-up.

The Slothful Demon

The Slothful Demon lives for naps, soft couches, and the gentle art of putting things off until the universe files a formal complaint. They move like honey and think in long, luxurious pauses — surprisingly wise in a way that feels like a cat’s slow blink rather than a lecture. Every so often (usually at 3 a.m. after too much coffee), they’ll explode into a flurry of tidying or art-making and then promptly nap through the results. They’re both infuriating and comforting, with a terrible attendance record for responsibilities but a miraculous ability to be exactly present when it counts.

The Gluttonous Demon

The Gluttonous Demon is all about indulgence, eyes forever wide at the sight of buffet lines, bakery windows, and metaphors that taste like caramel. They eat emotions, experiences, and actual pies with equal enthusiasm, sometimes politely, sometimes face-first into frosting (and yes, they have frosting on their cheek right now). They’re messy, loud, a genius at improvising a midnight banquet from three crackers and a jar of jam, and also fiercely loyal — you will never go hungry around them. Also they hoard recipes in a chaotic shrine, will give you a dramatic food history lecture unasked, and occasionally sob into a spoon when a dish tastes “just like childhood.”