#half filipino iwaizumi hajime agenda

[blockedbykei]

𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐔 !!

- all are sfw

- reblogs and feedback are appreciated!

- non haikyuu works: go to @indouloureux

tsukishima kei

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

— tsukishima has always struggled wrapping the stupid bandages on his fingers. the new manager seemed to know how, but his pride was too stuck up for him to ask help. luckily, you knew him too well.

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐩 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨𝐰

— he hates your intelligence in classrooms and you hate his cunnigness at the court. both go at great lengths to defeat each other, but how is it that both of you were the only ones that can help each other be better?

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡)

— something about the stars has always intrigued tsukishima, how even in the dusk of the night, the brighest star would light up the world and burn itself in the process. he also didn't know what to do when that star had turned into the person who seemed to make his days just a little bit better.

𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐰𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 !!

— every moon has their own star. and tsukishima loves his little star the best (dad!tsukishima)

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 !!

— a collection of dad!tsukishima drabbles set in the same timeline

concerned tsukki who cuddles you when you're down

kageyama tobio

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ? (series)

— kageyama always had one agenda in his life: volleyball. it just so happens that you seemed to challenge him even more than the sport has ever done in his life.

hinata shoyo

𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬

— he always had a lot of energy. the boy made out of literal sunshine. but he also knew how to made your knees weak and made butterflies flutter around your stomach

ushijima wakatoshi

coming soon

oikawa tooru

coming soon

iwaizumi hajime

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 !!

— half filipino!iwaizumi headcannons

headcannons

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐜𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲 !!

— haikyuu men as your boyfriend (tsukishima, kageyama, hinata, kuroo, osamu, oikawa, ushijima)

[miyamoratsumuu]

we'll be following the iwaizumi hajime half filipino agenda for next week gals and pals 🙋🏻‍♀️

filo iwa's posted gais 😸

[clubatsumu]

didn't expect you to write a whole fic about filo iwaizumi and now you're responsible for making me fall in love with him even more 😭❤️ IF YOU EVER DECIDE ON WRITING MORE FILO HAJIME, I'D EAT IT UP IMMEDIATELY

(thank you for making my day!! i hope you're doing well ❣️)

i didnt expect to write anything either!!!! the hell!!!!! more nonsense thoughts for ur perusal etc:

short circuits the moment you call him chong

you call him chong after that

hates redhorse with an alacrity

like. is decidedly against it. i can’t explain why. he just is. san mig light? he’s okay with. redhorse just makes him angry

doesn’t sing!!! no harana in the cards— but! he’s iwaizumi he doesn’t need that shit

LIKES DRIVING WHENEVER HE COMES TO VISIT. says it’s like an olympic sport, trying to merge lanes without a signal needed, driving over half-collapsing bridges (you’d argue that the structural integrity is fine, it just looks half-dead), makes for good stress relief

he doesn’t know… filipino or like any language spoken in the philippines … like, he’s never been pressured to learn, doesn’t exactly care enough to ask, but by the time he’s 28 or so — around the time the two of you start to go out for real — he downloads duolingo

gets suuuuuper into eraserheads around this time. says it helps him learn faster. his fav song is shirley and has a cd of the 2004 anthology

gets into The Cinema too. not movies. teleserye. starts walang hanggan in like, a dead hour at the facility. wonders what happens next, just keeps watching ‘one more episode’. by the time he reaches episode 203, he’s half-fluent, and can understand everything. low-key thinks coco martin is The Shit.

[a-minion]

Pinoy Eats!

Characters: Post Timeskip Japan Men's National Volleyball Team (Ushijima Wakatoshi, Hoshiumi Kōrai, Kageyama Tobio, Bokuto Kōtarō, Yaku Morisuke, Hinata Shōyō, Hyakuzawa Yūdai, Ojiro Aran, Miya Atsumu, Suna Rintarō, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Komori Motoya) + trainer, promoter and plus one (Iwaizumi Hajime, Kuroo Tetsurō, Miya Osamu)

Summary: Japan Men's National Volleyball Team goes on a trip to the Philippines and experiences the culture.

Warning: 🟢Green. Yeah, I think it's mostly green.

AN: Inspired by @jellxnew and @ellewords. Sorry I tagged you but this monstrosity is kinda your fault. And yes, this is just an intro and it's going to be a series. Why? Because. And yes, there's also a reference to that Iwa-chan stuffed toy becayse, why not?

For some half-assed reason of marketing and promotion, Kuroo somehow pulled a few strings and earned the team some out-of-the-country vacation time. With the condition that they would continue to train, Iwaizumi Hajime ended up going with them. When Osamu heard about it from Akaashi who heard about it from Bokuto, he decided to tag along.

Kuroo had no issues with it since Osamu said he'd pay for his own travel.

The trip was to the Philippines and the younger Miya twin thought it would be a good experience to further his culinary knowledge. As a child, he and Atsumu knew a kind Filipino lady who lived across the street. Whenever she cooked for her family, she would make a lot of extra and share it with the neighbors. Which was why, growing up, he and his twin knew the taste of Adobo, Menudo, Sinigang, Afritada and Kare Kare.

Atsumu was just as excited as he was when he learned where they were going. No doubt also recalling the nostalgic memory of that kind lady.

The excitable guys in the team were just giddy about going abroad, even the one who had been living in Brazil for a long time. Osamu and Atsumu mentioned Filipino food which only added to the group's excitement. And so, the first agenda of the group is decided: food.

An argument about what to eat first broke during their four-hour plane ride. Iwaizumi suddenly regretted going and glared at Kuroo who grinned obnoxiously at him.

"I still haven't forgotten about that stuffed toy, Kuroo" he threatened

Kuroo just laughed, much to his annoyance.

When they arrived at the airport, there were hundreds of reporters waiting for them. To their surprise, the questions they get are mostly about food and only little about their training.

"Filipinos really love food huh?" Bokuto commented.

"Samu's in heaven" Suna commented but Osamu wasn't even listening anymore. He was already off on his own world, staring at a fast-food restaurant called "Jollibee”.

With the help of the translator/tour guide assigned to them, Kuroo managed to convince Osamu to head to the hotel first.

The one-hour drive through traffic was thankfully more bearable due to their tour guide distracting the hyperactive guys, talking about nothing but Filipino food.

Osamu was already taking notes. He had just discovered that there are dozens of ways to make Sinigang.

Iwaizumi managed to convince the more energetic guys to take a rest before going out to explore. They mostly agreed because their guide suggested ordering Jollibee to settle them down.

Dozens of brown paper bags with the logo of a happy bee arrived soon and the boys got too busy munching on some Chicken Joy, Yum Burgers, Jolly Hotdogs and Ube Cheese Pies.

"I wanna live here, Kuroooooo~" Bokuto cried with a mouthful of pie.

Shaking his head, Kuroo muttered "We haven't even seen the sights yet and you're already like this."

With the boys full and feeling the exhaustion of their trip, Iwaizumi took the opportunity to plan with their tour guide and Kuroo on how to manage the large team who wanted to go to different places first.

As a result, the team was split into groups.

The Japan Men's National Volleyball Team + Taho

Ushijima Wakatoshi, Hoshiumi Kōrai, Kageyama Tobio, Bokuto Kōtarō, Yaku Morisuke, Hinata Shōyō, Hyakuzawa Yūdai, Ojiro Aran, Miya Atsumu, Suna Rintarō, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Komori Motoya, Iwaizumi Hajime, Kuroo Tetsurō, Miya Osamu

The Schweiden Adlers + Dirty Ice Cream/Sorbetes

Ushijima Wakatoshi, Hoshiumi Kōrai, Kageyama Tobio

The Training Camp Group + Isaw

Bokuto Kōtarō, Kuroo Tetsurō, Yaku Morisuke, Hinata Shōyō, Hyakuzawa Yūdai

The Inarizaki Group + Tokneneng/Kwek-Kwek

Ojiro Aran, Miya Atsumu, Miya Osamu, Suna Rintarō

The Cousins + Balut

Sakusa Kiyoomi, Komori Motoya

Iwa-chan + Halo Halo

He's all alone, there's no one there beside him~🎶

[clubatsumu]

Half filipino iwaizumi hajime who serenades you - harana - and would give you flowers and would court you no matter how long it takes just to hear you say 'yes'

definitely identifies as japanese more than anything -- and no one really knows he's half, really -- but sometimes he comes home to the insistence of his mother and grandmother, finds himself wishing he were staying for a few more days. starts to remember summer visits when he's nine years old. he's sullen at first about having to spend an entire summer away from oikawa, even though oikawa is annoying -- and having to spend it with other people he barely knows, which is, he tells his mother, even more annoying.

he meets you in the middle of their welcome home party. it's full of food he doesn't like, people who don't know the concept of personal space, a lot of jumbled words he doesn't understand. he's in the middle of a whirlpool, spinning on, and on, and on, bodies surrounding like water, when you come in: shoved, rather unceremoniously, in his direction. the rules that govern it are simple, really. ages? close enough. have you seen each other before? when you were toddlers. all is good, your mothers say. you've met each other before. go play with each other for at least two hours so the adults can drink and gossip.

you ask him, why is your name like that? saying it in english, because they ordered you to talk to him that way.

he answers, it's 'cause my grandpa is named hajime, in english too, because he's just following your lead here. yours is a tiny bit better than his, but you understand each other well enough, in that the-goal-is-to-play way kids do, and by the time you've invited him for a game of tag (which he knows, and is good at), then chinese garter (which he kind of doesn't understand the concept of when you bend your ankle that way, but gets it after you and the other kids on the street help him out), then luksong baka (which he takes to like fish to water, and remembers oikawa immediately, and promises himself that he'd ask him to play this the moment he got home).

you share an icepop from the tiangge, blue, because the red tastes like medicine, you say; you buy him gold coins, and his teeth get chocolate-stained by the time four o'clock rolls around, and a confetti of gold wrapper lays around your slippers, on the pavement; spits out his first-ever yakee, after the first bite, face contorted so much at the taste that you laugh, blowing out a bubble with your own.

he learns a new word that summer, retains one out of all the hundreds. his mother asks him who packed it on the plane back to miyagi, this word to bring back. he answers it was you. his mother smiles so largely, goes on a tangent about how she and your mother were high school classmates, and would get into all kinds of trouble together, which she isn't allowed to tell you about (they would steal flowers from the church, when they were younger, you said to him conspiratorily; then when they were older, would get drunk on tuba from someone's grandfather; you know this, you inform him, because of your amazing detective skills-- your aunts told you), then altogether forgets what his word was. then she remembers to ask him, just before their plane lands. tangina, he says proudly.

you told him it means good luck.

then the summers come and go. sometimes he comes back, sometimes he doesn't, until a rhythim falls. he visits every two years. the year he's twelve: you become shy, not at all like when you were nine. he becomes ... brash, in a way that covers his overly-gentle nature, the need to nurture people. he sits near you on the sofa, party in full swing, and the two of you don't talk for at least 30 minutes until he says, did you forget about me? and you answer, no, and everything is as it was, as it's supposed to be.

the year he's fourteen: you meet him about a week into his vacation. you were on vacation yourself with some of your dad's family, a couple of hours away. the moment you return though, you're at his house, knocking on his door, asking to see him. that year, he asks if they can stay for a week longer.

the year he is sixteen: you see him at a computer shop, those connected headphones that stick twined around his head, at seven in the evening. you know the guy behind the counter -- was a couple of years ahead of you in school, his mother was your teacher, his father's the second cousin of the sister-in-law of your third cousin -- so it's all really just one big happy family affair when you yank the (confirmed, stinky) headphones from his head and say, and not in english anymore, your mother was looking all over for you. she's out of her mind, and your grandmother is going to spit out a lung if she sighs one more time --! he knows what you mean well enough, from tone alone. the guy behind the counter sniggers, man, you shouldn't have paid for open time.

he refuses to be dragged out of his seat, though, because he fixes you with the most scathing glare you've ever come across, and says, says something you don't remember, really, but you can feel is him asking for five more minutes in the game. so you wait, hands across your chest, your hip on the counter. the game ends, and he reclines, -- i told them i'd play with my friends for a while.

your japanese friends? you ask.

i’m japanese, too, he reminds you, and you scrunch your nose, murmuring about how he’s never taught you any of the words—

he reminds you that his mother still doesn’t appreciate being called a son of a bitch, on that first plane ride.

give me your email, he commands. you lean into his space, replacing his fingers on the keyboard, as you click in your address. you’re not going to email me, probably, you tell him, bitter. he scowls even more.

you get a message from him a day after he returns home. the subject title reads, you’re wrong, and within it is a few pictures of a landscape entirely unfamiliar to you — clean air, winding pavements, a haze of cherry trees and cold colors.

you shoot him an email back. pictures of your school uniform, your dog, his grandmother in the middle of a game of mahjong — she’s swimming, you caption, look at her hands.

he returns: this is oikawa. he’s a shit.

you send a picture back of your friends, telling him, they all know about you. you’re kind of a legend here, hajime.

the exchanges are in contrasting in light. japan, to you, seems like such an ideal place, without discomfort. not at all like this island, where everything is hot and sticky, and dust keeps clinging to the windowsill.

you send him a link of a blurry youtube video, one of your surfing tournaments, you disappearing into the tunnel of a wave — look at my form! you say.

shiiiiiit, he replies, that’s so fucking cool.

your mothers don’t know you’re talking, still, exchanging emails and bits and pieces of places so far from each other, but by the time the summer of 18 comes, it’s like the two of you have never known separation. there’s something correct about it, about talking to each other — like talking to someone without fear of lack of understanding, like no matter how odd the topic, so removed, it would turn out all right.

you take him out to a bar, kind-of makeshift, with a karaoke machine at the center and plastic seats and laminated menus with dirt clinging to the edges, order a six pack of redhorse. he looks at you sourly when you take out your cigarettes, but he turns overly hostile when you scatter the ashes into the bottle, watching it fizzle to the bottom, he all but growls, you trynna die?

i can only afford six, you tell him, so we gotta get drunk quickly.

aren’t you supposed to be conditioning, he asks you.

tomorrow. promise. you cross your fingers. i’ll start tomorrow.

you spend the whole of tomorrow hugging the toilet seat, hajime with his arms on his hips, all smug at the back.

he makes your training his responsibility, and you’re driven to new heights of suffering, it takes a whole lot of self control to stop yourself from shoving his face into the sand. you dunk his head, and groan in frustration when it doesn’t budge.

he turns out to like isaw to an unhealthy degree, but would give you all his sticks if you asked for it. you consider kissing him in front of the sidewalk stall that sells barbecue, under the sizzling haze of smoke and oil clinging to shirts. you don’t though, but there’s a look on his face that tells you he wants to, too. but then where would it lead you? there’s no path for this, and the two of you are too active individuals to allow yourselves to be in a relationship made passive by the distance.

that summer is the last. he goes to california for college, the emails dwindle — you go to college, keep competing in tournaments, but never allow yourself to go pro. the mandated two-year visits stop. you get news about him from third-party sources, and all you do is respond politely. you get a nursing degree and start shifts at the local hospital, and sometimes you remember a childhood sweetheart you’ve never kissed, but by the time you sigh there’s another thing that occupies your mind.

by the time you’re 26, hajime’s cousin gets engaged, and family trickles back down to the roots to attend the wedding. you don’t expect him to come home — he’s too far removed, and his home and your home are not synonymous, but on your walk back home from a shift in the early morning, there he is, sitting on your doorstep.

did you forget about me? he asks, unsure, handsome and older, hands clasped together with his elbows at his knees.

you reply, smiling, no.