Inuyasha and all its characters are created by Rumiko Takahashi. I merely occasionally borrow them for my own twisted purposes.
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They probably wouldn't understand. They might be shocked, disgusted, frightened, even aroused. But understanding? Probably not.
And it didn't matter.
It didn't matter what they thought of her, how they felt about it. You do what you need to, and carry on. And if this was what she needed to do in order to bond with her weapon, to wield it, then she would do it.
Let them think what they like.
She set the giant boomerang into the earth edgewise, just so. It's huge, heavy; surely they don't believe she lifts it, wields it, by strength and will alone? No, they are bonded by magic, weapon and warrior. A bond born of moonlight, blood, and desire.
A bond that must be renewed.
Bleached bone glows beneath the moon's cold eye. Stark light bathes her pale skin, casting shifting shadows as she moves with purpose, with grace. She anoints herself with sweet almond oil. It glistens as it trickles down her body, over her proud, high breasts, across her taut belly, and down to the nest of curls sticky with her moon's flow. She touches herself there, sighing as her fingers part her folds, caress her most sensitive places, dip within and come forth wet and stained.
In crimson and umber she paints the character for 'love' in bold strokes across the blade's pale surface. It disappears, is absorbed within. She pours oil across the blunt inner edge, then carefully straddles it, grinding her sex against its unyielding hardness. She gasps as heat pools at her core. A thrum of power answers from deep within the bone.
Her desire rises, keen as a knife. Oil, blood and chrism slick her thighs as she rocks, seeking the perfect rhythm. She tugs on her tight nipples, touching and teasing herself until her breath hitches. Pleasure coils within her, power crackles without.
She binds them with a song of sighs, moonlight, blood, and desire, twining, pulsing, rushing through and around her. She is close, so close. Energy licks at her skin with tongues of flame, roaring in her ears. At last she succumbs, pleasure and power washing over her, through her, binding warrior and weapon, blood and bone.
Spent and sated, renewed and whole, she releases the last residue of magic with a contented whisper...
"Hiraikotsu..."