#zymurgy

[mybuddyjimmy]

Zymurgy

Zymurgy [ZY-mər-jee] Part of speech: noun Origin: Greek, mid-19th century 1. The study or practice of fermentation in brewing, winemaking, or distilling. Examples of zymurgy in a sentence “Zach loved experimenting with new zymurgy techniques.” “The distillery offered zymurgy classes as part of its facility tour.” #wordoftheday

[timebentrose]

Its ravenous greed and hunger was its end.

Smells like radiation.

Here, I don't want it, You have it, The bird I hate, Be careful it bites and will spread disease for it is overdosed on Ichor and whatever other Gods it could ferociously attack.

Sending it to you, right now.

MIKE!

The nukes!

[whisperedmeg]

BLIND CONTOUR ―.✦ s.r. soft animal series ∘ part x

pairing: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

summary: an HR training forces her to reckon with how it all began — the softness she offered, the power she didn’t realize she held. then a prison lockdown leaves her bloodied, trembling, and safe only in his arms. he holds her like something he never wants to erase.

genre: hurt/comfort, smut

w/c: 3.6k

tags/warnings: post-prison spencer, discussion of power dynamics/imbalance, prison lockdown, mentions of blood/injury, sort of a hostage situation, shower scene, unprotected p in v (unprotected as in no condom but it’s established she’s on bc and don’t worry this isn’t a setup for an unplanned pregnancy trope I promise lmao), crying during sex, multiple orgasms, aftercare/cuddling

a/n: this chapter is kind of all over the place, but I think it’s an important one for a bunch of reasons. as always, I appreciate all comments/likes/reblogs more than I can even express! thank you sm to everyone who has followed the series so far 🫶🏼 part 11 is coming sometime next week. can’t believe there’s only 3 more chapters left 🥲

series masterlist

The PowerPoint projected onto the wall said Ethical Conduct in Correctional Health Settings, but it might as well have said This Will Ruin Your Morning.

I sat in the breakroom with lukewarm coffee and five other nurses while a representative from HR clicked through slides that felt vaguely threatening. Phrases like dual relationships and over-identification floated across the screen in dull font, all framed in neutral language that still made my stomach twist.

“Inmate patients often misinterpret kindness as romantic or personal interest,” the presenter said. “This can lead to inappropriate attachment behaviors, especially if boundaries aren’t clear.”

I stared at my coffee. It had gone cold.

The slide changed. Power Dynamics in Clinical Encounters. A list of bullet points followed — positional authority, dependency for care, zone of helpfulness.

And all I could think about was Spencer.

Not the version of him now — not my Spencer, folded into our shared Saturday mornings eating yogurt with the foil lid still attached. No, the version from Millburn. Hollow-eyed. Quiet. Clever, even when he didn’t speak. The man who used a chessboard to communicate and didn’t smile often, but when he did, it made me weak in the knees.

I thought about the first time he beat me in Scrabble. He used words like flybys and zymurgy and quixotic so casually, as if that was something normal people did during a concussion screening. I thought about how I’d smiled at him like a secret. About how he’d looked at me like I was oxygen.

I’d always let him stay in the infirmary longer than he needed to. I’d played games with him, let him talk to me, given him back a piece of control over his time, his choices. It had felt harmless. Gentle, even. But the truth was, I had been the one holding all the power, even when I thought I was just showing him kindness.

He hadn’t been allowed to decide anything about his own life back then — not what he wore, or when he ate, or where he slept. So I let him decide whether we played chess or Scrabble. I let him talk to me like he was a person instead of a number, and I told myself that meant we were equal. But we weren’t. I was the one who got to walk out at the end of the day. I was the one with the badge, the authority, the agency.

I wasn’t ashamed of loving him. But for the first time, I realized how much of that love had started when he had no other choice but to trust the only softness available. I wasn’t wrong to care for him. But I hadn’t seen just how deeply the system had narrowed his options — or how easily love can grow toward the only open window, like a tiny plant stuck in the shadows, stretching desperately towards the sun.

The session ended. Someone made a joke about how none of us had time for “romantic inmate drama” anyway. Everyone laughed. But I felt sick.

—

When I got to Spencer’s place after my shift, he was on the couch, legs tangled in a blanket, a book open on his lap. His glasses had slipped down his nose and his curls were in full rebellion.

“Hey,” he said, looking up. “You okay?”

I dropped my bag by the door and kicked off my shoes. “Yeah. Just work stuff.”

He watched me cross the room and then set his book aside. I sat down and curled in beside him, resting my head on his shoulder.

I thought about how people — people like Spencer — study faces. I’d spent so many hours trying to read Spencer’s back then, trying to interpret the distance in his gaze, the calculation in his stillness. And now, watching him beside me, I realized I wanted to be read, too.

After a moment, I said, “Will you draw me?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Like in an art class. Blind contour. You don’t look down. You don’t lift your pen. You just draw what you see.”

“Baby,” he said, trying not to laugh, “I can’t draw.”

“I’m not asking for a masterpiece, Spence. I’m asking for an absolutely terrible line drawing of my face.”

He tilted his head. “Where is this coming from?”

I hesitated. “I think I just want to know how you see me. Not the polished version. Just… whatever comes through. Plus, it might be funny.”

He looked at me for a long beat. “Okay,” he said finally. “But only if I get to keep it.”

We rummaged for pencils and a sketchbook. He sat cross-legged on the couch, turned towards me as I sat against the other end.

“No peeking at the paper,” I warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

For the next few minutes, he was completely focused. Every now and then he’d mutter things like, “I think this is your eyebrow, but it might be your nose,” or “I might’ve accidentally given you a third eye”

I couldn’t stop smiling, and his eyes never left my face.

When he was done, he turned the pad around.

It was tragically awful. My right eye sat closer to my chin than my forehead and I was pretty sure I counted four nostrils.

I laughed. “Wow. That’s even worse than I imagined.”

He grinned. “It’s strange how hard it is to get something right when you’re trying desperately not to mess it up.”

The words landed differently than he meant them to. I swallowed. “My turn.”

—

Drawing him was harder than I thought it would be. Not because of the exercise, but because of what it brought up. His face had changed since prison — softer in some ways, older in others. But there were pieces of him I still remembered vividly. How angular he looked in fluorescent light. How his hands trembled when he’d first get brought in by the COs.

I traced the curve of his nose in my mind. Let the pencil follow.

When I finished, I looked down at the paper and burst into laughter. I’d drawn his eyes almost on top of one another, so he ended up looking more like a cyclops than a human. His ears were so crooked you could barely tell I’d even intended for them to be ears. I handed him the monstrosity, still giggling. “It’s so bad,” I said. “And somehow also completely you.”

He held the page gently, as if it was fine art.

“I love it,” he asserted with a wide grin.

After a long moment of silence, I raised a quiet question, my mind still stuck on the HR slides from earlier. “Do you ever think about how little choice you had?”

Spencer looked at me. “What do you mean?”

“When we met. I could’ve walked away. You couldn’t.”

He blinked. His posture shifted, like he wasn’t sure whether this was a memory or a minefield.

“I sat through a training this morning,” I explained. “They were talking about power dynamics. About how inmates might misinterpret kindness. About how health care providers can become too emotionally involved. And all I could think about was you and me.”

He was silent, listening.

“I remember every time I let you stay longer in the infirmary. Every game of chess. Every smile you gave me like it was something you weren’t supposed to hand over. And I realized — even when it felt mutual, it wasn’t.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I kept going.

“I always saw you as my equal, but you weren’t. Not really. I didn’t realize how unfair that was to you until today.”

Spencer took a slow breath.

“I’m not saying what we have isn’t real,” I added quickly. “God, Spence, I know it is. And you didn’t ever misinterpret anything. You didn’t misread the signs I was giving you. But I still can’t stop thinking about how little agency you had. How I might’ve inadvertently taken advantage of the position you were in, flirting with you when you didn’t have anywhere else to turn.”

His gaze held mine. “You were the only person in there who treated me like I wasn’t broken. If there was a power imbalance, it didn’t come from you.”

“But it was there,” I said. “And you still fell in love with me.”

He reached across the couch, resting his fingers lightly on my knee.

“I didn’t fall in love with you in prison. I survived because of you in prison. I had a crush on you, of course. But I fell in love with you after. After you showed up at my apartment and didn’t look back.”

Tears stung my eyes.

“You made me feel like I was worth knowing again,” he said.

I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to his.

“I’m still sorry,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said softly. “But you don’t have to be.”

Later that night, we curled up on the couch, a blanket tossed over our legs. Our hideous drawings sat side by side on the coffee table.

He traced slow circles on the inside of my wrist.

“We should frame them,” he murmured.

I laughed. “Seriously?”

“They’re terrible,” he admitted. “But they’re honest.”

I smiled, watching the curve of his mouth as he looked at the drawings.

“They’re us,” I whispered.

“Exactly.”

—

I went back to work the next day, giggling at the sight of the drawings on the coffee table before I left his apartment.

It was a normal shift at first — charting, two medication rounds, a sprained ankle from rec time. Spencer had kissed my forehead that morning like nothing in the world could go wrong.

But it happened fast. A snapped broomstick turned into a shiv. A hallway scuffle flared into chaos. And then everything locked down.

Sirens screamed overhead as the COs bolted every entry. The intercom crackled something about securing infirmary staff, but I was already on the wrong side of the door.

I’d stepped out to grab more gauze from the supply room. One second I was rounding the corner near Block C, and the next, I was face to face with an inmate I didn’t recognize — bleeding from the forehead, shirt torn, wild-eyed and twitchy like he hadn’t slept in days.

He had a sharpened toothbrush in one hand.

My mouth went dry.

“There’s nowhere to go,” he said, voice too calm. “They locked us in.”

I didn’t run. I couldn’t. My body was all instinct and slow breath. I raised my hands.

“Okay,” I said softly, carefully. “Let’s sit. I’ll help you with that cut, alright?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared — eyes glassy and unpredictable. I registered the tremble in his hand, the way the makeshift weapon hovered at his side. He wasn’t threatening me, not directly. But he wasn’t stable either.

“I’m a nurse,” I said. “You’re hurt. Let me help.”

A long beat passed. Then, slowly, he nodded.

I sat cross-legged against the wall, heart thudding in my ears. When he crouched beside me, I fought the urge to flinch.

I didn’t have gloves. I didn’t have anything but the gauze I’d been holding. I pressed it gently to his temple. Blood welled beneath it, and it soaked through quickly — onto my hands, into the cuff of my sleeve. I just kept applying pressure, steady and firm.

“What’s your name?” I asked, voice thin.

A pause. “Tony.”

“Hi, Tony. You’re gonna be okay. Just keep breathing.”

We sat like that for what felt like hours — no clocks, no guards, just distant shouts and the thunder of fists on bars. I could hear the static of CO radios, barked orders, the sound of something heavy slamming into steel. Somewhere, someone was crying. Somewhere else, someone was laughing — manic and unhinged.

Tony kept the shiv in his lap. I tried not to look at it.

Every few minutes, his hands would twitch. Once, he stood up suddenly, pacing a few feet before crouching again. I didn’t move.

The second time he stood, I braced for the worst — and then he just sat back down with a sigh and pressed the gauze tighter to his head.

“I didn’t mean to be here,” he muttered. “I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“I know,” I said, even though I didn’t.

Eventually, a CO found us and barked for Tony to stand. He dropped the toothbrush without protest. I watched them zip-tie his wrists and haul him down the corridor, blood crusted at his temple. I still don’t know what he’d done. I just knew he didn’t hurt me.

But he could have.

That’s what stuck.

My hands didn’t stop shaking, not even when I scrubbed them raw in the infirmary sink. I could still see the red stain of his blood on my scrubs, dried now, crusted at the seams. And I couldn’t get the image of that plastic handle out of my mind — the way it had gleamed under the flickering light. The way it reminded me, viscerally, that kindness doesn’t always protect you.

I wasn’t able to check my phone until I was cleared to leave two hours later.

Twelve missed calls. Seven texts. Three voicemails.

All from Spencer.

—

When I finally got to his apartment, the door opened before I even had the chance to fumble with my keys. Spencer stood there in the doorway, looking panicked and sleep-deprived and like he’d run through every possible worst-case scenario a thousand times.

His hands flew to my face like he didn’t believe I was real. “God, are you okay?”

I nodded, barely.

“I saw it on the news. You weren’t answering. I—I couldn’t reach you. I had Garcia hack into Millburn’s internal system. She got me CO radio traffic and timestamped movement logs, but we couldn’t find anything about you, there was nothing—” His voice cracked. “I thought—I thought something had happened to you.”

“You shouldn’t have done that. You could’ve gotten in trouble with the Bureau for abusing their systems,” I whispered, too shocked and touched to mean it.

“I don’t care,” he said firmly. “I had to try and find you.”

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to his chest so tight it almost hurt. I felt the tremor in his shoulders before I heard the heavy breath he sucked in.

I closed my eyes and let myself shake.

—

The shower was his idea.

“You’re covered in someone else’s blood,” he said gently. “Let me help.”

We undressed slowly, almost clinically. He reached for the faucet, tested the water with his hand, then stepped aside, waiting like he was afraid to rush me.

The moment I stepped under the spray, I broke.

Not loud. Not sobbing. Just a quiet, unstoppable unraveling — muscles trembling, jaw clenched, eyes burning. The adrenaline was gone, and all that was left was fear, thick in my throat.

Spencer stepped in behind me. His arms wrapped around my waist like a bandage pulled snug. He didn’t say anything. Just held me, chest pressed to my back, hands splayed over my ribs like he was trying to count each one and make sure none had splintered without him noticing.

I leaned into him and let the water wash over us.

When he reached for the shampoo, his fingers threaded through my hair with tenderness. He massaged my scalp slowly, carefully, like he was afraid I might flinch if he moved too fast. I stood still while he rinsed it out, then turned to face him.

He cupped my jaw and kissed my forehead. Then he reached for the washcloth, lathered it between his palms, and began to wash my body — my arms, my shoulders, my chest, down to my stomach, my legs. Gentle, thorough, like he was scrubbing off the fear and replacing it with his love.

“I was so afraid something happened to you,” he said finally, voice ragged.

“I know,” I whispered. “But it didn’t. I’m right here.”

He exhaled shakily, something cracking open in his expression.

“I didn’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” he said. “I kept thinking, what if I never got to touch you again? What if I didn’t say I love you enough?”

My throat tightened. I reached for his hand and laced our fingers together under the stream. “You did. You do.”

There was a long, trembling pause.

Then came the shift. Like something soft giving way under the weight of too much feeling. He let the cloth fall and leaned in to kiss me — slow, steady, and full of ache.

There was no urgency — not yet. Just the quiet gravity of skin and memory. His hands found my waist, and mine threaded into his damp curls. We kissed under the spray until the water went cold.

When we stepped out, he dried me gently, then himself. We made our way to the bed wrapped in towels, in silence, in something close to reverence.

He laid me down like something precious. Crawled over me like he didn’t want to miss a single breath.

“I need you,” he said softly. “Need to feel you.”

I nodded, brushing a curl from his forehead. “You’ve got me. I need you, too.”

His hand went to the nightstand for a condom, but I stopped him.

“You… you don’t have to,” I said softly, and Spencer looked down at me like a deer in headlights. “I’m on the pill. You know I take it religiously. I’m okay with it if you’re okay with it.”

He froze. “You’re sure?”

I held his gaze. “I’m sure,” I whispered.

His face shifted — awe, want, disbelief. Then he kissed me again, deeper now.

When he pushed inside me, it felt like coming home. He moved slowly and carefully until we were fully joined then stilled there, breath shaking. We both gasped — even after everything, this closeness still had the power to undo us.

He pressed his forehead to mine. Our noses brushed. Our hands found each other and held tight.

We started to move together, slow at first — long, deep strokes that made my body arch into his without thinking. My legs wrapped around his waist, anchoring him to me.

He groaned against my mouth, kissed me hard. “You have no idea how scared I was,” he said, voice broken.

I whimpered softly, fingertips digging into his back. “Shhh. I don’t want to talk about that right now. Just focus on this,” I begged.

We moved like that — like we were rediscovering each other, like every thrust was a tether, pulling us tighter. The pleasure built sharp and slow, pulled from something deeper than just sensation.

His pace quickened, just slightly. His lips traced my jaw, my throat, the shell of my ear. “I need you to let go for me,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

I moaned, body trembling. “Touch me,” I breathed. “Please.”

His hand slipped between us, thumb circling just right. I broke with a gasp, hips bucking, body clenching tight around him.

“That’s it,” he murmured, holding me through it. “God, you’re so beautiful when you come.”

My breath caught in my throat. My eyes stung. I didn’t even realize I was crying until he kissed the tears from my cheek.

“Hey,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

He shifted slowly, gently guiding me onto my side and curling around me from behind. He slid back in with a low groan, burying his face in the curve of my neck.

This angle — this closeness — was unbearable in the best way. He moved deeper, slower, like he needed to feel every inch of me, like anything faster would be too much.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, hand over my heart. “You’re safe.”

I turned my head just enough to kiss his cheek, and it was then I noticed the glistening tear streaks running down his face, too. “Only because you’re here.”

He moaned softly, his arm tightening around my waist, his rhythm stuttering as I pushed back against him. His fingers found mine again and held tight, grounding us both. The pleasure unfurled once more in my belly, deeper this time. A slow rise toward something bright and breaking.

“I love you,” he said hoarsely. “More than anything.”

“I love you too,” I breathed — and then I was coming again, shuddering around him, everything inside me tightening and releasing in slow, rolling waves. My back arched, my breath caught, and I felt him everywhere.

He buried his face in my shoulder and let go with me. His whole body shook as he came, a raw, wrecked sound tearing from his throat. I felt it — the pulse of him deep inside, the heat, the staggering intensity of it.

He clung to me like he might fall apart without something to hold, and I held him just as tightly.

When it was over, he didn’t pull away. He wrapped the blanket around us, tucked his body close, kept himself buried inside me like he couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.

“Promise me I’m never going to lose you,” he whispered, still shaking.

“‘M not going anywhere,” I replied softly, my voice loose and sleepy and in love. I reached for his hand and looped our pinkies together. “Promise.”

We lay there for a long time. Quiet. Still. The worst of the day behind us. The fear, the waiting, the helplessness.

Now there was only this — the warmth of skin, the hush of steady breath, the outline of two people who’d almost come undone.

Not perfect. Not polished.

Just two messy shapes drawn in unbroken lines — holding each other together.

ᝰ.ᐟ

part xi

[jartita-me-teneis]

--Leyes de Murphy sobre el trabajo y la oficina Leyes de MurphyA partir del ya famoso principio general de "si algo puede salir mal, saldrá mal", el señor Murphy escribió sus leyes. Muchas de ellas hablan específicamente sobre el trabajo y hemos recogido algunas a tener en cuenta. Las quince Leyes de Murphy sobre el Trabajo Ley de Strano: Cuando todo falle, intenta lo que sugirió el/la jefe/a. Si buscas en un fichero, siempre estará la ficha en último lugar. Si por contra la buscas por el final nunca la encontrarás. El/la jefe/a madruga pocas veces al año, sólo cuando tú llegas tarde. En el trabajo, cuando vayas a preguntar qué persona ha hecho un cosa, esa persona estará de vacaciones. Si llevas toda la mañana sentado/a en tu mesa y decides dedicarte cinco minutos para ir al W. C. porque ya no puedes aguantar más, al volver te habrán dejado tres recados en el contestador, tu jefe/a se habrá enterado por las quejas de los que han llamado y te echará una bronca de campeonato. En los trabajos en grupo siempre algo irá mal y, por supuesto, la culpa ha sido tuya. ¿Cuánto tiempo me llevará hacer un trabajo? Método de Murphy: Se toma el tiempo que debe durar, se multiplica por dos, y se pasa a la unidad de tiempo inmediatamente superior. Ejemplo: Si un trabajo me debería llevar 2 días, según Murphy tardaré 2 x 2 = 4 días , es decir , 4 Semanas. Ley de los Grandes Grupos de Repoort: El trabajo en equipo es esencial, te permitirá echarle la culpa a otro. Ley de John Firu: Sea "A" un ejecutivo de ventas escaqueado del trabajo en unos grandes almacenes , comprando un regalo de cumpleaños para su mujer. Sea "B" un conocido personal o laboral de "A". DEFINICION: La probabilidad de que "B" encuentre o vea a "A" es directamente proporcional al esfuerzo que ponga "A" para pasar inadvertido. Principio de Peter: En toda organización, cualquier persona suele promocionar hasta el nivel en que se evidencia su incompetencia. Ley de Zymurgy sobre el trabajo voluntario: La gente siempre esta dispuesta para haber hecho el trabajo terminado. Ley de Mitchell sobre las comisiones: Cualquier problema sencillo se convierte en insalvable si se hacen las suficientes reuniones para discutirlo. Ley de los proyectos: El esfuerzo dedicado a un proyecto es inversamente proporcional al tiempo que resta para finalizarlo. Dado un tiempo inicial grande, el esfuerzo será pequeño. A medida que el tiempo se aproxima a cero, el esfuerzo se aproxima a infinito. Corolario: Si no fuera por el último minuto, no se haría nada. Ley de Presupuestos: La cantidad de dinero necesaria para finalizar un proyecto, es siempre inversamente proporcional al tiempo que resta para su finalización. Ley de Jaruk: Si fuera mas barato comprar uno nuevo, la empresa insistirá en arreglar el viejo.

Seis Leyes de Murphy adicionales sobre la oficina

Las cartas importantes que no tienen faltas, engendrarán varias cuando estén en el correo. Corolario: Los errores correspondientes aparecerán en la carta cuando el/la jefe/a la esté leyendo. Las máquinas de la oficina, que funcionan perfectamente en las horas normales de trabajo, se descompondrán en cuanto vayas a utilizarlas por las noches o fines de semana para asuntos personales. Las máquinas que se han roto, funcionarán perfectamente en cuanto aparezca el técnico a repararlas. Los sobres y sellos que no se pegan cuando se chupan, se quedan adheridos a cualquier cosa cuando menos se desea. Los papeles vitales demostrarán su vitalidad moviéndose espontáneamente desde su sitio, en el que los dejaste, hasta donde no se puedan encontrar. La última persona que se marchó o despidieron de la empresa, será la que tenga la culpa de que todo vaya mal … hasta que despidan a otra.

(De hace un porrón de años en mi e-mail, haciendo limpieza). AnA OrnY (Jarti)

[metalnewswire]

GORGATRON and CASKET ROBBERY announce North American tour

Gorgatron and Casket Robbery have announced a North American tour for the Summer. Support will come from Frontal Assault. The dates are: Jul. 24 Minneapolis, MN @ Zhora DarlingJul. 25 Milwaukee, WI @ X Ray ArcadeJul. 26 Menomonie, WI @ Zymurgy BrewingJul. 27 West Chicago, IL @ WC Social ClubJul. 28 Toronto, ON @ The CaveJul. 30 Thunder Bay, ON @ Black Pirates PubJul. 31 Winnipeg, MB @…

[bulletp0int]

ooo she wants to be silly so bad it makes her look stupid

Throw ur headcanons at me, I don't bite!!!

[ Her colored version isn't working. ]

[scrabblewordfinderuk]

Score Big! 10 Top-Scoring Words Every UK Scrabble Player Should Know

Hey Scrabble fans! 🎉 Want to dominate your next UK Scrabble game? Knowing the right words can turn the tide and skyrocket your score! Here’s a quick list of 10 top-scoring words every UK Scrabble player should have in their vocabulary arsenal. 🏆

QUIZZIFY – An incredible 41 points! Use it to blitz your opponents with those high-value Q and Z tiles.

OXYPHENBUTAZONE – The holy grail of Scrabble words, perfect for expert players (it's the longest possible word on the board!).

JUKEBOX – Classic and valuable, with a hefty 27 points, especially useful on double/triple word tiles.

ZYMURGY – A cool 29 points, perfect if you love brewing up high scores.

QUARTZY – Using the tricky Q without a U, this 30-point word is a gem.

EXEQUY – A great way to use up those X and Q tiles for 26 points.

JACUZZI – High score and a fun word for 33 points!

ZYZZYVA – The highest-scoring “Z�� word, perfect for a triple letter score.

MUZJIKS – Using the rare Z and J, this word gives you 29 points.

CAZIQUES – A plural form of “cazique,” it packs a punch with 27 points.

Want to boost your vocabulary further? Check out our Scrabble word finder UK tools and tips to improve your game. Get ready to impress your friends and leave your opponents speechless! 🎲✨

[nwbeerguide]

Registration now open for the World Beer Cup.

https://bit.ly/48NMUht image courtesy the Brewers Association Press Release Boulder, Colo. • November 12, 2024—Registration for the World Beer Cup® (WBC), the world’s premier beer competition, is now open from November 12 to December 13, 2024. Organized by the Brewers Association (BA)—the nonprofit trade association supporting small and independent American craft brewers—the World Beer Cup takes place alongside the Craft Brewers Conference® (CBC), the industry’s largest conference and trade show, and showcases the artistry and innovation of beer worldwide. “The World Beer Cup has stood as a pillar of the global brewing community since 1996, bringing together the craft, dedication, and ingenuity that define the best beers worldwide,” said Chris Williams, competition director. “As we approach the 2025 competition, I’m eager for another year of remarkable submissions from breweries, and now cideries, from all over the world. This year’s event promises to be unforgettable—get ready to witness global brewing at its finest!” The annual international competition continues to raise consumer awareness of diverse beer styles and flavor profiles while celebrating excellence in brewing worldwide. In 2024, the World Beer Cup saw 9,300 entries from 2,060 breweries representing 50 different nations. In 2025, the competition will broaden to welcome cider submissions in six new categories. Amid a landscape of nearly 3,000 cider producers worldwide, the Brewers Association continues to demonstrate its dedication to keeping the competition in alignment with evolving consumer tastes and industry innovations. Winners of the 2025 World Beer Cup will be announced on May 1, 2025, at The Indiana Convention Center in Indianapolis, Indiana, in conjunction with the Brewers Association’s annual Craft Brewers Conference® & BrewExpo America®. A live stream of the World Beer Cup awards ceremony will also be available via the Brewing Network. The World Beer Cup is made possible thanks to the generous support of its sponsors: Fermentis, First Key, Haas | BarthHaas, Jerney Ltd. Beverage Solutions, Rahr Malting Co., Sahm, and Siemens. Additional information about the event, registration, deadlines, and previous year’s winners can be found on WorldBeerCup.org. ###  About the Brewers Association The Brewers Association (BA) is a not-for-profit trade association dedicated to small and independent American brewers, their beers, and the community of brewing enthusiasts. The BA represents 5,000-plus U.S. breweries and more than 30,000 homebrewers. The BA’s independent craft brewer seal is a widely adopted symbol that differentiates beers by small and independent craft brewers. The BA organizes events, including the World Beer Cup®, Great American Beer Festival®, Craft Brewers Conference™ & BrewExpo America®, Homebrew Con™, National Homebrew Competition, and American Craft Beer Week®. The BA publishes The New Brewer® and Zymurgy® magazines, and Brewers Publications® is the leading publisher of brewing literature in the U.S. Beer lovers are invited to learn more about the dynamic world of craft beer at CraftBeer.com® and about homebrewing via the BA’s American Homebrewers Association®. Follow us on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. The Brewers Association is an equal opportunity employer and does not discriminate on the basis of race, color, national origin, gender, religion, age, disability, political beliefs, sexual orientation, or marital/familial status. The BA complies with provisions of Executive Order 13672 and the rules, regulations, and relevant orders of the Secretary of Labor.  from Northwest Beer Guide - News - The Northwest Beer Guide https://bit.ly/3Z7i9Ri

[diginiko-asks]

["hey uh, don't mind me but I'm doing magi without being an anon cuz I need images for this to work but uh...have a friend who may or may not be a robot, anyways bye bye have a nice time"-signed by Zymurgy]

-I didn't agree to this.

Oh! Um, hello!

[timebentrose]

I NEED ichor Dandy

[ " And Zymurgy! " ahh moment ]

sorry for the lack of dandyween posts these past few days (motivation is beating me up) but here's this picture i just made while playing doors with my partner to make up for it LMAO

[bandnameserver]

Zwieback of Zymurgy

[timebentrose]

Around here I take fictionkin to the peaks.

" Zymurgy! Pay attention to your other Kins! "

😴

" ZYMURGY, YOU KIN TWO NOW "

HELL YEAH CONSCIOUSNESS 🤑!!!! I LOVE IMMEDIATELY LOCKING ON AS SOON AS I REALIZE!!!

This isn't even how it works, Guess I want to be out of this mundane life 💔

[timebentrose]

Also uh...I didn't know you knew timekeeper...*looks away in the inspiration for the colors of Zymurgys orange stripes and primary blonde color.*

" Make a mole for silly purposes " I said

" They won't have a spot in your heart " I thought

...here I am, they're my mascot now. Thanks for the new excuse to have a fursona my guy.

Hehe mole nation win!!

[williamsbrewinghomebrew]

Bill's beer lab. Here he concocts many new recipes for our kits. Notice the seven (7) new carboys for our future sampling. Bill has two Brewer's Edge Mash & Boils, Kettle as well as propane setup. William's Brewing takes the art of zymurgy seriously, actively practicing the craft.

Found some 7 year old Bourbon in the racks. Going to have to convince Bill on a sample of that yield.

[thesanctuarystoons]

" I AM THE ONE WHO DUST "

//HIII ZYMURGY HERE

heyyyyyy.... i have an askblog........ @ask-bruno-and-maria ... asks aren't open yet thecnically but like... check it out.... or whatever........ explodes

!!!!

[nwbeerguide]

Tickets are still on sale for the Great American Beer Festival hosted October 10th thru 12th 2024.

https://bit.ly/4cbAU9D thumbnail and this images, credit the Brewers Association Press Release BOULDER, Colo. ,,, ickets for the Great American Beer Festival® (GABF) are on sale now! GABF, hosted by the Brewers Association, the trade organization representing small and independent craft brewers, will return to the Colorado Convention Center in Denver, Colorado, on October 10-12, 2024. New this year, the largest beer festival in the United States will offer three sessions and debut an entirely new floor plan. Breweries will be grouped by themed experience areas of their choice. These curated experience areas are designed to transport festivalgoers to different worlds, each offering a unique blend of themed décor, specialized beverages, engaging activities, and vibrant entertainment. Themed areas include Prost!, a traditional German Biergarten; Score!, a sports-lovers escape; Halloween, a timely October-themed experience that will delight and fright; Blast Off, an out-of-this-world flavor blast featuring beyond beer beverages and more; Meet & Mingle, a reinvented Meet the Brewer experience; and Chill, a backyard gathering with music, lawn games, and exclusive brews. There is an experience and beverage for everyone at the Great American Beer Festival! While beer remains the center stage—hello pumpkin beers, West-Coast style and hazy IPAs, barrel-aged beers, sour ales, chocolate beers, and so much more—prepare your tastebuds for every flavor imaginable, including cider, ready-to-drink (RTD) canned cocktails (new this year!), hard seltzer, hard soda, hard tea, hard kombucha, other malt-based beverages, and all non-alcohol beverages. In addition, attendees can look forward to: PAIRED®, a mouth-watering event where acclaimed chefs unite with beverage purveyors to design small bites perfectly paired with craft beers, craft cocktails, and cider. (tickets sold separately) Nonstop entertainment, including pop-up surprises like flash mobs, marching bands, oompah bands, stein-holding contests, and more. The return of fan-favorite Hangouts, including the Silent Disco and the Karaoke Stage. A commemorative, collectible, tasting glass. Engaging with industry experts and brewers via seminars and other educational opportunities. Don’t miss this annual celebration! Tickets are available for anyone of legal drinking age (21+) at www.greatamericanbeerfestival.com. ### About the Brewers Association  The Brewers Association (BA) is a not-for-profit trade association dedicated to small and independent American brewers, their beers, and the community of brewing enthusiasts. The BA represents 5,000-plus U.S. breweries and more than 30,000 homebrewers. The BA’s independent craft brewer seal is a widely adopted symbol that differentiates beers by small and independent craft brewers. The BA organizes events including the World Beer Cup®, Great American Beer Festival®, Craft Brewers Conference™ & BrewExpo America®, Homebrew Con™, National Homebrew Competition , and American Craft Beer Week®. The BA publishes The New Brewer® and Zymurgy® magazines, and Brewers Publications® is the leading publisher of brewing literature in the U.S. Beer lovers are invited to learn more about the dynamic world of craft beer at CraftBeer.com® and about homebrewing via the BA’s American Homebrewers Association®. Follow us on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. The Brewers Association is an equal opportunity employer and does not discriminate on the basis of race, color, national origin, gender, religion, age, disability, political beliefs, sexual orientation, or marital/familial status. The BA complies with provisions of Executive Order 13672 and the rules, regulations, and relevant orders of the Secretary of Labor.  from Northwest Beer Guide - News - The Northwest Beer Guide https://bit.ly/4cbAW1f