Self Care Cafes of the SCM
You won’t find them on maps. Somebody tells you, or you stumble across them on bad days—tucked between two buildings that shouldn’t have room for anything, nestled in the quiet hour between dusk and real night, lit by the warm glow of string lights and a chalkboard sign that says, “It’s okay.”
They're run by the Self Care Mafia: a loosely connected, fiercely gentle network of enablers of self care, armed with glitter guns and silly absolutely stylish fedoras. Employees don’t make a fuss. They just make tea. And soup. And safety.
Mismatched armchairs nestle into corners like old friends mid-conversation. Blankets drape lazily across couches. There are books everywhere—on windowsills, stacked under plant pots, fanned across low tables next to mugs still steaming.
“You Deserve Soup” Special
A rotating selection of broths that feel like a hug.
Affirmation Toast
Served with words you forgot how much you needed to hear.
Shame-Free Coffee Refills
It’s okay if this is your fifth cup. We won't tell you it's decaf.
The Breakdown Bagel
Comes with toppings of your choice and a little handwritten note that says, “Still proud of you.”
Consent Cocoa
Will wait until you’re ready to drink it. Still warm, somehow.
Since then, the cafés have appeared wherever they’re needed: near protest zones, after plagues, beneath universities during exam weeks, or in the middle of long, grim winters.
Some say the Mafia is growing. Damn right they are!
Food sharing
A lot of supermarkets, bakeries and restaurants rather bring the food that is about to go bad to one of the self care cafes. So depending on the day, you might even get a food bag for home. There are even some not so secret message groups that *somebody* writes information about what's in, and you might find yourself with a delightful lunch with new friends faster than you might think.
Credit wall
You can pay with a story, a poem, or a moment of honesty. You can also pay more than one coffee for the next person to pick up.
Basket of lovingly made things
Crafty people sometimes bring what they made to the Self Care Café in case somebody else needs something nice. So at every self care café, there is a basket of beautiful little knickknacks like friendship bracelets, crochet plushies, self made bookmarks or little good luck charms.
Volunteer Snugglers
If you ask, someone will hold your hand while you sip your drink, and talk to you, or make music, read to you, or just *listen*. Some even offer free hugs. Which barista is offering what is readable on the different colors of their name tags.
The Ceiling of Stars
For every little Self Care victory you celebrate here, you get a gold star sticker. Some people prefer to keep them for their private use, but many people ask their barista to write down what they did in the famous format and put the sticker on the ceiling. Some Self care cafes have blue gauze draped across the ceiling and special lights, just to make those victories shine even more. Sometimes, friend groups start working on a constellation together and meet every day until they feel better and their vision comes true
They are not a business. They do not sell self care and healing. They make room for it.
And if someone tells you they were never there? Don’t argue. Just check the inside of your coat pocket. You might find a napkin with a tea stain, and a scribbled message in careful handwriting:
Story Time:
The rain had that soft hush to it, the kind that made the windows fog and the whole street feel like it was wrapped in a wool sweater. Inside the café, everything was warm and golden.
And at the counter stood the fox.
Her apron was crooked. Her tails swayed gently with the music, a soft Bossa Nova cover of something no one could quite place. She had three mugs lined up, a fourth steaming gently in her hands, marshmallows stacked like little clouds on top. Double, obviously.
The door swung open. A student, probably. Backpack slung too low, eyes haunted by deadlines, breath fogging their glasses. They looked around like maybe they weren’t supposed to be here.
The fox raised an eyebrow. Not an unfriendly one, just... precise. “You look like a cinnamon emergency. Sit.”
The student blinked, lost. Then they sat.
She set down a mug in front of them. Not one already made. No, this one was different, just the right kind of different. Cinnamon hot chocolate, thick as a hug, with a tiny fox-shaped sugar cube on the saucer. Not that it needed more sugar, but it’s the small things in this world that counts, and the fox knew that.
The student stared. “But I didn’t order—”
The fox waved it off as if it was nothing. And maybe it wasn’t. “I know. I still made it.”
She leaned on the counter, her gaze softening just enough to let the warmth through. “You don’t need to earn rest here. You just need to BE.”
They tried to speak. Something about payment. About earning this. About deserving it. The barista’s eyes narrowed. A single tail flicked. And for just one second, one might have realized the fierce gleam in her eyes was normally used to usher commands higher than just a complex coffee order, and that something other than her signature well loved fedora usually adored her brow.
“Absolutely not. Don’t even start. We don’t do guilt here, dear. You want a receipt? Fine. I’ll write ‘One human soul, still trying. Price: infinite grace.’ Happy now?”
A beat of silence, filled with big eyes and a hand that slowly, oh so slowly, put the money back away.
“Also, I will fight your thesis advisor if necessary. Verbally. And with claws.”
In the back of the café, someone chuckled softly. The fire in the corner crackled in approval. The student sipped. And for the first time in what might have been weeks, they smiled.
Inside
Rest Places
The first thing you notice is the couch. Not just a couch. THE couch. It stretches like a lazy river across half the main room, upholstered in soft fabrics patched together from years of comfort, piled high with blankets in every texture imaginable. There’s always a space for you, always a corner where someone’s left a hot water bottle and a fresh pillow. by Freepik
Sharing Culture
To the left, a shelf marked “Take What You Need” overflows with clean clothes in every size, folded with the care only someone who’s been there can give. Next to it, another shelf holds free books—soft spines, dog-eared pages, little handwritten notes inside from past readers. 'You are not alone,' one says. 'The ending is worth it,' says another.Venting Area
Behind a thick velvet curtain is the Scream Room. Soundproofed. Equipped with plush things to throw, curse into, or scream at. No judgment, no cameras, just release. A small box on the wall contains lozenges and herbal tea for after.Generous Kitchen
The kitchen is enormous. Polished steel, shelves of spices and sauces, a fridge packed with precooked meals and snacks labeled with friendly reminders: “Eat something, luvvie.” “Yes, the fancy yogurt is for you.” You can cook here if you want, or someone will do it with you, quiet company with an apron and kind eyes, or a spontaneous kitchen party. Both have happened before. by Upklyak
Pampering Areas
To the back, a real bathroom with soft towels, the nice soap that smells like lavender and wealth, a shower with perfect water pressure, and a washing machine that sings to you and finishes a full load in 20 minutes flat. Laundry baskets lined up, labeled with sticky notes: 'Don’t worry, we got this.' by thanyakij-12
Offerings
These cafés offer everything from hot drinks and quiet music to mutual aid sign-ups, free journaling supplies, and a hot meal if you haven't eaten all day, again.Menu Highlights
Who Runs These?
No one quite knows “officially” who the members of the Self Care Mafia are. The staff change often, and most don’t give names. But some people swear that they have seen powerful literomancers of different Houses and even House Leaders helping out. Just as often, people who once needed the self care cafés most are the most loyal volunteers. Social hours can also be worked off, and here, too, people just keep showing up after their sentence is done with. People who work here have one big thing in common, though: They show up when the world forgets how to be kind.Origins
Legend has it, the first café appeared after one of the Word Wars. Though only the Oyabun might know the details. “Someone brought soup to the rubble. Someone lit a candle. And someone said, ‘You don’t have to be strong right now.’ That was enough.” by doidam10
Notable Practices
Final Notes
by Pcrafteez
“You’re doing well. We’re so proud of you."
Story Time:
The Beleaguered Student
The rain had that soft hush to it, the kind that made the windows fog and the whole street feel like it was wrapped in a wool sweater. Inside the café, everything was warm and golden.
And at the counter stood the fox.
Her apron was crooked. Her tails swayed gently with the music, a soft Bossa Nova cover of something no one could quite place. She had three mugs lined up, a fourth steaming gently in her hands, marshmallows stacked like little clouds on top. Double, obviously.
The door swung open. A student, probably. Backpack slung too low, eyes haunted by deadlines, breath fogging their glasses. They looked around like maybe they weren’t supposed to be here.
The fox raised an eyebrow. Not an unfriendly one, just... precise. “You look like a cinnamon emergency. Sit.”
The student blinked, lost. Then they sat.
She set down a mug in front of them. Not one already made. No, this one was different, just the right kind of different. Cinnamon hot chocolate, thick as a hug, with a tiny fox-shaped sugar cube on the saucer. Not that it needed more sugar, but it’s the small things in this world that counts, and the fox knew that.
The student stared. “But I didn’t order—”
The fox waved it off as if it was nothing. And maybe it wasn’t. “I know. I still made it.”
She leaned on the counter, her gaze softening just enough to let the warmth through. “You don’t need to earn rest here. You just need to BE.”
They tried to speak. Something about payment. About earning this. About deserving it. The barista’s eyes narrowed. A single tail flicked. And for just one second, one might have realized the fierce gleam in her eyes was normally used to usher commands higher than just a complex coffee order, and that something other than her signature well loved fedora usually adored her brow.
“Absolutely not. Don’t even start. We don’t do guilt here, dear. You want a receipt? Fine. I’ll write ‘One human soul, still trying. Price: infinite grace.’ Happy now?”
A beat of silence, filled with big eyes and a hand that slowly, oh so slowly, put the money back away.
“Also, I will fight your thesis advisor if necessary. Verbally. And with claws.”
In the back of the café, someone chuckled softly. The fire in the corner crackled in approval. The student sipped. And for the first time in what might have been weeks, they smiled.
Self Care Mafia Logo by Shyredfox
WIP
Streamer
Missing
Status: Location Unknown
Deceased
Status: Deceased Character
Retired
Status: Retired Character or Article
Navigation
Type
Cafe / Tearoom
Related Professions
Owner
Owning Organization
Quotes
“You are not a burden. You are just tired. Sit down.”
“You are enough. Let your muchness shine through.”
“This is a guilt-free zone. That includes second helpings and midday naps.”
“The Self-Care Mafia is not subtle. We break cycles, not hearts.”
“Take what you need, leave what you can. Even if it’s just kindness.”
“If anyone asks, you were kidnapped by foxes and fed cookies until further notice.”
Comments
Author's Notes
By The Bard with Many Names, formatted by ShyRedFox. Bard worked hard to incorporate many of the SCM members here, but subtly. Foxx's crafting stuff, Nova's Notes and decaf coffee, Bard's hugging and music and food sharing, Lee's offering to pay for food several times in RP became the wall, Eli's crochet basket, the big kitchen for Fay and Flubb, the scream room (low key) for Dazz, the stars for Lady Wynter because she is always giving out the stars like crazy.