Snitchery

Hi everyone!
Title pretty much says it all- wondering if anyone else listens to Internet Urban Legends (IUL) on Spotify? I absolutely love this podcast, and sometimes see it mentioned on twitter, but haven’t seen any talk of it here!
If anyone’s not familiar, it’s basically about spooky urban legends and internet mysteries! All episodes are pretty short but give good intros for anything that you may wanna do a deep dive on. They’re discussed by two women: one a self proclaimed “true believer” and the other a “skeptic”. Episodes range from creepy online games to international legends to haunted theme parks, etc.
For fear of sounding like I’m just promoting them… I’ll just ask: is anyone else a fan?!

Here we might find the answers we’re looking for, we might scare ourselves into staying up all night, but one thing is for sure- we’re excited to discuss all the episodes of IUL and our fav gruesome twosome!

I've just received my Oden's Eye Palette collab with Amanda. I was think how weird it is that the two influencers I most watch for CP content and reviews both released their first palettes with this OE but have no collab collections with ColourPop.
I know Amanda has had a currated bundle and Judy's done some looks for their social media but they don't have anything like Jasmine Chiswell, Snitchery, or Mariale as far as I'm aware. I wonder why that is?
Anyways this is me manifesting some cute collections. Please ColourPop bring us some collabs with Judy and Amanda.

In early 2017, 6ixWars made their YouTube channel. It was run by some goofy nerd named "Goggles", who apparently was from the East end.
The channel focused SOLELY on hood shit. It covered all of the beefs, incidents and diss tracks that kicked off that year. Their most popular video at the time covered Vanauley Stacks flexing Smoke Dawg's chain in that diss video.
Any sort of gossip would suffice for the channel, even alleged acts of snitching. He had the audacity to call out Limitless Visuals for allegedly snitching on CLE niggas. Apparently they jammed his camera equipment and he ran to the law. Who knows what really happened.
Here's why I never once rated DickWars though...He called niggas out for snitching, yet he posted CCTV videos of fights, assaults and shootings and mentioned which Toronto/GTA rappers were involved in them...That was literally the epitome of snitching. He puzzled pieces for the bwoydem to solve, like giving them alley oops and shit. Straight Steve Nash shit with the assists.
But then when people kept requesting a video about WhyG/35Neat (who was on the run at the time), he refused to talk about it because it was "an open case" and didn't want to incriminate him...but he CLEARLY had no problem incriminating other niggas. Pure hypocrisy at its finest.
I just wanted to mention this shit cause there are a lot of newcomers to the sub, and a lot may not remember since this was nearly 6 years ago. 6ixWars came up from some snitchery, just know that.
Now we got other snitch ass pages doing their thing, like 6ixSoundz and TheWarInDa6ix/6ixademikz

I saw a Tik Tok probably in the winter of 2018 or 2019 by “Snitchery” who seems to be a pretty popular Instagram/Tik Tok/ YouTube person (she started off just doing a lot of make up posts and does a lot of cosplay now) and I can see the video in my minds eye and hear the song but also can’t hear the song at the same time. The theme of the video was basically “all of my feelings for the guy I like as soon as he likes me back” and she’s dancing around and there’s a filter making it looks like there’s pink/colorful mist/flames/ aura coming off of her body. The song is pop/ dance from what I remember and there might be a female singer. There’s no reason for me to need to remember this besides that’s it’s driving me crazy that I can’t think of the song and I think the closure will make me feel better lol.

Theorycrafter Link
Name: Taliesin ní Flannagáin
Pronouns: she/her
Race: Ainvi
Appearance:
At 5’2”, Taliesin is far from the most imposing presence in a given room - in most any room. Her features speak of a toughness beyond her height, however; a short mouth usually knit into a wary frown, and a sharp nose which looks to have been fixed back into place once or twice. Wide, dazzlingly golden eyes which would look youthfully bright and innocent, were it not for their typically twitchy gaze, permanently on the look-out for something-or-other; they come across as widened out of caution rather than wonder. Scrapes litter her frame, but the most prevalent such marking is merely a make-up habit; a red trail along one cheek she applies via the safe side of three of her long nails. Her hair, coloured a morning-cloudy cotton-candy pink, is tightly packed and tousled; her dense bangs fall far enough to cover her eyebrows (but precisely no further for the sake of her vision), and the vaguely bob-like style ends before her shoulders. A prominent pair of pink-coloured cat ears with tufts of white fur at their bases rise from either side of her hair, constantly twitching this way or that in search of useful sounds to pursue. And similarly, a long tail peeks out from behind her, though she’s learned to try and keep its movements to a minimum around strangers. Lastly, a black tattoo of a twisting serpent - a sign of allegiance to a group in the shadows of Clontradail - coils around one side of her neck, usually happening to be hidden by the high collars of her typical clothing…
…In particular, the muddy-brown trenchcoat which descends down to around her knees, nearly looking comical on a girl her size, although the proportional broadness of her shoulders just about does enough to pull it off. The coat has a weighty hood, with personally shaped triangular quirks to sit snugly around her ears. A pair of laced cream boots is largely the only other thing she tends to wear which is visible when the trenchcoat is on, considering its mass… Well, that and a red cloak she dons around the coat on her (as of yet, few) travels, evidently the type to prefer wrapping up warm for such journeys. The cloak doesn’t seem properly sized to her; depending on the terrain, its ends will occasionally even end up dragging along the ground, and by the time she reaches Haukrfjall, said hems have turned out more brown than red. Beneath her layers, she typically dons a skort, along with some manner of pantyhose in less temperate conditions, and similarly, behind the buttons of her trenchcoat will be a crop top making an ‘x’ towards her neck or wrappings of a similar manner, weather permitting. (Weather not permitting, she’ll typically fit a tunic between the aforementioned layers.)
As mentioned, a number of scars are evident across her figure, gained from a number of sources - most of which between her first year in Clontradail on the streets, and the subsequent ones working in dubious employment, far beneath a lofty crime boss. That figure is a lithe one; technique and muscle enough to swing powerful blows without her arms being buff, and quickness of feet enough to escape most tight spots without particularly long legs.
When transformed into a beastly shape, Taliesin appears like a pink panther with black tinges upon her paws and body, with those golden eyes of hers remaining, now truly imposing in such a form.
Personality:
Coming into this job, Taliesin bears as much optimism and good faith as she ever has on the surface - which still isn’t exactly enough for sunshine and rainbows, but she’s aiming to be an approachable girl who will commit to a task, and will work to impress as a renegade rookie to the Cloaks. Despite an informal manner and a usually casual air, she’s astute and observational, and she likes studying people and their behavior - if only out of habit. However, for all that eagerness to prove herself, she won’t accept being condescended to, or even feeling that she’s been, for long - she’s felt mocking eyes scan over her all-too-often, and brought them down to reality many a time. In a fight, she’s pragmatic - seeking out decisive blows, not stylish nor prideful ones.
Taliesin thinks of herself as immensely loyal - and yet, would struggle to define what loyalty means nor how she can justify that description of herself, in the wake of her recent willing betrayal. Curt when she intends to speak her mind, and evasive when she doesn’t, Taliesin can be a difficult person to get a handle on; years of occupational snitchery have developed a certain obscuring quality about her, and she’s only a few unpleasant first impressions away from retreating out of attempts to be more open, and closing back into something of a shell. No matter her other feelings, however, she is confident in her abilities and her analysis.
At heart, though… Taliesin does want to find a circle. Perhaps she feels a little lonely, if she really considers it. And though she’s the sort of person without much faith in the world, pending what she sees in these new lands having finally left the big cities for the first time in her life… She can have faith in individuals. But even beyond that, she’s willing to believe in these Cloaks, for now - willing to see their ways, and the world through their eyes as one of their own.
Backstory:
The first anyone knew of Taliesin ní Flannagáin was when she was brought to the city of Slievdir in Ballenoc, three years old, an orphan found near the border with Adaawe whose parents had been presumed dead - most likely, many would assume in years to come, a victim of some attack targeting them simply for being Ainvi… But truly, nobody really knew. Whatever had happened, Taliesin was found alone with a leg stuck between rocks, having been hiding, they presumed. In the end, it wasn’t lingered upon, by Taliesin or by her new caretakers - the orphanage she was delivered to by one caring, cloaked adventurer treated her well, and she would never find herself lingering on thoughts of ‘what if.’
The ‘Future Stories Orphanage’ did its best for her, and for other Ainvi children there. Such was her comfort in this new home, that the concept of the ‘Quake’ striking after her first few months there hardly meant anything to her; the world had shaken a little, but the roof still stood over her head and blankets stayed wrapped around her body. All was well; for Tally’s intents and purposes, nothing had changed.
But the world had changed, and the orphanage soon faced the consequences. Many surrounding Sairshi in Sleivdir took great comfort in finding delusional ways to pin their sorrows and misfortune following what the Quake had taken upon the Ainvi; a fact Taliesin was kept away from for a long while, but not forever. Their harassment and harrying eventually extended to treatment of the Ainvi, and after an incident with a group of local Sairshi children in 422, Taliesin was one of the children for whom life became…rather more closed-off. Less excursions, less seeing the city… Staying safely behind the walls of the orphanage was safest. …But so too, was it miserable. And the orphanage’s owner, a mouse-Ainvi herself, knew this perfectly well.
And so, when time passed and all parties could stand the current situation no longer, transport and sustenance were organized in 426 for a group of six children to be taken along the High Road to some great central city of the Fallen Empire, somewhere far away from the violent tensions of Adaawe and Ballenoc. After as long a journey as they’d ever known, Taliesin and co. found themselves in Clontradail of Muirfeur, sent solely on the hopes that the city would be kind to them.
A foolish hope, of course. Within a year, the children had split between stressful bouts and self-made plots of survival in a dangerous city with no place offered for them; of the other five, only Misko, a fox-Ainvi girl who had stubbornly refused to leave her alone, remained with Taliesin in their chosen alley to stay and to scavenge in. But they were soon found by someone, and offered a circle, a home, and perhaps more importantly than any of that, food.
But anyone who knows anything about the capital of Muirfeur should know, reading this, that the offer wasn’t coming from some goody-two-shoes nanny offering free board.
And so it was that Taliesin and Misko, both thirteen years of age, were brought into one of the numerous and powerful criminal forces of Clontradail. Misko, taller, stockier, would find her role more easily and more obviously; the head honcho, so to speak, that Taliesin was presented to…took more time to find a place for her.
After all, what use had a mob for a diminutive cat-girl with cutesy pink hair? And who’d give her the slightest respect? These were the questions he asked himself. And the answers they arrived at - “Likely nothing” and “Almost certainly nobody” respectively - served as the pivotal idea.
Taliesin became the ears of the boss, making use of how easy it could be for wagging tongues to think little of her presence, of her naturally stealthy nature, and of her acute sense of hearing with those pronounced ears of hers. Her role was to listen out for mutinous mutterings - people disobeying orders, nabbing their own cuts from jobs, generally making a mug out of the boss in any significant way - and to deliver that information to him. A job she did, to her own surprise, with significant success and efficiency - the only person she revealed her role to being Misko, during their late-night whispered talks together in the spare room they shared.
Taliesin was trained in fighting in the many meantimes, and with her increased competence came increased responsibility. Over the years her secret roles became extended, to almost serving as a sort of in-house auditor to the group; being allotted suspicious persons or goings-on, and sniffing out whether there was any truth to the boss’s own, deeper suspicions. And yet, for all her job was entirely serving as a snitch, Tally felt a great sense of loyalty; as though she was keeping her new family safe from internal threats. And with that logic, she could cast aside any ill treatment as nothing but a sign she had to do her job better, to calm everyone down and make their work safer.
The night in December 432, when each member of the Muirfeur council was slain and the nation fell into comparative chaos…
Misko disappeared.
And Taliesin, fraught with worry for the one friend who’d stuck with her from humble beginnings in the Future Stories Orphanage to the cold streets of Clontradail, thought to cash in her earned credit - to ask the boss for an effort to find her.
But the boss didn’t care.
The power vacuums, the new lines of influence to draw - these were topics worth dedicating resources towards following these assassinations. The life of some bit-part girl they’d dragged in from the street? That wasn’t worth sparing a thought for in times like these.
And as she went down the ladder, appealing to the family she’d felt she’d made here, she found that sentiment universal. Hardly anyone worried for Misko; no one could spare anything to go looking for her; some of them hardly even seemed to have known her name to start with. That ‘family’ she had made felt distant - and felt decisively false.
Eighteen-year-old Taliesin took to slipping away into bars and taverns, but resisted any urge to drown her sorrows by appealing to rumor-mongers and ramblers for any word on her lost friend. In doing this, one night she encountered a grizzled and worn-down ‘man in the know,’ someone really worth inquiring to - a Red Cloak, as she would eventually learn, by the name of Malachy. The two met a handful of times, and kept a careful distance as though they each knew the other bore secrets; it was well into 433 before they began any exchange of information in earnest.
Taliesin let loose tiny, irrelevant truths about her group, its members, its movements - clues, but nothing really enough for Malachy to make any notable moves, even if he’d desired to. In exchange, Malachy and his connections in the Cloaks sought out what info they could on Misko; every few weeks, there’d be some new lead on a fox-Ainvi who might fit the bill… And every few weeks later, Malachy would buy her a drink to tell her it wasn’t who they were looking for.
Her desperation to find Misko…certainly did not dissipate, but perhaps it dulled. The way a loss is wanton to do. In the end, her talks with Malachy became for something else as much as anything; an interest taken in these continent-gallivanting general-do-gooders, and the notion of how much of their work was so like a detective’s - so like her own, in a twisted sort of way. She spilled bigger and bigger secrets, as though softly working herself up towards a decisive moment…
…When in September of 436, Malachy told her that their dealings were done. That he’d received a letter he was happy to read out to her, calling for a Cloak’s presence in the city of Haukrfjall in 14 days’ time, enclosed with a token to be kept. Taliesin nodded, ‘mm-hmm’d,’ nearly kept silent. Until, as he pressed against the table to push himself off his stool and head for the door, she forced herself to speak, and offered a fateful question -
“...Could I offer you one last deal?”
Her terms were thus;
Malachy would receive everything she could tell him, every scrap of information on her mob that she could possibly spare. Her ultimate and final betrayal of the people she’d thought of as family to the Caomhnóirí an Maoir Réalta.
Taliesin would receive the letter, the token, and a Red Cloak.
Malachy accepted.
And so, Taliesin ní Flannagáin, all but certainly Verthaca’s newest and least qualified member of the Caomhnóirí an Maoir Réalta, fled before the fallout of her offered information - before she could really consider what any detail of her task meant. Before she could consider her own feelings on what she had done by selling her allies out, and before she knew what sort of allies it was that she was running to.
But she had been witty enough, keen enough to solve so many mysteries for her mob, in the dark streets of Clontradail; surely, she was fit for whatever lay unsolved in these alien Fornish lands.
That is the sort of belief Tally carries, as she prowls into Haukrfjall.
Additional Notes:
-Her favorite winged creatures are probably the sort of pigeons found in Clontradail. Yum.
-Goes by ‘Tally’ for short with some people.
-Hasn’t had much opportunity to transform lately.
-For Storm's information when scouring this, how she has a beaststone is something me and Ciel have talked about, it's just not specified in this app

Hi, I’m new to this sub and love the tips I’ve picked up on reading through these threads. I wanted to share some of my favourite YouTubers for softmaxxing generally and get your recommendations too! I love:
Alexandra’s Girly Talk (beauty theory and tips) Isabella DeMarko (hair, personal style exploration) Hailey Gamba (confidence, hygiene, toiletries, products) Yessi Waters (products, mindset, tips) BeautifulBrwnBabyDol (health, confidence, lifestyle, tips) Jasmynn Ive (health and fitness)
Others I watch for great advice, but whose content/editing I don’t find as entertaining: Brett Contreras, DaisyBFit, Jazmin Gonzales, Mixed Makeup/Susan Yara, Snitchery* , Alexandra Anele* , Robert Welsh* . Who do you like watching for tips and inspiration? It seems skincare and makeup advice is everywhere but it’s harder to find YouTube channels dedicated to other facets of beauty. I’d love to build some type of directory!
*These three are great, I’m just not big into makeup.

As a teenager, I was placed in foster care due to parental abuse. Because I finished HS early (15) and had no special circumstances, I became "hard to place", both because kids being a little broken paid foster parents and group homes more and there was no HS day care for foster parents to drop me off at.
In that time in the "system" (foster kid term for all the places, people and forces at play in their lives in care), the solution was "diagnosis shopping" kids around with psychologists and psychiatrists until someone gave them a diagnosis for care payment upgrades. Then, if an unplaced boy in a receiving home, something would mysteriously be broken in your room (or several things) and you would be shipped off to probation (ward status instead of dependent, more kiddie bucks!) and juvenile hall as if you had destroyed the property.
This happened to me. I was sentenced to 6 months in juvenile hall and ordered to complete a 24-hour school program (reform school). I was relieved to be out of juvenile hall, but it was a place where they used "peer reporting and concern/issue voting in group meetings". Essentially it was "best snitch graduates". I knew I would not be there long, but I also felt for the kids constantly climbing up to be "voted down" over someone's allegation of wrongdoing. I decided to break the system and convinced the cliques in my dorm (of four total there, "Brothers" dorm) to always vote to advance and to report on others only as "concerns" that had no real consequences. This spread to the other dorms, and after one month, several people were on the verge of the 3x per year "graduation" to "leader", which was a ticket home.
I was called in to the director's office. Catherine was a really beautiful and sometimes quite charming woman, but quite malicious and spiteful. She and Jimmy, her assistant director, threatened to send me back to juvenile hall in my home county immediately if I continued to "sabotage the program". Jimmy then added, "I bet you'd like to get back to all them dicks, anyway. You look like a homo." Jimmy, btw, was a part-time jail guard (weekend supervisor). I, btw, am not and never was gay, but we had several peers that were and they were friends.
Catherine lit into him right in front of me, calling him out in so many ways and with such venom (including multiple forms and modifications of the n-word) that I felt bad for him. She was spitting 300 words a minute, all of it degrading and abusive shit. They were both black, but she just cut a hole through him and he looked pissed then started just nodding until she slowed down.
When she finally turned her attention to me, she said, "Now if you think you're gonna keep on with your stupid-ass game, I have a surprise for you and your little cartel. We can set you all back to the start tomorrow. Square one, start over. Everybody, even the ones who don't need this to graduate."
I nodded, and said, "I understand." She demanded I tell everyone to knock it off, and I replied, "I'll tell them what you said."
"Get your lily-white ass out of my office and make sure this shit is over tomorrow," she said. "Jimmy, make sure his repeated runaway ass makes it back to his dorm."
As we walked, Jimmy said, "You're the kind of little bastard that ends up in jail with people like me fuckin' with 'em. You best get your shit straight. Or, I'll look forward to beating your ass in the fish tank when you finally get caught doing some bullshit as a grownup."
I remember how pissed off I was. But when Jimmy spoke, I immediately remembered he'd just gotten his butt blistered in front of me and felt awful for him. That being said, I also sensed the anger wasn't really at me. "I know, Jimmy, um... I am sorry she yelled at you like that, by the way. That was really unprofessional and very foul. I want you to know you have more respect than she does in the dorms." This was a lie, but people DID kiss Jimmy's ass a lot and played nice with him when socializing because of his uncontrollable temper.
I told everyone and what I got back from my peers was "F it".
For weeks, he dumped on me with his hatred of Catherine, his anger that she was chosen over him as director of a home for boys, with his hatred of half the rest of the staff (which were not the best people to work with people, TBQH), his anger at "all this disrespect of me and my hard work". I just kept pushing the Catherine button and asking why she had not apologized to him. Finally, he told me he had demanded she apologize for humiliating him and she had just laughed in his face.
For about 3 weeks, meetings went on without the previous drama and snitchery Catherine wanted. So, one night before weekend passes, we were all told we had to start over. We all walked out as a response and refused to rejoin the meetings. This led to staffers forcing people inside, which led to a brawl and a mass escape/AWOL. I was blamed and returned to my home county's juvenile hall. Jimmy continued to communicate, writing hate-filled letters with unhinged rants about society, racism and how black women are too arrogant.
I always wrote back with a tone as supportive as I could manage, but I admit I often said something to the effect of, "Someone should teach that miserable bitch to respect her peers/people/kids." He loved that kind of talk and I liked hearing how I was "A smart kid" or "Such a kind young soul". So I advised him to get someone else to teach her the lesson or to do certain things to not get caught or identified by her afterward. Some of his letters described how, "if he had to" he would smack her in the head with a hammer until she passed out, then stab her to death. I told him that was scary. There was a long silence.
His letters ended with one that said, "You have tried to be a good friend to me, young man, but I feel like I should keep some distance, since you are a former client where I worked. Take care of yourself. I don't think I'll ever see you in jail." The letters then stopped completely.
During the last weeks of my 6mo sentence in juvenile hall, the judge dismissed my charges and I returned to foster care. Two years later, I joined the Navy. While I was in training at Point Mugu, I happened to see a story. Catherine had been murdered in her home. I sighed and assumed it was one of the boys from Guadalupe. I was very wrong.
In 2013, while looking up Guadalupe to see if it was still open, I came across a story about Jimmy. He had been arrested for Catherine's murder. I know he was socially isolated, mean-spirited, foul-tempered and could be cruel. But 16yo me just did not apply that to how I communicated with him, and I am almost convinced that I enabled him with my "playing along" to kill this woman in her home. She was an abhorrent piece of work herself, but the details of the case made my blood freeze. She had been bludgeoned. She had been stabbed.
And I shit-talked her in letters to the man who eventually killed her, leaving her daughter motherless.
EDIT: Minor punctuation and a typo. EDIT: Changed "them" to "his letters" to be clearer about the sequence of events.