I do not even know how I got here and I am scared. I AM WATCHING A SHOW ON MTV AND I AM WATCHING IT ON PURPOSE AND IT IS GLORIOUS. Hold me, fandom. Clutch me to your bosom whilst I objectify the hell out of some hot shirtless dudes. LET US EMBRACE.
The Beacon Hills, CA police department is investigating the scene of a crime. They’re prowling through the forest in the middle of the night, toting flashlights and leading agitated police dogs. Something is clearly afoot!
Elsewhere in Beacon Hills we zoom voyeuristically into the bedroom of one Scott McCall. He’s repairing the net thingy on his lacrosse stick, shirtless, because MTV loves us and wants us to be happy. Further evidence of this love appears when Scott starts doing shirtless pull-ups.
This is basically the best show ever.
Scott’s washing his face in the bathroom sink when he’s startled by a noise coming from outside his bedroom window. OMG IS IT A SCARY WOLF? Nope, it’s his almost unbearably adorable Bambi-eyed BFF, Stiles Stilinski, hanging upside down like a demented bat, for the lulz.
Scott, being a bit of a derpface, shrieks like a child and almost brains his batty friend. This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just answered your phone, Scott.
Since Stiles’ dad is the Sheriff of Beacon Hills, he’s overheard some interesting news—the entire Sheriff’s department along with some State Police duders are out scouring the woods for a dead body. Actually, they’re only looking for PART of a body, as the other half has already been found. Eeew.
I feel we are off to an excellent start.
Stiles and Scott gallop off into the woods to do some ill-conceived exploration; Scott seems perhaps somewhat less wildly enthusiastic than Stiles, though. He’s more concerned with Real Important High School Things, like getting a good night’s sleep before their first day of school tomorrow, and making first line on the lacrosse team, and probably being shirtless a lot. Scott also has a few important points to make, like “um, what if the crazed savage murderer is still OUT HERE IN THE WOODS, dude?” Does Stiles care? Nope, he absolutely does not.
They stagger up a hill, Scott fumbling all over the place for his asthma inhaler, and duck down just in time as line of policemen approaches. Stiles flees like a startled deer, and Scott is forced to flail along behind him. I get the feeling this is a pretty accurate representation of every single aspect of their relationship, tbh.
Predictably, Stiles is caught by his dad and another deputy, but Scott manages to hide (really ridiculously obviously IMO) behind a tree about 5 feet away. This does not say much for the detecting capabilities of the Sheriff’s Department, I tell you what.
Sheriff Stilinski is surprised to see his son gallivanting around the dark woods only because he seems to be alone and without his usual partner in crime, Scott. He doesn’t look like he believes a single word his son says about Scott staying home to get a good night’s sleep, but he hauls Stiles off to his car and sends him on his way anyway, leaving Scott alone in the woods.
OH GOODNESS WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE SHALL HAPPEN. I am sure I cannot possibly guess.
Scott clomps along grumpily through the woods, his only ride home long gone, and returns to his paranoid musings about the potential for terrible murderers to be lurking in the trees. Every little noise and creak and shadow starts looking suspicious to him. Scott stops for a moment to take another hit off his asthma inhaler, when suddenly WTF, he is galloped upon by a small herd of frightened deer. His inhaler goes flying off into the shadows.
In the breathless aftermath of his deer adventure, Scott turns on the flashlight app on his phone, looking for his inhaler. Instead, he finds something he was not at all prepared for—the mangled top half of a dead woman’s body. Oh man, Stiles is going to be so jealous.
Scott flails and panics and meebles and shrieks and falls ass over teakettle down a nearby hill. He spits out a faceful of leaves and dirt and prepares to flee like a frightened bunny, but an ominous sound stops him in his tracks. And right there in the shadows behind him is a gloriously ridiculous-looking CGI werewolf with glowing red eyes. Like seriously, so ridiculous that I had to pause the DVR and shriek giddily into my fists. It’s like they spent their entire production budget on that asthma inhaler.
The ridiculous werewolf springs onto Scott before he can fully process what the hell is even going on, and after a short and largely fruitless scuffle, RidicuWolf drags Scott off for a little nibbling. Teeth, claws, screaming, flailing—Scott has a first class ticket on the Hell No Train to ScrewThisVille. He finally manages to struggle free from his slobbery captor and bolts off into the night.
Scott clears the forest and limps out onto the road, where an SUV almost squashes him into a small pink smear on the concrete. And the car doesn’t even stop! What kind of total jerkfaces live in Beacon Hills anyway? This is an outrage and I am outraged.
Having not learned his lesson AT ALL, Scott remains standing right smack in the middle of the road, panting, and checks out his wounds—there’s a huge, nasty-looking bite bleeding sluggishly on his right side. Scott, my friend, this is just not your day, is it? Should’ve stayed home and kept your shirt off I guess.
Scott rides up to Beacon Hills High School on his bike (on his BIKE you guys he is so adorable I can’t even HE HAS A LITTLE HELMET) all relaxed and calm and smileyfaced, like he didn’t 01) trip over a demicorpse or 02) get bit by a RidicuWolf last night. Ah, high school! Behind him, a grey Porsche zips sassily into a nearby parking space, and my imaginary boyfriend Jackson Whittemore emerges, glorious and perfect. YES, PERFECT. IN EVERY WAY.
Okay, Jackson is kind of a douchebag, as is readily apparent in the way he smacks Scott with the door of his car. Scott looks startled and betrayed, because he is clearly a Nice Person who does Nice Things and cannot understand people who are not Nice To Others.
Bless his little cotton weresocks.
My imaginary boyfriend Jackson stops just long enough to tell Scott to “watch the paint job!” before sassing off somewhere else to be glorious and perfect. Scott boggles gormlessly.
Scott catches up with Stiles and they admire his nasty bite. Scott says he’s pretty sure it was a wolf that bit him, because he heard the howling, but Stiles laughs at him, telling him that there haven’t been wolves in California for at least 60 years. Well, if Stiles doesn’t believe the wolf story, he’s probably not going to believe the “I found the mangled partial corpse of a naked woman” story either, right?
Wrong! Stiles is beside himself with giddiness! Stiles, you adorable creeper, this is not just cause for a happy dance, no matter how delightful it is to behold. The only thing that can distract him from his gruesome glee is the approach of the girl he’s been crushing on since 3rd grade, Lydia Martin.
Despite his most suave attempts at catching her attention—and let’s face it, Stiles is maybe the least suave dude ever—Lydia gives him the cut direct and swans off into the school on a cloud of total and undeniable perfection. WERQ IT GURL.
Later, Scott and Stiles are seated in their first class of the day. The teacher, Mr Curtis, confirms the rumors that a mangled body was found in the woods, but since a suspect is already in custody, everyone can give their undivided attention to the syllabus instead, and get down with some Kafka. Sigh.
Scott is spooked out of his bored reverie by an incredibly loud ringing phone, which oddly enough, no one else seems to notice. He flails around a little bit until he notices that the ringing phone and subsequent conversation are actually happening about 100 feet away, outside his classroom and in front of the school.
DUN DUN DUUUUUN. Someone’s got some enhanced wolfy hearing going on! Scott stares at Phone Girl as the Vice Principal escorts her inside, blatantly eavesdropping on their conversation. Moments later, the classroom door opens and behold, it is Phone Girl, AKA Allison Argent, the utterly adorable New Girl In Town.
Scott and basically everyone else on Earth is immediately in love. His helplessly moony gaze is hilarious to behold.
Allison takes the only available seat left, conveniently located directly behind Scott. Scott immediately offers her a pen in some sort of confused mating ritual wherein the pen is an expression of his undying and eternal adoration. I mean, probably. Allison is momentarily baffled but seems to find him charming. Scott meebles delightedly.
After class, Scott lurks at his locker in a tragic attempt at nonchalance, and stares across the hall at Allison goofily. Seriously, there are not enough hilarious words in the entire English language to describe the gormless moobly looks that arrange themselves upon the ridiculous face of Scott McCall when Allison Argent is anywhere within a thousand mile radius. And Allison is no better! She is grinning back at him like a toddler who has just spied an entire birthday cake left unattended!
Lydia Martin saves the universe from their endless recursive wooby-face-making by prancing up to Allison and complimenting her wholly uninteresting jacket with great enthusiasm. Oh Lydia, my precious darling Regina George analogue! Allison explains that her mom picked it out, when she was a boutique buyer back in San Francisco, and Lydia announces that this means they must now be BFFs. Lydia’s boyfriend, the perfect glorious Jackson, arrives in the middle of their conversation and gives her a kiss hello.
Meanwhile, across the hall, Stiles, Scott, and a random unnamed girl are wondering how the New Girl ended up being friends with the most popular clique in the school in under an hour. SORCERY, no doubt. And also, as Stiles points out, because she is super hot.
Jackson and Lydia invite Allison to a party on Friday night, and she turns them down very sweetly, alleging that she has “family night” that night. Scott unashamedly eavesdrops from across the hall until Lydia and Jackson drag Allison off to watch lacrosse practice. Jackson preens a manly preen when Lydia announces that he is the captain of the team and is surely single-handedly responsible for the team’s successes over the past two seasons.
I LOVE HIM SO MUCH SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM.
Lacrosse practice! Lacrosse is a seriously silly-looking sport, and I am allowed to make fun of it because I am Native American, so there. As Scott and Stiles hurry out onto the field, Stiles is bitching about being left alone on the bench while Scott plays; Scott is barely paying attention to his BFF because ALLISON ALLISON ALLISON.
While Scott stares at her with his now-ubiquitous moony expression, Coach Finstock (who looks and acts like Xander Harris and Christopher Walken fell in love and made a crazy baby) flings an armful of equipment at Scott—he’s going to be the goalie for this practice session. Scott’s protests of never having played goalie before are wholly ignored by Coach Crazyface—he wants a rookie in the goal so the practice shooters can score with confidence. His only advice to Scott? “Try not to take any in the face.”
From the sidelines, Allison continues checking out Scott, and asks Lydia who he is. Lydia pretends not to know who he is, and wonders smirkily why Allison would even want to know. Her answer, “he’s in my English class,” is drowned out by the assistant coach’s whistle, the sound of which almost knocks Scott off his werefeet. Poor puppy.
Practice goes about as well as you’d expect at first; Scott gets smashed in the face a bit before recovering admirably and surprising everyone, most of all himself, with his brand new wolfy prowess. Try as they might, none of his teammates are able to score a single goal. Jackson is pretty much the only person who is not impressed, but even his very best shot can’t get in. Jackson’s pout increases when he realizes that Lydia is cheering wholeheartedly for Scott along with everyone else.
After school, Scott and Stiles are rambling through the woods looking for Scott’s lost inhaler/the mangled corpse and discussing Scott’s newfound mad skillz. It’s not just that he’s faster, he can hear and smell things that he shouldn’t be able to hear and smell, like the old piece of gum in Stiles’ pocket that even Stiles didn’t know was there. For example.
Scott’s worried that it all seems to have started with the bite—he thinks his body is fighting off a gross infection and the adrenaline is getting to him somehow. Stiles finds this as ridiculous as anyone else would, because he knows exactly what kind of infection this is. Entirely for the lulz, he strings Scott on with a mock-scientific description of the symptoms of lycanthropy, because he very clearly knows what a credulous derpface little puppy Scott is. HEE.
They reach the spot that Scott vaguely remembers but there’s no evidence that any dead body (or any lost inhaler) was ever there. Scott pokes around in the leaves for a moment when OMG DRAMATIC MUSIC CRASH there is suddenly a gorgeously grumpy man standing off to the side, broodingly.
It’s Derek Hotass Hale, and he wants them to get the hell off his private property. I honestly cannot imagine why Scott and Stiles are intimidated by him, because he is far more pretty than terrifying. Maybe they are intimidated by his magnificently lickable cheekbones.
Scott and Stiles fidget nervously while Derek glowers at them, and when Scott stammers that they were just looking for “something,” Derek flings the inhaler at him almost too fast to see. Scott catches it anyway, because WOLF SKILLZ.
Derek stomps away gorgeously, and Stiles seriously looks like he’s about to pop a gossip boner. He’s recognized Derek as the mysterious dude, only a few years older than them, who lost his entire family in a horrible fire 10 years ago. So what is he doing lurking sexily in the woods? ~*DRAMA*~
That evening, Scott is at his after school job at the local vet’s office. He helps himself to some supplies to clean out the bite on his side, but when he removes the bandage, the bite is completely gone—there’s not even a scar. Scott is super freaked out. Further freakage happens when he drags a huge sack of cat food into the cage area to feed the cat patients, and they all go catshit insane at his very presence.
Just as he flees the hissing spitting scene of madness, someone knocks frantically on the front door of the office. It’s Allison, looking super panicked out in the rain. She’s accidentally hit a dog with her car, and begs Scott for help. Girlfriend, please, he would give you one of his kidneys without a second thought.
She’s got the injured dog in the trunk of her car, and it freaks out a bit when they open the door. Scott uses his magic wolfy powers to soothe the dog, and Allison gazes at him with profound adoration. Oh god can you two please just have puppies already? This is getting ridiculous.
Back inside the office, Scott examines the dog and halfassedly diagnoses a broken leg. When he notices Allison shivering from her dousing in the rain, he full on TV Tropes her and says that he has a spare shirt in his bag IF SHE’D LIKE TO GET OUT OF THOSE WET CLOTHES. Allison goes outside the treatment room and turns her back to change out of her wet shirt. Of course Scott cannot possibly help himself and watches her every movement. The injured dog on the table stares at him judgmentally.
He wraps up the dog’s leg in a splint and flirts adorably with Allison a bit. As he walks Allison out to her car, Scott pounces like a goofily horny ninja and asks her to the party on Friday night, correctly deducing that she’d lied to Lydia and Jackson about her family night plans. Allison agrees to go with him and there is much squee throughout the land.
That night, as Scott is in bed, there is plenty more foolish grinning to himself. He falls asleep while staring up at the full moon.
What seems like only a few moments later, Scott awakens near dawn in his manties… facedown in a pile of leaves in the forest. Oopsie. Off in the foggy distance, he spots the RidicuWolf galloping about, and he wisely takes off in the opposite direction. One ill-timed fence-hop later, he’s flailing around in an innocent homeowner’s swimming pool. Oopsie: Redux. What is even going on with your life, Scott McCall?
The next day at school, Scott is confronted by an angry Jackson. Jackson’s convinced that Scott’s newfound athletic abilities are the product of steroid use. Since Scott is just about the densest derpface around, it takes him a few highly entertaining minutes to catch on to Jackson’s point.
Jackson: Where are you getting your JUICE?
Scott: Uh. My mom does all the grocery shopping?
Scott then has a panicwolf breakdown all over Jackson and wails out every last detail of all his current weirdnesses; Jackson, of course, thinks Scott is joking. He also very clearly thinks Scott is kind of an idiot, because this is the truest truth that ever trued.
Stiles chases Scott onto the field at lacrosse practice, but Scott has no time to stop and chat with him. That’s a damn shame, because Stiles has some interesting news: the forensic analysis of the body found in the woods shows traces of animal hairs left in the wounds… wolf hairs.
Coach Crazyface calls the team in for an inspiring speech, to which Scott pays zero attention, because ALLISON ALLISON ALLISON. Scott’s doing pretty well until Jackson knocks him onto his ass, at which point Scott gets maybe a little crazyface himself. Looks like he’ll be making first line this season after all.
After school, Stiles is at home, frantically Googling werewolfy things, but in all seriousness. He’s worked himself up into quite the froth over things by the time Scott shows up. Stiles’ increasingly over-detailed and panicked explanations first confuse and then irritate Scott—he’d much rather be off mooning over Allison somewhere, thank you very much. Stiles is totally relentless, prancing around Scott like a demented elf on meth, and Scott is just getting more and more pissed off.
Scott just wants to go and get ready for his date with Allison, and Stiles tries to hold him back for even more rambly werewolf lecturings, telling him to cancel the date. Stiles thinks that Scott’s going to be dangerous tonight—FROM BLOODLUST—not only to himself but to Allison as well, since Allison raises his heart rate like nothing else. Scott’s reaction? WOFLRAGE. Scott flings Stiles up against the wall, ready to smash him to tiny pieces, and catches himself just in time. They both look super shaken, and Scott flees.
As he cleans up the tantrumy mess Scott left, Stiles makes an unpleasant discovery—his desk chair has foot-long claw marks down the back. Bad wolf, no biscuit.
Scott’s mom is lying in wait for him when he comes out of the bathroom as he prepares for his date with Allison. Mama McCall wants to know if this is just a party with friends, or a DATE! Mooooom, you’re embarrassing the puppy! Scott admits that it’s kind of both, and her name is Allison and she is the bestest best girl in the whole world and coo gurgle squee etc.
Allison and Scott arrive at the party, and off in the shadows lurks Derek Hotass Hale. Ooh. Scott should probably spend some time pondering this fascinating development, but then Allison takes his hand and every single thought in his fluffy little head flies away forever, leaving nothing but ALLISON ALL DAY EVERY DAY.
Then they dance super awkwardly and, no lie, I shrieked with glee and fell off the couch.
The closer they get, the more Scott’s heart starts to speed up. He starts twitching kind of painfully, and leaves Allison standing alone on the dance floor like a sad disco song. Scott’s sweating and reeling with overwhelmingly weird physical sensations. He manages to stumble out to his car and drive unwisely away, because his guilty feet have got no rhythm.
Allison follows him but isn’t able to catch him before he zooms off. As she stands there kind of uncertainly, Derek walks up and introduces himself as a friend of Scott’s. RUH ROH.
Scott ends up at home in the bathtub, still half dressed, having a full-on wolfpanic attack. Right before his horrified eyes, his hands start to claw up and his mouth starts sprouting fangs. In the midst of all this wolfy madness, Stiles comes banging on Scott’s bedroom door to see if he’s okay, but Scott’s only concern is for Allison. Stiles promises him that she’s fine, and it’s like Scott isn’t even really listening, because he has the sudden revelation that the werewolf that bit him must be the one and only Derek Hotass Hale.
This shuts Stiles up more efficiently than anything else we’ve seen so far, because Derek is the one who drove Allison home from the party. Predictably, Scott flips his wolfly shit. He throws himself half-naked out his bedroom window, completely wolfing out on the way down.
Scott’s running wolfily through the woods, presumably searching for Allison; meanwhile, Stiles hauls ass over to Allison’s house to see if she’s made it home okay. Wait, how does he even know where she lives? Sigh.
(Oh man, the way Scott runs as a werewolf is easily the silliest thing about this already supremely silly show. WHO MADE THIS TERRIBLE PRODUCTION DECISION? Off with their heads!)
Mrs. Argent answers the door, and Stiles rambles on in his usual maniac way until Mrs Argent loses her patience completely and shouts for Allison, who appears to be totally unharmed, although maybe a little sad and annoyed. She recognizes Stiles as Scott’s friend and looks relieved to see him.
Out in the woods, Wolfly Scott is galloping around like an idiot until he spies Allison’s jacket thrown over a tree branch. MORE WOLFLY PANIC! He’s shouting for Allison with a ridiculous lisp around his mouthful of wolf teeths, and surprisingly gets an answer from off in the shadows. Derek tells him that Allison is safe… from him and his wolfly bloodlusts, that is.
Derek throws Scott to the ground and tells him to shut up, but it’s too late—apparently they’ve been spotted by a … what? A gang of werewolf hunters? Really?
A crossbow bolt hits Scott in the arm, pinning him to a tree. Mmm, the lead hunter is one tasty-looking dude. With Scott pinned and helpless, they move in for the kill, only to find Derek picking them off one by one from behind. Scott pulls himself loose and he and Derek run like hell.
Scott unwolfs completely in his panic, and then tableflip ragequits all over Derek for ruining his goofy teenage life. Derek quite rationally points out that Scott is now faster, stronger, and generally way more awesome than before, and should be grateful for the gift he’s been given. Scott, as usual, boggles.
It’s a good thing you’re pretty, Scott McCall.
Anyway, he and Derek are wolfly brothers now so he’d better get used to it.
That morning, as Scott stumbles home all shirtless and cranky, Stiles pulls up in his rickety old jeep and somehow, I cannot possibly imagine how, but somehow manages not to shout OH MY GOD DUDE I TOLD YOU SO and do an extremely obnoxious victory dance.
Scott’s more worried that Allison hates him now than he is about the fact that he is totally and completely a goddamn werewolf all of a sudden. I love his priorities so much, you guys. SO MUCH.
Stiles has two delightful pieces of advice for Scott: he can either apologize profusely to Allison and hope she forgives him, or he can confess the entire sordid truth of his wolfliness! Scott doesn’t look thrilled by either suggestion, and his little puppy face just falls so tragically. Aww. Stiles is no match for the puppy eyes of woe, and he promises Scott that they’ll get through all this somehow—he’ll chain Scott up during the full moon and feed him live mice if he has to!
Stiles? You are the awesomest thing ever to awesome.
The next day at school, Scott’s sitting outside, nervously waiting for Allison. She stalks by him kind of pissily, wanting to know why the hell he left her stranded at the party. Scott grovels admirably and soon all is forgiven, because Allison is also no match for the puppy eyes of woe.
They are moments away from a reconciliation makeout when they’re interrupted by a horn honking—it’s Allison’s dad coming to pick her up from school. When she runs off to the car, Scott gets a sort of creepy feeling and turns back to see the cause, and oh man. Allison’s dad? Yeah, he’s the main hunter dude from the woods last night. Mr. Argent smiles at Scott blandly, and it’s really hard to tell if he recognizes him as the scared wolfy kid or not. Scott sort of waves a feeble little halfhearted wave and looks supremely uncomfortable.
I, of course, cackle quite madly.