Supa Strikas One-shots ⚡❤️

Under the Jamaican Sky

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve !!!🌲🌲🌲

Word Count: 1158 words

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This year the team decided to spend Christmas at Jamaica, home of their captain.
The sprawling villa of Dancing Rasta was alive with the warmth of holiday cheer. Twinkling lights adorned the exterior, glowing faintly under the dark, starlit Jamaican sky. Inside, laughter and chatter echoed through the halls as the Supa Strikas team gathered for a special Christmas Eve celebration.

Rasta's villa at Jamaica wasn't just a place-it was a reflection of his roots. The walls were painted in the colors of the Jamaican flag, and reggae music played softly in the background. A long table was set up on the veranda, piled high with traditional dishes: jerk chicken, fried plantains, and ackee and saltfish.

As the night deepened, Dancing Rasta stood up and clinked his glass to get everyone's attention.

"Alright, everyone, it's time to move to the best part of the evening. Grab your drinks, grab a blanket, and join me out on the lawn. We're going stargazing, Jamaican style."

The team exchanged curious glances but eagerly followed their captain outside. The villa's lawn stretched out like a green ocean, ending at a cliff overlooking the Caribbean Sea. A gentle breeze carried the scent of the ocean as the group settled down on blankets and bean bags arranged in a loose circle.

The stars above shone brighter than anyone expected. It was as if the entire universe had turned out for the evening, twinkling like fairy lights against the dark velvet sky.

Dancing Rasta sat cross-legged at the center, a soft smile on his face.

"In Jamaica, we believe the stars tell stories, man," he began, his voice deep and calming. "Each one holds the memory of those who came before us-our ancestors, our struggles, and our triumphs. So tonight, I wanna share some of those stories with you."

The team leaned in closer, their usual banter replaced by quiet curiosity.

"Let me tell you about Anansi," Rasta said, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "He's a trickster, a spider who always finds a way to outsmart those bigger and stronger than him. One time, Anansi wanted to keep all the world's wisdom for himself. He tried to hide it in a calabash and climbed a tall tree to stash it away. But his son saw him struggling and said, 'Father, if you tied it to your back, you'd climb faster.'"

North Shaw chuckled. "Anansi's own kid outsmarted him?"

"Exactly," Rasta replied. "Anansi realized you can't hoard wisdom-it's meant to be shared. That's why we're all here, man, learning from each other, celebrating each other's stories."

El Matador, lying dramatically on his blanket, waved a hand. "I think I'm like Anansi-always the smartest one in the room."

"More like the loudest," Cool Joe quipped, earning a round of laughter.

Rasta's expression turned nostalgic as he gazed up at the stars.

"When I was a boy, Christmas in Trenchtown wasn't about fancy gifts or big feasts. We didn't have much, but we had each other. My dad and I would sit outside, just like this, singing carols and sharing stories. We'd make our own decorations from whatever we could find-bits of paper, scraps of fabric. And somehow, it felt like the whole world was celebrating with us."

Shakes leaned forward, his usual confident demeanor softened. "That sounds... peaceful. I guess I've never really thought about Christmas like that-just being present with the people you care about."

"Exactly, man," Rasta said, patting Shakes on the back. "It's not about the lights or the presents. It's about connection. That's why I invited you all here tonight-to remind us of that."

As the mood turned reflective, Klaus suddenly shot up, pointing at the sky.

"Is that a shooting star?!" he exclaimed, his German accent thick with excitement.

Everyone looked up, but Rasta shook his head, chuckling. "No, Klaus, that's a firefly. But you know what they say-when you see a firefly, it's a sign of good fortune."

Klaus plopped back down, looking sheepish. "Well, I still made a wish."

"What did you wish for?" Twisting Tiger asked, smirking.

"For more shooting stars!" Klaus declared, causing the group to burst into laughter.

Rasta leaned back, gesturing to the others. "Alright, now it's your turn, man. Share something about where you come from."

Twisting Tiger spoke first, his voice calm and measured. "In Japan, we have a tradition called Omisoka. It's the last day of the year, and we clean everything-our homes, our minds, our spirits. It's a way of starting fresh."

Rasta nodded approvingly. "That's beautiful, Tiger. A clean slate for a new year."

El Matador jumped in next. "In Spain, we eat twelve grapes at midnight on New Year's Eve-one for each chime of the clock. If you finish all twelve before the clock stops, you'll have good luck."

"I'd choke trying to eat them that fast," North Shaw joked, miming a grape-eating disaster.

Cool Joe added his piece, sharing how his family in Brazil celebrated Christmas with samba music and barbecues on the beach. "It's summer back home, so we're all about the sun, man."

The stories flowed freely, each teammate revealing a piece of their heritage. By the time they finished, the stars seemed to shine even brighter, as if they, too, were listening.

The tranquil atmosphere was interrupted when Klaus attempted to capture a firefly in his hands.

"I just want to see it up close!" he exclaimed, chasing the tiny light across the lawn.

"Klaus, leave the poor thing alone," Shakes called, laughing so hard he nearly spilled his drink.

But Klaus was determined. In his enthusiasm, he tripped over El Matador's outstretched legs and tumbled headfirst into a bush.

"¡Dios mio!" El Matador exclaimed, leaping up dramatically. "You almost crushed my blanket of perfection!"

The team dissolved into fits of laughter as Klaus emerged from the bush, twigs in his hair and a sheepish grin on his face.

As the laughter died down, Rasta stood, his silhouette framed against the starlit sky.

"You see, man, this is what it's all about-coming together, sharing stories, and making memories. No matter where we come from or what traditions we follow, we're all under the same sky. We're all connected."

The team fell silent, each player lost in their thoughts. For a moment, the world felt smaller, the stars closer.

Rasta's voice softened. "I'm proud to call you all my brothers. Let's carry this feeling into the new year-respecting and celebrating our differences, both on and off the pitch.

As the clock struck midnight, the team raised their glasses in a toast.

"To family," Rasta said.

"To fireflies!" Klaus added, earning another round of laughter.

And under the Jamaican sky, the Supa Strikas celebrated not just Christmas, but the bond that made them unstoppable-on the field and in life.

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Hope you liked this oneshot guys ❤️❤️❤️

-Willow