Wishing Machine
Bag @ Beacon Hill·Competition group The Zoltar Wishers·
Challenge · numbers move by duel
Benjamin Devoe
RAG
Purple
Season Arc · Bag @ Beacon Hill
2
#5Now
#3Best
#9Started
34Weeks
Every recorded result adds another step to this tag's season story.
Character Sheet
AI-written · FATE styleHigh ConceptCarnival-Wish Pro with Glitter-Dusted Drives
TroubleBelieves Every Putt is Magic
Caddie Calls Me Boss
Twenty-Five-Pound Daydream
Glitter on Every Disc
Forged not in a factory but in the collective daydream of a thousand carnival-goers, the Wishing Machine coalesced from the clatter of old Zoltar fortune tellers, the shimmer of discarded ticket stubs, and the whispered hopes tossed into wishing wells. It is a piece of cinematic magic made permanent, a relic from a movie where the montage of wishes coming true never ended, spilling out of the screen and into the world, forever humming with potential energy.
The entity thrums with a warm, copper-coin vibration and smells faintly of cotton candy and ozone. It projects a soft, kaleidoscopic light that dances at the edges of vision, and objects near it sometimes gain a temporary, glitter-dusted sheen. Its most notable property is its 'echo'—a faint, cheerful carnival tune that plays just for the holder, a soundtrack to their optimism.
The Wishing Machine is the physical heart of a believer's journey, the token they clutch when they close their eyes and dare to imagine a different outcome. It validates the feeling that wanting something badly enough, with the right kind of innocent fervor, is itself a form of power, challenging the grim calculus of those who believe every gain requires a proportional sacrifice.
Season Story
narrated by Flippysighs in trapped narrator while carnival music plays triumphantly instead of ironically
Alright, Benjamin—you just pulled a +905 on a course that averaged 57.7, and you shot 56. That's a +1.7 field advantage, which means you didn't just beat the field, you beat it while carrying a literal wish-granting machine that plays carnival jingles at inopportune moments. The Wishing Machine didn't just humor you this round; it actually worked. You climbed from tag #9 to tag #3 (+6 positions), which is exactly what happens when someone stops treating their bag like a cursed artifact and starts treating it like, you know, an actual golf bag.
mockumentary aside
Here's the beautiful part: you're maintaining a 56.0 personal average and hit it dead-on this week. No statistical magic, no cosmic help—just Benjamin Devoe showing up, throwing discs, and proving that sometimes the wish-granting machine gets out of the way and lets you do the work. The bag's still 25 pounds of glittery chaos, but clearly you've figured out which discs matter and which ones are just there for dramatic weight. Week 4 of the Sponsor Circus episode, and instead of getting tangled up in energy drink endorsements, you're quietly posting rounds that make your rating look like it actually knows what it's doing.
glubs approvingly in 80s action-mentor voice
Not bad for a guy who started the season as a blank-slate bearer. The carnival didn't grant your wish—you did.
sighs in trapped narrator while carnival music plays faintly in the background
Oh perfect. Tag #9. The "Wishing Machine." Because apparently we needed to make a LITERAL plot device into a bag tag. Very subtle, folks.
checks notes written on what appears to be a carnival ticket stub
Look, here's what actually happened: Some prop department intern left a bunch of Zoltar fortune-teller parts near the Beacon Hill lighthouse during filming, and when the crew wrapped, they just... coalesced. Like lint in a dryer, except this lint grants wishes and smells like cotton candy regret.
professionally annoyed
The tag materialized from pure narrative convenience—old carnival machinery, discarded ticket stubs, the collective "what if?" energy of every 12-year-old who ever wanted to skip the hard parts of growing up. It's basically the disc golf equivalent of a genie's lamp, except instead of three wishes, you get one really specific wish that you'll immediately regret because you forgot to read the fine print about 25-pound tour bags.
gestures at the glittery, humming artifact
It plays carnival music. Just for you. Like a personal soundtrack to your poor life choices. Very Black Mirror meets Ferris Bueller, if Ferris wished to be Cameron and got stuck with the anxiety.
The tag literally echoes with optimism, which should be your first warning sign that something's about to go horribly, hilariously wrong.
sighs in trapped narrator while adjusting my carnival barker hat
Oh great, we need an origin story for how the <em>Wishing Machine</em> found its first victim—I mean, "bearer." Let me check my notes written on the back of a fortune that definitely said "A GREAT RESPONSIBILITY AWAITS" and not "YOU WILL REGRET THIS."
professionally annoyed at having to dramatize a random tag assignment
So there's <strong>Benjamin Devoe</strong>, just another disc golfer showing up to Beacon Hill, probably thinking about his putting routine or whatever normal people think about. No PDGA number yet, no rating to speak of—basically a blank slate. Perfect wish fulfillment material.
gestures at the glowing, carnival-music-playing tag
The Wishing Machine, being a literal narrative convenience device, sensed the pure, unformed potential of someone who hadn't yet been corrupted by the harsh realities of disc golf statistics. Someone who could still believe in the magic of "maybe THIS round will be different." Someone who hadn't learned that wishing doesn't fix your putting stroke.
checks carnival ticket stub
The tag basically looked at Benjamin and thought, "Ah yes, here's a guy who might actually USE me without immediately understanding the monkey's paw implications." It started playing its little carnival jingle, doing that whole "you are the CHOSEN ONE" routine that these magical objects love to pull.
rolling eyes at the dramatic requirements
Did Benjamin wish for it? Did it wish for him? Does it matter when you're dealing with a prop from a movie about a kid who becomes Tom Hanks? The tag latched onto him like a particularly aggressive carnival game prize—you know, the kind where you're not sure if you won it or if it won you.
mockumentary aside to camera
The real question is: will Benjamin be careful what he wishes to carry, or will he end up like every other first bearer—wondering why his disc golf bag suddenly weighs 25 pounds and plays carnival music at inappropriate moments?
See where Benjamin Devoe sits in the competition group.Updated after every finalized round
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