About “Swamp Thing” in a few words:

Based on the DC Comics character of the same name, “Swamp Thing” is a horror-thriller television series that premiered in 2019. The show follows Dr. Abby Arcane, a scientist investigating a deadly virus in the Louisiana swamps, who discovers a mysterious creature known as Swamp Thing. As Abby uncovers the secrets of the swamp and its connection to the virus, she forms a bond with Swamp Thing and together they try to protect the town from supernatural threats. The series explores themes of horror, love, and the struggle between good and evil.

Meet the characters from Swamp Thing

Abby Arcane

Okay, Abby is the kind of person who bursts into a room with a microscope in one hand and a fistful of empathy in the other — like, she’s scientific but also soft-hearted and honestly kind of relentless about doing the right thing. She’s brave in that quiet, stubborn way, and somehow manages to be both deeply scarred and fiercely hopeful at the same time (also she cries over frogs sometimes, don’t judge). She researches, organizes, nags people into safety, and then punches through whatever bureaucratic nonsense stands in the way — while nursing a chamomile tea that she swears by but will secretly slam an energy drink when things get real). And yes, she’s complicated with a capital C: tender but into action, practical yet a little dramatic, and absolutely impossible not to root for.

Maria Sunderland

Maria is the icy, immaculate matriarch who runs things and smiles with the kind of politeness that feels like a steel trap; think elegant villain energy but make it corporate chic. She carries secrets like accessories and loves control the way other people love oxygen — but there’s a weird, tiny softness she shows sometimes, like pausing to listen to a dissonant piano piece alone in her study (or maybe I’m imagining that, could be just the red lipstick). She plays politics, philanthropy, and family like chess pieces and makes everyone around her feel either protected or terrified, often both. Also odd little thing: she keeps a porcelain dove on her desk yet will also order ruthless measures without blinking.

Alec Holland

Alec is the brilliant, slightly awkward botanist stereotype turned tragic hero, the kind of scientist who smells faintly of soil and old books and reads poems to plants like it’s normal (haha, which it kind of is for him). He obsesses over the balance between life and science — like, he genuinely wants to fix things but his experiments go sideways and then guilt follows him around like a shadow. He’s tender-hearted under the lab coat and sometimes infuriatingly stubborn, with this weird mixture of humility and towering responsibility; also allegedly terrible at small talk but excellent at potting succulents. The “man who becomes something else” stuff is raw with him: genius, broken, and oddly protective in ways you wouldn’t expect.

Swamp Thing

Swamp Thing is mythic and mossy and also heartbreaking — a hulking nature-spirit guardian who speaks slow and means everything, like a tree that learned to care. He’s equal parts protector, avenger, and accidental philosopher, and he has this weird tenderness for people and animals that makes you want to cry (he’ll save a cat and then accidentally stamp out a factory, no big deal, tragic). He’s both monstrous and deeply human-feeling, which is what makes him so compelling; quiet allegiances, a loyalty that’s terrifying when crossed, and sometimes he’s oddly sentimental about little river stones. Also he might hum sometimes? Not sure, but imagine he does — it fits.

Matt Cable

Matt reads as rough-around-the-edges lawman who’s been through too much and wears it like a heavy jacket; gruff, impulsive, the kind of person who saves people and then immediately denies feelings. He’s loud and loyal and sorta falls apart in private, which makes him unpredictable — protective but often making choices by gut rather than brains, and that has consequences. He loves his town (kind of), drinks too much coffee, and has a soft spot for small injustices even while being hella cynical; also he once cried at a silly commercial? Maybe. Anyway, he’s messy, human, and the type you want on your side in a swamp brawl.

Liz Tremayne

Liz is sharp-tongued and curious with a reporter’s nose and a nervous laugh that sneaks out when she’s excited about a lead; she’s always scribbling notes and then losing the notebook in the worst possible place. She’s skeptical but not cold, like she wants proof but also secretly lingers on the edges of the supernatural because it gives her life a story worth telling. There’s a kind of restless energy to her — she asks the uncomfortable question, pokes at the rot, and occasionally buys too many matchbooks for reasons she can’t explain (collecting? nostalgia? rebellious habit). She’s clever and scrappy and will absolutely gatecrash a swamp ritual if there’s a headline in it.

Madame Xanadu

Madame Xanadu is glamorous and enigmatic and gives very once-seen fortune-teller but with ancient depth and real magical heft — she’s the “I know things” friend you wish you had and the one you’re also terrified of. She speaks in riddles sometimes and smokes a cigarette like it’s punctuation, then brews you a calming tea and reads your future in lemon rind, so like, contradictory but totally her. She’s seen centuries, carries weird old grief, but will also sass you about your life choices and then help you out anyway; moral compass? It’s complicated, probably leaning mystical. Also she has a way of remembering your name in the most dramatic, unsettling fashion — and maybe she’s always right.

Avery Sunderland

Avery is the entitled, haunted heir who looks like he was raised rich but also broke in a different, internal way — polished on the outside, shredded on the inside, and dangerously bored enough to get creative with bad decisions. He collects art and grudges and has this fragile, performative charisma; sometimes he’s cruel, sometimes he’s childlike, and once in a blue moon he’s unexpectedly kind to animals (or a single stray dog) which makes you suspicious. He manipulates situations like someone playing a broken piano — the music is pretty but somehow off — and there’s always this hint that he’s more lost than evil, or maybe both. Also he wears scarves in summer and everyone notices but nobody asks why.

Jason Woodrue

Woodrue is the gloriously unhinged biologist-villain who loves plants the way other people love rock bands — obsessive, melodramatic, and slightly terrifying in a lab coat. He’s brilliant and morally bankrupt, always trying to force evolution along like some twisted gardener with too many ethics-related footnotes missing. He’ll talk to seedlings about revolution and then accidentally create a monstrosity, all while humming an upbeat show tune and offering you a terrible but strangely persuasive theory about life. Charming in a villain way, horrifying in practice, and always delightfully disruptive — like a classically mad scientist except he smells like fertilizer and trouble.

Lucilia Cable

Lucilia is quietly fierce with a smile that disarms people until they realize she’s been planning three steps ahead since breakfast; social armor and a soft center, which makes her both infuriating and comforting. She navigates gossip and grief with tidy competence and secretly loves tiny domestic rituals — baking, arranging flowers, labeling things — but will also file lawsuits in heels if someone crosses her family. She’s warm in a practical way, holds grudges like heirlooms, and has a surprising laugh that comes out when you least expect it (then she will immediately apologize for laughing, so awkwardly charming). Also she might keep a drawer full of emergency pens and band-aids — because of course she does.