#zonked on space weed

[nem0c]

Politely but firmly asked to leave the function

Gray Lensman, E. E. ‘Doc’ Smith, Astounding Science Fiction, 1939 Illustration: Charles Schneeman

[angel-blitz]

This pictures so fucking funny they look like they just took the fattest hit off a bong and are trying to act natural so they don't get in trouble

[ronearoundblindly]

How the Unknown Have Fallen

part of the Autumn Is Healing series (see previous)

Steve Rogers x super soldier!reader

Warnings for canon typical dark themes (Hydra Soldiers were treated very badly--shocker) WC 1.8k

There’s no record of the name you give, not officially. It would help if you gave a birthday, but even that you aren’t sure of.

They’re trying to give you space. No one wants to interrogate you right after you’ve woken up as yourself for the first time in…who knows how long.

But they can’t find anything. Nothing. Nada. It’s not the usual ‘nothing’ they find when Hydra erases someone either, and when Maria Hill finally gets frustrated enough to go in and ask you specifics, she understands why.

Your mother was a hippie before hippies were cool. A free spirit. A free enough spirit that she never knew who your father was, and as a kid, it didn’t matter to you. By the time you would have been going to school, your mom relocated you both to a communal living situation in the middle of nowhere. No paperwork, no records, no identification.

You aren’t even sure the last name you remember was real or the general, adopted name of everyone in the commune. Maria gets uncomfortable while your emotions run away (briefly) at that realization.

You helped the other kids and adults grow the food for the group. Steve understands now that you were reciting plant names, not speaking Latin, when you woke up from your nightmare. You—real you, not Autumn-you—likes gardening. No wonder you buried your hands in the dirt the second your brainwashing was cleared.

Nature is soothing to you. That’s your happy-place. 

However, hallucinogenic plants were also very popular to grow, and since they could make the commune a bit of money (or be traded for essentials), you helped grow a lot of those, too. Drug culture in the ‘70s drove your mom to a series of boyfriends. You stopped living with her at 15, but you didn’t know how to have a real life. How does one get a job and find stable shelter without an identity? You only knew about a few things, so you grew weed on a farm with a handful of sketchy guys.

The day Hydra took you, you’d gone to the house with your ‘co-worker’ to sell what pot you could. When finished, on the way back to the car, the guy—your sorta-co-worker—made a pass at you and got angry when you pushed him off. He drove off without you.

You went back inside to find a phone or a place to stay the night. That’s when you saw men in all black wandering though the zonked junkies, grabbing a few men and women, dragging them out the back.

A cloth went over your face and...

You stop talking to Maria. It just all stops. She can’t get anything else, not another word, not about your past, not about getting you food or water, not even asking what your favorite things to grow are.

Hours go by. Bucky can’t get you to speak. Neither can Nat. Bruce goes in to check on you physically, but he doesn’t really try to strike up conversation. He purposefully asks yes or no questions so that you can nod or shake your head. Then you’re left alone.

Steve stays perfectly calm on the outside, but he is moved to his core. He’s sad that all those shitty circumstances lined up to drop you in harm’s way and that no one was looking to get you out, no one wanted you back.

To be fair, you had nothing to go back to anyway.

Maria Hill can’t start the process of making you an official person, not with so little information, and she can see how on edge you still are. She doesn’t want to ask if that name you gave—the one that has no real history yet all that baggage—is what you want to return to.

While Hill leaves your fate dangling—for now—Steve has an idea.

You mentioned where your mother first met the folks from the commune: Woodstock.

He sets F.R.I.D.A.Y. to run partial facial recognition on all photographs from those three days in 1969, and yes, maybe it’s a long shot, but it can’t hurt. He has no idea if he’ll find anything, so he doesn’t tell anyone.

Hours. More hours. Hours where he tries to come up with any other wild idea just in case this one goes absolutely nowhere, like it seems to be going, all night.

It’s the next morning when Steve finally gets a ping, and he gasps.

He’s never seen or met the woman in the photo, but he knows. You look just like your mother except for your chin—brows, eyes, nose, even your smile (though he’s seen that fleetingly at best). And it’s you, for sure it is you, about five years old, in a potato sack dress with a flower crown on, arms high and laughing while your mom crouches in the grass with you. One cheek is painted with an obscured design.

He looks at the image far too long and considers what he’s about to do far too little.

“I forgot about the tattoo,” you whisper, running a finger along the woman in the photo’s inner wrist. It’s extremely hard to see but further proof that you recognize her. You strategically ignore yourself in the picture.

Steve finds himself wondering if you have any tattoos, or if you did, if you got any before the serum, or if your serum was even like his in that way. He misses the signs that you’re about to explode.

He sees just one tear drip down to the tablet he placed in front of you before—SMASH—it’s flung across the room and shattered against the wall.

The screaming goes on for a long time. It rings in his ears even after he’s forced out of the room while Banner tries to give you a sedative.

“You can’t call her that,” Steve barks.

No. No. Even if you don’t have attachment to the name you told him the instant you woke up, they are not calling you ‘Autumn.’ No. It’s disgraceful.

“Why?” You look at him with huge, innocent eyes.

“It’d be like Bucky being called Winter,” Steve nearly shouts. Why can’t anyone see how bad that is?

Bucky clears his throat. “Some people do actually call me that.”

“But not permanently.” He tosses his arm out to point at Maria’s tablet, where the Director is filling out paperwork to give you an identity. “That’s not who you—“ Steve turns to Buck “—that’s not who she is.”

Your identity cannot be your damn Hydra codename. No. Steve won’t allow it.

“They don’t,” you start quietly, “call us by, I mean, they never spoke to us using those names. They don’t—didn’t—really talk to us at all. It’s just orders or speaking over us.”

Bucky nods, and Steve understands that but…no.

“Well, what did they call you?”

Your eyes flicker over to Bucky. “Just…just Soldier…eventually.”

A chill races over Steve’s skin at the implication, and he very, very carefully asks, “and before that?”

Your lip twitches, but not in amusement. You hold his gaze in silence for a long beat until you can’t look at him anymore.

Steve knows you say the word purposefully low, too quiet for anyone other than supers to hear. The mics in the room’s surveillance won’t pick it up. The cameras won’t even register that your mouth moved. Hill is too busy typing in ‘Autumn’ as your chosen name, but he hears it.

“Mare.”

He’s been lanced through the gut. He can feel blood pouring out of him in sympathetic horror. Steve’s eyes dart to Bucky, and then he double-takes because Bucky is not at all surprised.

“What the hell,” Steve breathes.

Bucky shakes his head tightly. A conversation for another time, punk. He needs to let it go. Steve can’t ask, but he’s bleeding-out to know.

Come to think of it, with all the languages used by various branches of Hydra, Steve isn’t sure whether you said “mère” as in French for mother or “mare” as in a breeding age horse. Either is still horrifying.

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, checking in wordlessly with Bucky as he struggles to think of…anything else.

“You—“ he starts, but Maria cuts him off.

“Preferred last name?”

You remain transfixed by the floor, and Steve almost—almost—just says it. He almost offers up his name because he wants you to know you deserve family, real family, except Bucky beats him to it.

“Barnes. She can be a Barnes.”

Your head snaps up at that.

“If you want,” Bucky corrects, shrugging. “I always had a lotta sisters.���

Yeah, that’s…that’s fair, Steve thinks, it makes the most sense. You have far more shared history with Bucky. He understands you more than Steve can right now, but there’s still a pang, a little itch in the back of his mind, a teeny tiny what if.

“Don’t know that we need to bother with a middle name,” Maria mumbles, making her way to the door.

You stand up abruptly.

“Rose.”

And that’s, well, that’s something Steve can get behind. His brain automatically tries it over and over again, except as Rosie. Rosie.

“I like—I like the flower names, nature ones,” you add shyly, brushing it off like it’s something stupid and childish.

Maria instantly softens, relaxing her tablet to her side. She looks you directly in the eye.

“It’s lovely,” and Steve can tell Hill means it, smiling before nodding and leaving your ‘room.’

“A good, classic Barnes name,” Bucky postures. He steps forward to rub his hand across your back, and Steve watches the tension visibly drain out of your high shoulders. “Maybe tomorrow—“ Buck makes his own way toward the door, standing firmly at Steve’s side “—we can see a man about a little square of dirt outside?” He shrugs too. “Or something.”

Steve was right. You have your mother’s smile, but he’s less happy about that than he is at just seeing you smile. 

Bucky smacks him across the chest to get Steve to follow, and because Bucky has known Steve a hundred years or so, he gives Steve an in.

“Sleep tight, Rosie. We’re here if you need us.”

You’re still smiling, excitedly nodding, and saying thank you to your brand new big brother…and his awkward best friend.

“Night, Rosie,” Steve says softly, far more intimately than he intended.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

His shattered, drained, crushed little heart mends itself from the superglue of your joyful voice.

You give a small wave. “See you tomorrow.”

Shit. I am so wildly, miserably obsessed with this dynamic, it's not even funny. Hope you enjoyed this, and I promise a lot more fluff to come from these guys (along with one angsty/fight one but shhh).

Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated, and my asks are open for all your ranting/headcanon needs!

[Main Masterlist]

absolutely, crazy adorable dividers by @silkholland

[Chronological Next Part]

[solesurvivingmom]

Eddie saves Chrissy from Vecna

TW: Mentions of drug abuse

For @short-rain sent me it, and so I’m going to post the head canon. So it’s my version, but hopefully it makes you happy reading it? Anyways. 

So, Chrissy does not die from Vecna. There is a reason why and it’s rather simple: Eddie saves her. This is both on accident and on purpose. So I want to say it’s talked about that Eddie’s biological dad has been in and out of prison. Assault, drunk driving, drug possession- the things that would lead to a very complicated life in the legal system. With this it would also play in hand with why Eddie has and knows people with access to drugs. Let’s not forget that he was going to sell Chrissy Ketamine, which if you’re not aware of it: 

Ketamine is a medication primarily used for induction and maintenance of anesthesia. It induces dissociative anesthesia, a trance-like state providing pain relief, sedation, and amnesia.

Now that we understand what Ketamine is, we know that it’s powerful and it would leave Chrissy zonked the fuck out! So Eddie is both good guy, and not. The unfortunate misunderstood kid that was dealt a shitty hand in life. So onto the head canon! 

So. Eddie saves Chrissy from being Vecna’d. 

Eddie has quote unquote been a mediocre dealer through his 19-20 years of life. It is Hawkins. The city is small, everyone is judgmental and depressed, most people want to get blitzed out of their mind and not think for a few hours. So that is where he’s figuring Chrissy wants to be. He saw it in her eyes were they were in the woods. She was exhausted, she was stressed, she wanted to get out of her head. When she mentioned something strong than weed, he knew that he could get her hooked up with something. Equally he also knew that she would be safe with him while she’s out like a light! That was his train of thought though when he went searching for this. At the time he didn’t realize that Vecna had managed to get into Chrissy’s mind. So our boy Eddie, he’s searching. He wants to help. 

He’s had a crush on Chrissy for YEARS. Now he gets to be her unconventional knight in shining armor, and they get to be high together. Intimate stoner thoughts, and he’s giddy in his sneakers for it. But he comes back to see her... spaced out. He’s seen something similar to this a few times in his life. 

While Eddie’s dad is a piece of shit, he was still in and out of Eddie’s life. Those times always left their mark on Eddie. The one time he can remember is when his dad was holy shit high, and near blackout drunk. Eddie didn’t know what to do as a child while watching his father unable to function correctly. He was a grownup! Grownups are supposed to grownups and supposed to know what to do, and yet his dad is not doing that. Any time that this happened and his dad was in this state, Eddie would find something to play music with. Eddie would either use cassettes, record players, later on would be a guitar when his dad would be in this state. This would always calm Eddie’s dad down, and he’d usually collapse onto the couch and it’d buy Eddie time to call his uncle Wayne who would be there to help. 

So when Eddie comes back from looking for something for Chrissy and sees her like this, he’s trying to figure out what to do when she won’t respond to him. She’s not high, he knows this. They haven’t even been able to smoke a bowl, or have an edible etc. He knows she’s sober, so why are her eyes rolled back in her head? Why isn’t she responding to him when he tries to get her to snap out of it? What the fuck is the girl he’s had a crush doing this? What. The. Absolute. Fuck!!!? He’s sort of panicking right then when she doesn’t snap out of it no matter how many times he snapped his fingers, clapped in front of her face, or shook her shoulders. If Wayne got home from work and saw her like this- he was fucking dead! 

Eddie then tries to think over what he can do. Should he call an ambulance? No. No! Most certainly not! Okay so he can’t call the ambulance because he’d be immediately arrested, and the city would want to see him hang. Even if capital punishment wasn’t the thing in 1986; wouldn’t stop people like Jason from trying to hang him! Okay can’t do that. He doesn’t know her folks phone number, so can’t call them. Not like he would, they’d probably kill him. FUCK! Eddie is panicking, he’s trying to think fast, he’s trying to figure how to get her to snap out of it. 

Wait... wait.... what helped his dad? WHY THE FUCK IS SHE FLOATING?!

I would think his reaction of going what the fuck is appropriate. I personally would go what the fuck. In his living room he has his ultimate crush, she is not responding to him, her eyes are rolled back, and now she is floating in the air. I would have tripped and fell on my ass as well. We are with you Eddie, we’d freak out as well. 

Eddie is in a legitimate state of shock watching her hang suspended in the air. For a brief moment he feels like he’s a child again watching his dad unable to stand upright, unable to form coherent words, and he finds himself helpless and useless. But, what’s different from that first time to now is that he’s not a useless child anymore. There is desperate attempt to get back up to his feet and he starts to try to find something to get her attention. First it’s cranking the radio on to whatever country radio station Wayne has. Nope. Nothing. Chrissy is actually floating higher and that panic is now fear that something terrible is going to happen to her! 

Country music isn’t helping, so he he turns it up louder hoping that will help to get her attention and snap her out of whatever is happening. It doesn’t. Okay, what about different radio station? Music! Music helps him to calm down, and helped to make his dad stop being unpredictable. He is fumbling with the dial switch on the radio until it lands on something, and he pauses before he’s frantically trying to find a different radio station. 

And when she knows what

She wants from her time

And when she wakes up

And makes up her mind

God he hates that song, but in that moment it’s the best song in the world because he swore to God he saw her face twitch. He turns that volume up as loud as it can go, and he’s trying to remember the lyrics. He’s mumbling/half singing- mostly screaming those lyrics at her. There is a moment of real genuine disbelief when he sees her head shaking, and her face contorting to a focused expression. He’s praying that this works, has to! 

Uptown girl

You know I can't afford to buy her pearls

But maybe someday when my ship comes in

She'll understand what kind of guy I've been

And then I'll win

He remembers those lyrics because his aunt used to sing them before she divorced Wayne. He screams those at Chrissy with all the absolute desperation that his vocal cords can endure. Suddenly... she’s falling from being the world’s most fucked up chandelier in his uncle’s trailer. 

Eddie runs forward and partially catches her. They both land on the ground, he helps to dampen the harsh landing on old trampled carpet, and she’s breathing. She’s blinking and looking wildly around, and then looking at him. He’s looking at her face, pushing her hair away trying to make sure he’s not losing his mind and that she’s -back-. Eventually that immediate shock of realizing that she’s not going to be Vecna’d falls over her, and she breaks down, SOBBING into his chest. Eddie is still trying to figure out what happened, and he’s trying to figure out from having that ever happen again. He holds onto her, and silently vows to never let that happen to her, or anyone else. 

[lucidpantone]

Ok firstly for all those who dont live in green states or NL space cakes can fuck you up for hours. Especially because in Belgium weed isn't legal so the person selling it to you probably doesn't know the strength of it. So your buying whatever. Here you buy them in strength like a super light one or one that will zonk you out for hours or make you a zombie and you get to decide the strain you want. Elias a dumb dumb and probably ate the whole thing not knowing the strength or strain and this my friends is why black market edibles are a lil scary. Here its all regulated and the dispensary has to disclose everything about the product.

[rawberry101]

tag game

I was tagged by @clio-is-amused I’d have tagged you if you hadn’t tagged me first

rules: tag 9 people who you want to know better / catch up with and then answer these questions

last song: Melissa by the Allman Brothers (I don’t think I’d ever heard it before lol it’s alright). I don’t have any kind of attachment to this song so one that’s been stuck in my head of the last day or two is Going Up the Country by Canned Heat since I’m going through a classic rock bender. I love that song

last movie: Just finished watching Snatch. It’s a really good flick if you’re into the genre

currently reading: The Brothers Karamazov. I loved Crime and Punishment in high school so I’m gonna assume Dostoevsky lives up to his name and this is also good. It’s hard to tell because I’m only 300 pages in and the main plot hasn’t started yet.

currently watching: I honestly don’t watch a lot of tv anymore. I rewatched Planet Earth last which is completely stunning of course. It made me feel like a kid watching Animal Planet again. Might do a Ken Burns doc and really get into my wheelhouse soon

currently craving: Honestly I only had like 4 hours sleep last night so some weed would be nice and that’ll zonk me out

working on anything rn?: I’m doing some writing for my college football blog. Which is hilarious because I think the season is gonna be cancelled any minute because of covid.

currently playing: I really don’t play video games anymore but due to quarantine I broke out a pokemon emulator and beat the Firered elite four using only Normal types which was a cool challenge

No pressure to actually answer but if you have the time and inclination go for it @afroditaes, @offendedovary, @dweemeister, @2001-a-space-oddity, @nflstreet, @thegingerstagemanager, @cloudberried, @saintvancent, @firewhiskeydreams

[heathergoffrier]

9 Ways To Be Insanely Productive When You Have A Newborn At Home

As a mom, it's hard to get stuff done when you have a newborn. Get 9 hacks to help complete your to-do list, plus my free guide "How To Start An Infant Sleep Schedule." Click here to download

We hope you enjoy the products we recommend!  This post may contain affiliate links. That means we get a portion of the commission if you click through and make a purchase, but you don't pay a cent more. Thank you for supporting our small business as we strive to help you rock mom life! I scooted onto my chair at the table where a plate of piping hot food sat waiting for me. My stomach growled as the yummy smells enticed me to dive in. Then I heard it. "Waaaaaaaaaa!" How does she always know when I'm about to eat? I moaned as I left the deliciousness right where it sat and went to scoop up my newborn baby. The meal would have to wait. I can't tell you how often I'm about to do something-- whether eat, clean something up, or just check another item off my to-do list, when I'm sucked away by the needs of one of my children. That's the nature of mom life! But as much as we love to care for our kids, we moms gotta get stuff done once in a while! Use my tried and true tips below to help you accomplish your daily goals, even with a newborn baby in the house.

1- Use An Infant Sleep Schedule

An infant sleep schedule, also known as a baby routine, gives you pockets of time when you know your newborn will be napping. Though I don't recommend going exactly "by the clock," using a routine helps you have predictable windows in your schedule where you are free to get stuff done. In addition, implementing a gentle routine at a young age can often help your child sleep through the night within the first few months of life. When baby and mama are getting more rest, your daily productivity soars!

Get started today with a gentle routine by grabbing my free guide "How To Start An Infant Sleep Schedule." 

2- Put Baby In A Safe Space

You can get a lot done by putting baby in a safe space for short spurts at a time. They can play, bounce, or check out the scenery while you cook, clean, shower, or even read a magazine. (What?! Who has time for that?! LOL) *Note that some of these spaces aren't approved for sleep. Safe Spaces include: Crib or Pack n' PlayBouncer- place the bouncer by a window (out of direct sunlight) to let them see what's outside. Baby swing Play gym- You can set this on the bathroom floor and take a shower-- mom win! Rock n Play

3- Use Short Bursts

Sometimes you only get a few minutes of downtime in the craziness when you have a newborn. Capitalize on the brief pauses and get something done... empty the dishwasher, change over a load of laundry, or wipe down the counters. 5 minutes of productivity here and there adds up to a lot of tasks checked off your (long) list.

Taking a quick nap between laundry loads... wishful thinking?

4- Get In A Routine

Start a new habit of doing some of the same things each day at the same time. For example, I try to start a load of laundry each morning during the week. Then when I get a break in the day, I can change it from washer to dryer. My husband and I often end up folding clothes after the kids are down for the night. I purposefully take a break on at least one weekend day, so sometimes that means doing two loads in a day. But at least the habit of doing a load each morning keeps dirty laundry from piling up too badly. This has been a work in progress in different houses, because each time we move with the military, the laundry is in a different location and I have to start a new routine. Once my washer and dryer were in a detached garage on the back of the property. I was pregnant at the time, so laundry really stacked up during those months! RELATED: THESE 5 DAILY ROUTINE HACKS MAKE MY MORNINGS WAY EASIER WITH KIDS

Am I the only one who purposely buys clothes I don't have to iron?

5- Wear the Baby

I'm not huge on baby-wearing but it does have its perks. Reasons I don't wear baby around the house much are: It hurts my backIt throws her off her sleeping routine, andIt's hard to bend over or sit down without waking the baby Still, there are times when it's necessary. For me, the main time I wore my third newborn was when everything was chaos in the house and I didn't have time to settle her down before I solved whatever disaster was happening with the big girls. I also use my Ergo Carrier in the grocery stores, traveling, or if I'm gone from home all day and need a guaranteed place she'll nap away from her crib.

6- Bring Baby Along

0-3-month-old babies tend to be extremely portable. We could always take our newborns out to dinner or to visit friends and they would sleep in the car seat. I also took them to the grocery store or on other errands. After about three months, our kids became more wakeful and would fuss and require a lot more attention. If you have your newborn on a schedule, you will have a lot more success taking him or her on an errand, because you'll know what time of day works best. And even as baby gets older, a routine allows you to travel with baby without much effort. I flew our youngest to Hawaii when she was 5 months old to meet her daddy for the first time. Her routine helped her sleep so well, even with a three-hour time difference! You can read that story here. I give you my step-by-step process for my daily routine in the free guide "How To Start An Infant Sleep Schedule."

Pin this to your fav board on Pinterest!

7- Use Nap Time To Get Stuff Done

People always told me, "sleep when baby is sleeping." But being the productive person that I am try to be, I would always get busy on my to-do list as soon as the newborn zonked out. I mean, when else can you get anything done??? Ok, so now as a mom of three-- who's had two c-sections-- I will say, it is UBER important to get your rest! For your own sanity, for your body's healing, and let's face it... for everyone else's sanity too. (wink)

8- Ask For Help

Somes you just need an hour or two to yourself to get stuff done without worrying that baby will wake up early from a nap. Time to bring in the reinforcements. Ask a family member, friend, or hire a babysitter to watch baby for you. I know sometimes the thought of leaving your newborn is too scary. The good news is, you can hire a mother's helper who can help with chores around the house or care for baby while you're still home. I've used Sittercity.com and found great babysitters. (You do have to weed through them a bit).  Care.com is another site friends have used to find sitters.

9- Access Childcare At The Gym

It might be worth signing up for a gym membership just for the childcare. I know several moms who go to the YMCA for the sole reason that they can take a nice long shower while their baby was in the kids' room. In Virginia, I used to go to the gym and use the wifi for blogging while my oldest played. IMPORTANT RESOURCES FOR GETTING STUFF DONE: A Safe Space for baby Efficiency during down timeNew habits you do each day to move toward your goalsA Baby carrier or wrapDetermination to get out of the houseA willingness to find/ask for helpGym membershipA Newborn Sleep Schedule (You can download my free guide "How To Start A Newborn Sleep Schedule" if you need help getting started! Click here to download) Sometimes you have to get creative to get stuff done. And hopefully next time you're sucked away from your to-do list by the needs of your baby, you'll be able to get right back to it by putting these tips into action!

For getting the best sleep at night, don't miss my free printable guide "How To Start An Infant Sleep Schedule." 

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[mastcomm]

Tom Ford’s ‘Very L.A.’ Show

LOS ANGELES — Is celebrity a status or an incurable cultural condition? The question came to mind when, on the Friday before the national holiday that is the Oscars, Tom Ford held his 2020 show in Los Angeles.

Sure, there are those who consider it heretical for the newly named chairman of the Council of Fashion Designers of America to turn his back on New York Fashion Week, which has just begun, and show in the town he calls home.

Yet those people lack Mr. Ford’s knack for gaming Instagram. And they certainly don’t have his ability to unfurl a red carpet outside a vast industrial space set along the windy reaches of Cahuenga Boulevard and lure to it all the shiny famous people dressed up in his clothes like paper dolls.

A bystander risked whiplash trying to keep track as Jennifer Lopez (black Tom Ford cocktail dress with a plunging neckline; crystal peep-toes, and spit curl glued to her forehead by Chris Appleton, hairdresser to the stars) swanned past Renée Zellweger (suede and lace Tom Ford pencil skirt with suggestive bow at the crotch). And Lil Nas X (red leopard embroidered Tom Ford suit) was seen passing through the shadow cast by the human sequoia Jason Momoa (rust Tom Ford Western jacket). And Tracee Ellis Ross (black Tom Ford cape dress with Ka-pow embroidery) made small talk with Jon Hamm (sky blue Tom Ford silk suit and Common Projects sneakers) — as someone nearby hissed behind her hand that a guest walking by just then was the former girlfriend who Sumner Redstone, the nonagenarian media magnate, once sued for millions, claiming elder abuse.

“I’ve been to two fashion shows in my life,’’ Mr. Hamm mentioned afterward to this reporter, referring to this one and Paul Smith’s 50th anniversary show in Paris last month. “What stands out for me is that Tom Ford really, really cares about the details.’’ #truth.

In many ways as much a social engineer as a fashion designer (and, as he often points out, a detail-obsessed Virgo), Mr. Ford made certain that, when the celebrity armada began arriving in waves, the black-suited and obligatorily handsome cater-waiters were poised and ready with trays of Champagne and chilled margaritas; that the vases on plinths were spilling over with branches of flowering cherry; that the carpeted show space was filled with low velvet banquettes and specially installed opera boxes, each with its own full bar and server; and that everyone in the place was sure to have a good sight line on the catwalk and, just as crucially, the front row.

The fun of these things — and maybe even the point — is less the fashion show itself than the opportunity to ogle A-list people like Miley Cyrus (halter neck Tom Ford jumpsuit) inadvertently demonstrating the importance of bra tape and Anna Wintour practicing her underappreciated coquetry on Jeff Bezos (black Tom Ford Atticus suit). And Demi Moore rearranging the asymmetric hem of her dress (Tom Ford lace with embroidered croco vest) to keep her knees covered since Ms. Moore — as the tabloids have cruelly, relentlessly noted — suffers, despite her miraculously preserved facial beauty, from the curse of “kninkles.’’ Google it.

There was a fashion show, of course, a vaguely jumbled collection of rolled-sleeve T-shirts and patchwork denim skirts that looked like something a person might wear to the Santa Monica Farmers Market and a leopard spotted duster tossed over a gray athletic suit and a floaty tie-dyed caftan in sunset orange that made one wish Sue Mengers, the storied Hollywood agent, were still alive to wear it.

The whole thing was supposed to be “very L.A.,’’ as Mr. Ford said beforehand — and had been inspired by a 1967 Bob Richardson photograph of Baron Alexis de Waldner and the model Donna Mitchell kept pinned to his mood board throughout the collection’s creation.

In that photo (which may have been taken in Paris) the baron holds a cigarette or, more likely, a joint up to the parted lips of Ms. Mitchell, who looks fully zonked. Weed references are always relevant when characterizing Los Angeles, or, anyway, certain of its West side ZIP codes. So, too is that admixture of high glamour and drawstring comfort that defines the actual relationship between Hollywood and fashion.

By now everybody must know that all the fancy finery worn by the celebrity Cinderellas at Mr. Ford’s show, as at the Grammys, the Golden Globes and the Academy Awards, is borrowed. They preen and twirl. They step and repeat. They make certain always to name-check their designer benefactors for E!

Then the evening ends, the clothes are put back on hangers for the stylists to return in the morning and the celebrity talent does that most L.A. thing of all and tugs on some sweats.

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