Ravyn Mixtape Track 5-

1.

Look, I didn’t plan on turning into a woman. Or—well—I did joke about it, but that’s what nerds like me do, okay? We cope with sarcasm, fan theories, and pretending that gender is a cute little character customization screen in an RPG. We say things like, “Ugh, if I had boobs, I’d get free drinks and still be better at Mario Kart.”

We don’t actually expect it to happen.

And yet… here we are.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. You probably want context. Fine.

Picture this:

Me—Dylan, professional nerd, part-time Dungeon Master, full-time underappreciated IT tech—trapped at Club Kicks, a place that can only be described as “if the 80s vomited neon and bad decisions into a warehouse.”

Thudding bass. Sweaty strangers. Girls in crop tops defying physics. Guys trying to impress said girls by doing… whatever the hell that is. Some kind of mating ritual that looks like a drunk pigeon having a stroke.

And me—standing at the bar, clutching a Diet Coke like it’s a holy relic.

Next to me, my best friend Jake, who’s hot in that “accidentally got abs while playing video games” way, is also uncomfortable. We belong here about as much as a USB-C cable fits into a USB-A port.

“Oh my god,” Jake mutters, watching a guy rip his shirt off mid-dance. “Is that… Is that how straight people summon mates? Should we be taking notes?”

“Let’s just install a firmware update for our social lives and leave,” I deadpan.

But that’s when she appears.

Tall. Blonde. Wearing a red dress that screams Main Character Energy. Except she’s not like the rest of these clubbers. Her eyes—sharp, playful—lock onto us. Her smirk says, I see you nerds trying to blend in. You’re failing. It’s adorable.

“You two look like you need help,” she says, voice like smooth jazz wrapped in sarcasm.

Jake tries to speak. Fails. Reboots.

I, being the disaster bisexual I am, say, “We’re undercover. Very top-secret geek operation. Checking for illegal dice smuggling.”

She laughs. I think angels sing.

“I’m Morgan,” she says. “You?”

Jake squeaks. I do the talking.

“We’re Dylan and Jake. Technically functioning adults.”

“Barely,” Jake adds.

Morgan leans on the bar, eyes sparkling. “Well, Dylan and Jake—wanna dance?”

Mistake.

Dancing is not our skill tree.

Five minutes later, we look like we’re casting low-level summoning spells with our limbs. Morgan? Goddess. Moves like she’s coded to the music. We? Resemble NPCs stuck in a glitch loop.

Jake trips over his own foot. I accidentally pelvic thrust into a stranger. Someone shouts, “YEAH, SHAKE IT, KING!” and I ascend to a new plane of embarrassment.

Morgan watches, grinning. “You’re adorable.”

I gasp. “I’m a WIZARD. FEAR ME.”

“You’re a dork,” she corrects, but it’s affectionate.

And then—she raises her hand. Snaps her fingers.

EVERYTHING CHANGES.

My first thought: “Oh no, my pants shrank.”

My second thought: “Oh no… I have hips.”

Jake and I freeze. Except we’re not… Jake and Dylan. Not exactly.

I look down. Boobs. Good ones. Like, Level 20 boobs.

Jake looks at me. Then himself. Then shrieks, “I HAVE TITS.”

“Congrats,” I say. “They look great.”

His panic increases. “DYLAN, WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

We sprint to the bathroom mirror. And—yup. Full transformation. I’m shorter, curvy, and frankly kind of hot in a “Final Fantasy protagonist” way. Jake? Taller than me, but softer, with the kind of face that makes guys offer their hoodies in winter.

Our voices? Higher. Feminine. Jake tries his “manly grunt.” It’s a squeak.

“NOOOO,” he wails.

Morgan saunters in, casually ignoring the gendered door signs like a chaotic neutral queen.

“You two are so cute now,” she purrs.

I point accusingly. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”

She shrugs. “I got bored. You needed confidence. Now you get the female experience—men explaining things and free drinks.”

Jake hyperventilates. “TURN US BACK.”

“Later,” Morgan says breezily. “First—you’re dancing. Properly this time.”

We resist. She wins.

Turns out—dancing in a femme body? WAY BETTER. My hips? Magic. Jake? Natural-born pop diva. The DJ puts on Footloose, and suddenly we’re stars in a music video.

People cheer. Jake flips his hair like a shampoo commercial. I twirl, and a dude yells, “MARRY ME.”

Jake whispers, “I hate how good this feels.”

“Same,” I admit.

Morgan joins in, guiding us, teasing. Her touch lingers on my waist.

“You’re a natural, Dylan.”

I blush. My heart stutters. Oh no. Am I falling for the magical gender-bending goddess?

The night spirals into chaos.

Jake discovers he can get drinks by smiling. I accidentally flirt with a girl and her boyfriend. He asks for my number.

Morgan? Laughing the whole time. Dancing closer. Her hand on my lower back makes me forget my Steam password.

By 2 a.m., Jake accepts his fate. “If this is my life now, at least I’m hot.”

I’m too busy staring at Morgan’s lips.

Outside, under flickering streetlights, we pant from laughter.

Jake leans against me. “I think I’m bi. Or a lesbian. Or… something.”

I nod. “Same. Gender’s weird. Wanna get tacos?”

“Yes, but… are we stuck like this?”

Morgan smirks. “Only if you want to be.”

Jake freezes. “Wait. I can choose?”

“Yeah,” she says casually. “Magic’s flexible. Consent’s a thing.”

Jake stares into the void. “I… might keep this?”

I blink. “Really?”

“I like… me. More than before.” He shrugs. “And boobs are kinda rad.”

Fair.

Morgan turns to me. “And you?”

I meet her gaze. “Can I… stay like this? With some tweaks? Maybe a little less ‘bouncy anime heroine’ and more ‘hot librarian who could kick ass’?”

Her grin is wicked. “Done.”

And just like that—my body shifts. Sleek. Athletic. Soft but strong. I feel right.

Jake gasps. “Oh my god, you look like Lara Croft but nerdier.”

I flex. “Hell yeah.”

Morgan steps closer. “You look perfect.”

I blush. Again.

Jake fake coughs. “Just kiss already.”

So we do.

Fast forward a year.

Jake—now Jade—became a Twitch sensation, streaming RPGs and makeup tutorials. Boys and girls thirst over her equally. She thrives.

Me? Still Dylan. Just… different. Happier. Stronger. Also dating Morgan. We’re disgustingly cute. Matching dice sets and everything.

Sometimes I ask, “Was this your plan all along?”

Morgan laughs. “Nah. I just wanted to see you dance.”

Life’s weird. Magic’s weirder.

But you know what?

Sometimes you gotta cut loose.

Kick off your Sunday shoes.

And embrace being exactly who you are.