Disclaimer: The Loud House and associated characters belong to Nickelodeon and Chris Savino

note: I'm glad you all stuck around while things were acting weird. If in doubt, assume it's the website being stupid again. I'll never delete anything.

Rinkān no Shimai

(Lincoln's Sisters)

By Lola Presents

Chapter 1

Before remembering what day it was, Lincoln stretched, accompanied by a prolonged yawn, then threw his covers off and sat on the edge of his bed. Rubbing his face, he slowly gained consciousness but remained in place for a moment longer, blinking in the bright sunlight that filtered into his room.

Lincoln turned his sounding alarm before tending to a more immediate need for relief. His back itched fiercely, and he swore he'd never eat in bed again. Finally getting a respite from the irritation, Lincoln stood and got dressed. Today was his thirteenth birthday, and he planned to make the utmost of it.

After foraging for fresh clothing and putting them on, he stood in front of the small, circular mirror above his dresser to adjust the lay of his hair. And as he brushed his bangs to the side, he noticed two faint rashes on his forehead. Concerned, he leaned in to get a better look. It seemed they also itched.

Deciding to let his growing bangs hang loose for the day, Lincoln sighed, slipped on his socks and shoes, then headed downstairs, where Leni was no doubt waiting to announce a surprise party, as always. He'd repeatedly asked her not to do that, but she never listened. However, he always enjoyed her parties.


"Good morning, everyone!" Lincoln chirped as he walked into the kitchen, bracing himself for whatever his sister had planned.

"Surprise!" everyone yelled, popping out from underneath the table or behind the corner leading to the basement. "Happy birthday, Lincy!" chimed Leni as she tossed confetti into the air.

"Gee, thanks, guys!" Lincoln chirped, feigning surprise. "But, you didn't have to do this, you know."

"Of course we did," replied his mother, who stepped forward and kissed him on his forehead. "You're officially a teenage, something that only happens once."

"Right..." sighed the young man. "I hadn't thought about it like that."

"Well?" beamed Leni, bouncing on her heels and staring at the large, three-layer cake adorned in superheroes and thirteen orange candles. "Aren't you going to make a wish and blow out the candles?"

"Not yet!" implored their father, huddling behind his children. "We have to sing happy birthday to him first!"

"Oh!" exclaimed Leni. "That's right!" she said before leading her family in a rousing rendition of the traditional birthday song, complete with odes to looking and smelling like a monkey.

Finally, the room quieted, and everybody urged him to make his wish. Closing his eyes, Lincoln thought long and hard about what he wanted. And, for once, he thought of something fitting his age. Wishing with all his might, Lincoln mentally pleaded for a girlfriend who loved him for who he was. Then, opening his eyes, Lincoln leaned in and blew the candles out.

Everybody clapped and cheered as Mr. and Mrs. Loud took to serving cake, ice cream, chips with various dips, and soda, all served on Chinette paper plates and plastic SOLO cups. Of course, Lincoln got to sit at the head of the table, one of his favorite parts of the yearly ceremony. However, this year, it felt different.

Lincoln hadn't only gotten a year older, he was now a teenager, and with that came other changes. Soon, if not already, his body would undergo pubertal changes, which filled him with pride and fear. It felt good to grow up, but he couldn't help but wonder how puberty would affect him; facial and body hair, odors, and pimples were at the top of his concerns.

As the party went on, Lincoln opened many great gifts from his sisters, after which things began to break up, with his family moving on to other tasks or duties. Being the 'man of the day,' Lincoln was exempt from having to do any chores, and he gladly retreated to his room, where he intended to spend the day enjoying the gifts he'd gotten.


However, once back in his room and relaxation began to set in, Lincoln again noticed the irritating itch. Only now, his forehead burned as well. Putting down his first comic of the day, he walked back to his mirror to inspect his forehead, assuming his back was in the same condition. What he saw made him gasp and reel backward in shock.

"What the fuck..." he murmured, focusing his eyes on the odd blemishes.

Something was forming underneath his skin near his temples, causing small bumps in the center of the rashes. Quickly dashing to the restroom, Lincoln fetched one of his sister's hand-held mirrors and returned to his room. After locking the door and removing his shirt, he used the portable mirror to inspect his back.

Similarly, there were three reddish areas upon his backside, one on each shoulder blade and one near the base of his spine. Inspecting them closer with his fingers, he noted that not only were they sore but worsening. His immediate reaction was to hide them. However, his mother, who had medical training, had taught him better.

"Fuck my life..." Lincoln swore, letting his shirt fall back into place. "Why me? Why now?" he wondered before gathering his resolve to seek out his mother for advice.


After checking his mother's usual whereabouts, Lincoln knocked on his parent's door with moody anticipation. Should he require a hospital visit on his birthday, he'd rather die. But he couldn't ignore something so bizarre and waited for his mother's blessing to enter.

"Mom?" Lincoln spoke tentatively. "It's me, Lincoln," he said after knocking.

"Come in, honey," his mother replied a moment later. "It's unlocked."

"Hey, Mom?" Lincoln prompted as he entered to his mother standing beside her bed, folding fresh laundry. "Do you have a minute?"

"Of course!" his mother chirped, folding a tee shirt and laying it in Lana's pile. "What's on your mind?" she asked, sensing her son's hesitancy.

"I don't know..." sighed Lincoln, apprehensively lifting his bangs. "I seem to have an odd rash, and I was wondering if you knew what it might be?"

Rita abandoned her chore and took over, using her hand to hold his hair back as she examined the two round rashes and the little bumps. She'd never seen anything like it before. It certainly wasn't acne, though. Then, testing one of the bumps for hardness, she stepped back, feeling something sharp underneath.

"Oh, my..." Lincoln's mother gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "Is there any more?" she asked, almost timidly.

"Yeah," answered Rita's son, turning and removing his shirt. "Any ideas?"

When his mother didn't answer promptly, Lincoln let his shirt fall and faced her as she sat on her bed, her hands on her legs and small, silent tears forming in her eyes.

"Mom?" pleaded the young man as he knelt before her. "Is everything alright? I'm not going to die, am I?"

"No, son..." Rita said through bated breath. "You aren't going to die. But your life is about to change dramatically," she informed him without meeting his gaze.

"What do you mean?" implored Lincoln, relieved that he wasn't going to die but confused at his mother's reaction. "I don't understand."

"I had always feared this might happen," she kept talking as if Lincoln wasn't in the room, "but hoped it wouldn't. And after so long, I guess I forgot about it."

"Mom!" barked the distressed young man. "What are you talking about?"

Finally, Lincoln's mother raised her head and met her son's concerned face. She had buried her memories of the event long ago, convincing herself it was only a lucid dream. Yet, somehow, she'd known it had been real all along. And now, she had to face her son and the truth of his conception.

"Son..." Rita muttered through her tears and a forced smile. "I have something to tell you, but I don't know how."

"Just tell me, Mom!" Lincoln urged, becoming increasingly nervous for himself and her both. "I promise it'll understand," he whispered in conclusion.

"That's just it," sighed Lincoln's mother, smiling oddly at him. "I don't even understand, and you probably won't believe me anyway."

"Mom..." sighed Lincoln, hanging his head, his emotions and thoughts spinning out of control. "Please, just tell me..."

"Almost fourteen years ago," Rita whispered, barely able to control her breathing, "I slept with someone other than your father," she informed Lincoln. "I thought it was only a dream, but it felt so real..." she said before going silent for a moment.

"You had an affair?" gasped Lincoln, entirely taken aback. Then, shaking the news off for more immediate concerns, he continued. "How does that explain these blisters?"

"They aren't blisters, honey," Rita sobbed, placing one hand on her son's shoulder and wiping her tears with the other. "You're..." she said, stopping to cover her mouth in grief.

"I'm what?!" barked Lincoln. "Tell me!"

"You've reached the aged of maturity and are growing horns, wings, and a tail," the reeling boy's mother told him. "The person I slept with wasn't human, honey. He was an incubus. Do you know what that is?"

"Yeah..." responded Lincoln, not believing his mother's words. "But they don't exist, Mom. It isn't possible. Is this your way of denying that I'm growing up?" he asked, shifting his focus entirely on his mother. "Do you need to talk to a counselor?"

Rita shook her head but continued to smile at him.

"No, baby," Rita replied, cupping his cheeks and kissing his forehead. "I knew you wouldn't believe me," she reminded him. "But you will, once it happens. For now, remember that I love you, and I'll be here for you when it does. I'm sure you'll have questions."

"I already have more than I need," responded Lincoln, rising and staring at his mother with concern. "But right now, I think you need some rest. I'll be in my room. Please, see me when you start feeling more like yourself. Alright?"

"Alright," sighed Rita, allowing Lincoln this moment of doubt. After all, anyone would think the same. Nodding, she dismissed her son.


"Incubus, my ass..." muttered Lincoln after returning to his room. Then, lifting his shirt again, he studied the spots on his back with the hand-held mirror.

Lincoln had to admit that the nature and location of his rashes did seem to match her story. But that wasn't possible, was it? Succubi and Incubi were only mythological metaphors for feminine and masculine lust. Besides, if he were an Incubus, he'd have known by now, wouldn't he?

Placing the mirror on his dresser and letting his shirt fall, Lincoln grabbed his laptop and got comfortable on his bed for in-depth research, including medical symptoms and mythology. After many false leads regarding a medical explanation, Lincoln turned to the alternative.

"The word incubus is derived from Late Latin incubo "a nightmare induced by such a demon" from incubare "to lie upon." One of the earliest evident mentions of a demon sharing qualities to an incubus comes from Mesopotamia on the Sumerian King List, c. 2400 BC, where the hero Gilgamesh's father is listed as Lilu. It is said that Lilu disturbs and seduces women in their sleep, while Lilitu, a female demon, appears to men in their erotic dreams." he read from a wiki page.

"Well, that's not much help," declared Lincoln in disgust as he turned off his laptop and set it aside. "I should have known something like this would happen on my birthday," he wondered aloud as he fetched his comic, desperately needing a distraction.


For the remainder of the day, Lincoln mainly occupied his room, using his gifts, which included comics, some models, new clothes, and a video game cartridge. Occasionally, his sisters would visit with words of encouragement or tease him about being "an old man." However, they were equally delighted whenever they witnessed him using their gifts.

Similarly, Rita remained in her room, pacing while trying to rationalize things. From past research of her own, she knew that soon, Lincoln would change, presenting many problems. The first issue was his health. Human food would only go so far. As much as she loathed the idea, her son would need sex. The second issue was that he wouldn't be healthy enough to maintain human form if she couldn't provide for Lincoln's needs.

Mournfully, she stopped before her vanity and braced herself against it. She resigned herself to registering her son for homeschooling, but the rest caused her great distress. While she couldn't let him out of the house to feed, it wasn't much better at home with ten sisters. The distraught mother saw no alternatives and no solution. And as she agonized over her son's situation, her tears returned in earnest.

However, that wasn't the end of Rita's worries. Once Lincoln's nature got revealed, she'd have to explain things to her husband, and she feared the worst. It wasn't fair and certainly not her fault. If only she had said no, despite believing it was a dream. But then again, she wouldn't have gotten her son, who would still be the same person.


Sighing, Lincoln put down the final comic, having enjoyed them. Looking at the clock, he realized how late it had gotten. Lincoln needed sleep, but his skin was still bothering him. Deciding to shower, he hoped to wash away whatever irritant had caused his blemishes and made his way to the restroom.

"Ah," he sighed as the warm water coursed over his body a few minutes later, easing the annoying itch. "That's much better."

After shampooing and conditioning his hair, leaving the latter in for better treatment, Lincoln lathered his body with soap, then rinsed away the day's grime. Afterward, he thoroughly rinsed his hair, then relaxed in the steamy water.

Having taken care of the itchiness, at least for now, Lincoln shut off the shower, dried off, wrapped a towel around himself, and headed for his room, passing Luan on her way to the facilities.

"Ooh!" chirped the comedienne. "Looking good, Lincoln," she observed, running a finger along his waist as he passed.

"What?" shot Lincoln, turning to face his sister in astonishment. "You're so weird..."

Luan appeared ready to respond, but instead, cocked one eye and smirked as she turned and entered the restroom, leaving Lincoln to his thoughts.

Finally safe in his room, Lincoln locked the door, tossed the damp towel, and donned a fresh pair of underwear. Yawning deeply, he turned out the light and crawled under his covers, hoping his rash had cleared up by morning. And, feeling refreshed and relaxed from his shower, Lincoln fell hard and fast asleep.


When morning came, and the sun graced Lincoln with its presence, the young man found himself on his stomach, and his head turned to one side. While it wasn't a common occurrence, it did happen, and Lincoln dismissed it as he rose and rubbed his face.

That's when he noticed something was wrong, terribly wrong. Rushing to his mirror, he double-checked his sanity, only to find it working perfectly. Two stubby horns had appeared on his forehead overnight, with two tiny wings upon his back and a short tail, which awkwardly hung from his underwear. Then, Lincoln thought of something and checked himself.

Yup. Lincoln was hung like a horse, as the saying goes.

"MOM!" the terrified boy repeatedly screamed.


Though everyone heard his pleas and had gathered outside, Lincoln had locked the door, and nobody could get in. Instead, they only knocked repeatedly, inquiring about what might be wrong. Though once their mother arrived, she shooed them away after bolting up the stairs, she knocked softly.

"Honey," called Lincoln's mother. "It's me. May I come in?"

After a moment's silence, Rita heard the click of the lock and walked briskly in before shutting it and locking it again. Then, turning slowly, she faced her son. Except for the apparent elements, he still looked like himself, which was a relief. However, his muscle mass was more defined, and he'd lost his remaining baby fat.

"Oh!" gasped Rita, stepping back a bit, folding one arm and resting the other on it as she gawked at him. "I see," she said, visibly squirming. "I didn't think it would happen this fast. But, look on the bright side..." she offered. "You're hot."

"What?!" gasped Lincoln, sitting on his bed and covering his face. "That's not what I wanted to hear, Mom! Geez!"

"Sorry, honey," cooed his mother, ashamed of herself, not that she hadn't thought it but for having said it. "It's not my fault. You do know what Incubi are known for. Right?"

"Oh, God..." muttered Lincoln, thinking about his sisters. "I can't ever leave my room, can I?"

"Well..." hummed his mother, gingerly sitting beside him. "That depends."

"On what?" barked Lincoln, scooting away a few inches, not wanting to coerce his mother.

"On you," she replied. "Look, honey, I've done a lot of research on this over the years. Most of it didn't make much sense and came from unreliable sources, but a few things remained consistent."

"What, that I'm a freak?" spat Lincoln, cowering near the head of his bed.

"No, honey," stated Rita with assurance. "You must learn to control your seductive aura and change into your human visage. Though, I am not sure how to go about that," she said, biting her lip. "And, you're going to have to supplement your meals with, uh..."

"With what?" muttered Lincoln, ready to take whatever medicine she prescribed.

"W-With sex..." Rita finally informed him.

"WHAT?!" gasped the distressed boy, now covering himself with his blankets. "I can't have sex with you! You're my mom!"

Before Rita could respond, however, another knock sounded upon the door.

"Hey, hun?" called Lynn from outside. "The girls told me something was going on. May I come in?"

Rita sighed, closed her eyes momentarily, then stood and let in her husband. She then watched his expression change multiple times as he processed what he saw. Finally, he faced his wife.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded to know. "Some kind of practical joke?"

"No, honey," Rita replied, shaking her head in sorrow before ushering him out of her son's room. "Lynn, we need to talk."