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Shouta fights best under moonlight. But that doesn't mean he can't fight under daylight.
Capture weapon whirling, eyes flashing, he lets himself snarl and snap as he moves. That's his kid that's bloody-templed and trying to get back to his feet, knives in hand and a matching Cheshire snarl of his own. They're both Aizawas, after all.
And with this knowledge held iron-clutched to their breastbones, they fight.
The pair are long-since accustomed to the chaos of a brawl-battle-blur, of how their blades fly and thoughts weave, jagged and cut-short sharp. They know each other, and the rhythm of a battleground, and that in itself is enough for them to be... not unafraid, but unhesitating. Unflinching. One of them taunts, the other glares, both wielding their weapons with unerring accuracy and a solidity of knowledge in that if their blades do miss, they will be caught by the other, no doubt about it.
Like this, they fight. Izuku - Kidilante, Hemlock - flings two blades, one aimed for an elephantine ear, the other for an ankle revealed by an unbooted foot. The former, when it passes through and along the thin membrane, slicing a long notch, heads right for Eraserhead's head, only to be caught up in a tangle of capture weapon and slashed at the reaching hand of someone with soft scales and toxic-glowing eyes. They rear back with a cry, clearly unused to true wounds, and whilst the bloodshed gives Eraserhead no joy, the momentary victory of it does. Doubly so when it allows him to sling the knife back towards his Kid, and for his capture weapon to loop further around, to coil between wrists and pull tight, tugging the scaled person right into another villain, knocking them both flying.
Above, the glare of the sun catches his eye, the heat of a noon-time summer's day far more uncomfortable than any cool night, but the pair fight on all the same. These villains tried to take his kid hostage, had tried to put claws around his throat, a gun butt to his temple. And Izuku, Kidilante, had fought, writhed out of that grip with blood dripping, and they had both begun to dance in the way of hero-warrior-guardians. In the way that they've learnt from each other.
(Their fights are borne of love, fought beneath the stars. It lends them strength, far deeper and fiercer than any spite and even desperation, and it's having their own light and darkness all in one, abyssal-bright within them both, between them both. So perhaps today they are fighting beneath the sun, but they have the stars in their blood and bones.)
Izuku wobbles, grit and gravel slipping beneath his boots, and doesn't quite fall, but his vision blurs for an awful second, the ramifications of the blow to his temple showing up with typical-luck timing. His knife-strike misses, and a limb of some sort (probably an arm but perhaps it's a leg or weapon or tail, he can't tell, vision grey-washed-) lashes for him, aimed somewhere at chest-throat-guts, for vulnerability. He raises an arm, knife in hand, and his capture weapon writhes, coils, half to cushion his potential fall, half to protect him, and thankfully it's unneeded, unnecessary.
Off-white fabric-alloy loops around his waist and shoulders, taking his weight and preventing him from falling further, a gentle catch, and there's dark hair and red-flaring eyes (an eclipse-born blood moon, the safest of sights-) and a gentle hand that clasps above his elbow. The combination of hand and capture weapon is surely what stops either from being a jerk-stop agony, and instead Izuku is swept up, drawn into his EraserDad's side, into warmth and sharp breathing and absolute safety.
His vision settles, full colour once more, and his ankle twinges beneath him when he shifts enough to recover some of his weight from his Dad's arm. But he can stand upright, so he does so, knives in hand once more, and murmurs a quick-gone reassurance for the hero. Gratitude can wait for safety, not that it's truly needed. They both know that it's nothing, not in a fight like this, a moment that has happened between them a thousand times and twice again.
That won't stop Izuku from thanking his Dad all the same. It never will.
(After all, His Dad is his moon, and Izuku has no sun. He doesn't need one, not when he's a hero of the night, who belongs under stars and at the side of the moon, exchanging blows and words and affection with his hero. His Dad is all he needs, all he wants. Of course, he's blessed with more, with a Tsukauntie and Auntie Zashi and Uncle Nem, with Nedzu-sensei and the precinct and his class and boyfriends. With his kids.)
Today has been very much derailed. But his Dad has just successfully tugged the last villain to the ground without even touching them, capture weapon viciously effective in yanking them down and out.
"Got your footing, kid?" It's a mild comment, noncommittal and giving nothing away about just how close they are. Although with his arm around Izuku's waist still, keeping him in place and safe and steady, it's blatant that they have some level of closeness. Luckily though, even as Izuku nods, quietly admitting that he's got a sore ankle, but it's lightly sprained at worst, and with a serious gaze upon him, a stubbled chin briefly pressing upon his braided curls, both of their attention falls upon several people approaching, shouting for sensei and Izuku. The pair are abruptly reminded that they left UA with some of the class today. Hizashi is leading their group.
Things get busy again then, a local hero arriving to help get the group of nine villains restrained and ready for pick-up from the police. An ambulance arrives, checks Izuku over for all that Aizawa has already assessed there to be no concussion and trusts Izuku's self-assessment of his ankle. They also check the worst of the injuries for the villains though, so their arrival isn't a waste by any stretch. The class help collect up Izuku's knives, the few that did get lost or caught in some way, and hero licences are shown whilst the Aizawas give brief statements. The class who are close enough to overhear all snicker and roll eyes and giggle when their teacher says that the villains, foolishly, tried to choose Izuku to take hostage out of everyone in the street. Yes, he's still small and slight at a glance, a baggy hoodie of someone else's and clunky boots all making him appear even smaller. Sweeter.
Of course, they also hide a rather large number of knives.
Either way, their Aizawas are alright, if a tiny bit bloody and bruised in places, and nine villains are being loaded up into police vans. Izuku, a plaster on his forehead and his boots tied onto his Dad's belt, his ankle wrapped in supportive bandages, is draped over his hero's back, and the class continue their day happily enough.
(Izuku is carried upon his moon's back, a safe place as though amongst the clouds. His head hurts, but he can rest his chin amongst capture weapon, breathing deeply, and giggle at his friends' antics, how Mina and Kaminari are trying to get Auntie Zashi to laugh loudly enough to use his Quirk. It makes for a very lovely afternoon all the same, held close and safe upon his Dad's back.)