carchaseonacarchase

[carchaseonacarchase]

just tell me what you want to do, tell me what you want to burn away 'cause i could be your stoker —open up your heart like the gates of hell

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why do some anon carmenxchase shippers are so intense? (probably it's just one single person) but the amount of spam asks about is insane.. man this ship wars are stupid

[carchaseonacarchase]

sleep ain't gonna catch me up Y'ALL HEARD??!? 🫩🫩🤌

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lack of patience

Carmen: Can I say something that will probably annoy you?

Chase: Since when do you ask for permission Carmen?

[carchaseonacarchase]

definitely not law enforcement

Chase: have you ever been handcuffed?

Carmen: sexually or by law enforcement?

Chase: ...

[carchaseonacarchase]

𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐳 — 𝒘𝒐𝒆𝒊𝒄𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒄🕯️

summary: of all the lavish and luxurious places he's been to, charity galas, high-ranking government officials' parties, and elegant ballrooms in hotels around the world, there was no place that compared to this little corner in paris.

characters: chase devineaux, carmen sandiego

word count: 800+

tw: none

author's note: this is part of a compilation of one-shots for carchase, every chapter is based on a month prompt, you can check the prompt list here and read it in the ao3 archive! this chapter was inspired on a fic i read a long time ago by @kaellecappuccino i blame her beautiful writing for make me love this ship so baddd

note two: hi there again, this is the first chapter for january and the yotp challenge, there's more to come, i will try to complete the chapters per month (update: lol nope but you'll have them soon). so that's it, happy reading! ^^

January prompt: may I have this dance with you?

Of all the lavish and luxurious places he's been to, charity galas, high-ranking government officials' parties, and elegant ballrooms in hotels around the world, there was no place that compared to this little corner in Paris.

Even if it wasn't the biggest or most exclusive apartment in the city, none of those pretentious spaces were as special as this room, perfect for two.

For as long as he could remember, he'd never felt comfortable being the center of attention or socializing with people on a night of champagne, events of that caliber usually accompanied a specialized invitation for him —and a plea from the Chief and Mr. Weller to make an appearance and relax a little bit. He didn't understand how it was so easy for her to float among guests and shine in dazzling discretion.

He still remembers the many times she made an almost divine appearance to make his evenings more interesting; she liked to keep him on guard, strutting in brilliant shades of scarlet and crimson. Among a sea of men and women, the expensive fabrics of boutique dresses and long wool-covered pieces revealed a particular lady who walked away from him, inviting him with a challenging and amused look to get lost with her for the rest of the party.

And then he follows her. A soft smile replaces the stone mask that encloses his heart, letting her take it in her hands and take care for it for a while.

The world is so small and insignificant when she is in front of him, eclipsing everything with a soft smile he would kill to preserve.

It is when the music absorbs them that they can leave that part of their lives behind and connect in a more intimate way, reserved for moments like this. He offers her his hand and she takes it without hesitation, leading them towards the dance floor crowded with couples.

The soft beat slowly fades into a new song, the lights from the chandeliers are bright and blinding, breaking into colorful shards on the ceiling and descending to paint the marble floors with their tones, everything here is ostentatious and banal, enough to make him want to look at her again.

Losing sight of her would be relatively easy, after all, she is a woman who tends to disappear as suddenly as she appears.

He delicately raises her gloved hand and twirls it, the fabric of her dress rise beautifully, creating a silk mist around her before he pulls her closer to him again. When his eyes follow her he is slightly surprised to see that she is looking at him too and for a moment the world stops.

A whole decade with her, the same woman from those parties, dancing with him in the best place of all, their home.

Even if those ornate buildings were to disappear one day (not by her he hopes) he wouldn't care; She doesn't even need to wear a ball gown to make his heart leap with excitement. Being able to see her, being able to touch her and have her in front of him is enough to be in awe.

Just them, just him and her sharing a dance tonight, protected from the world and seeing Paris from the windows of their building. Right now, nothing else matters.

Her hand reaches out to him for his and he lets his fingers intertwine with hers, ready to lose himself in this eternal dream, in a night of music by her side.

He spins her around once more, as he has done so many times before, and she gracefully follows his steps, waves of her hair float in motion until she falls back into his arms. Her bare hands caress his cheek, cradling his face on her forehead; he can feel the warmth of her skin melting the cold and bringing him down to earth. He feels his knees shake with each step, just wishing the song would never end.

His arms tighten around her, still not stopping to spin. There is such a pure freedom between these walls bathed in the amber light of the lamps, one that he has never felt before. Everything seems to vibrate to the rhythm of the music as they both slowly sway. He realized too late that he never asked her the question formally.

"I'm sorry for not asking this before but... may I have this dance with you, Carmen?"

A new song started and she gave him a smile before answering. "Always and forever" Chase felt his body melt into hers in a hug and let her head rest on his shoulder as he held her, pressing his lips on her forehead to dance once more.

In this apartment, in this living room... with this wonderful woman, is where he wants to be.

[carchaseonacarchase]

carchase memes part two 🥸

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Chase: Carmen, I was watching the news today and thought I saw yo-

Carmen: No you don't.

[carchaseonacarchase]

guys i discovered a new (ok just new for me ^^) song that i think fits with carchase super well

"she's gone again and left me here without one tender word, why did she make my love seem so absurd? i may be like a fool... but i loved her in every way, each and every day"

[carchaseonacarchase]

Please like and/or reblog this post if you ship Carmen Sandiego x Chase Devineaux / CarChase / Carmeneaux (even slightly) :3c

[carchaseonacarchase]

strawberries, cherries & an angel kiss in spring 🤍

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main plot

Carmen: Am I going too far Chase?

Chase: No, no, no. You went too far about seven hours ago. Now you're going to prison.

[carchaseonacarchase]

tête de femme —part one 🤍🍸🦪

hey there! i'm saving this here on my blog in case of broken link, this is part of the journals in the elusive carmen sandiego site, all credits to cj & prudence :D

Some time, now or never… Tarragon, St. Paul’s Bay, Malta

Chase Devineaux took a flight from San Francisco to Milan, a train to Naples, a car to Salerno and then boarded a boat to St. Paul’s Bay in Malta. Granted, he took the long route, but he had more than one associate to encounter. Every stop was a security meeting, except Malta wasn’t in his official itinerary.

Tarragon, an unassuming restaurant with views of the Mediterranean, served some of the best food the island had to offer. Devineaux arrived late afternoon, called the restaurant to confirm a reservation, and checked in at the Gillieru Harbour hotel for a shower. Before he knew it, the sun was setting and he was seated by the maître d' before a North-facing window.

A waiter announced the arrival of his ‘date’ about ten minutes later. She was punctual, as expected. In a laced dress of layered white silk, she wore Italian leather sandals whose strings climbed up her calves and ended in tassels an inch below her knees. Around her neck was a platinum band, plain, understated and hallmarked by a personal jeweler in Venice.

He stood to greet her, she completed the kisses and let the waiter push back her chair as she reclined.

“Thanks for coming,” Chase started, turning first to the drinks menu, “Want to… share a bottle or —”

“Have you had Maltese Wine?” she tapped his wrist.

“No,” he answered, “let’s do that, with fish.”

“Pescatarian?” she laughed lightly and ordered a bottle of chilled Marsovin Sottovoce Ġellewża and two fish dishes. With that out of the way, she studied the man before her and attempted to guess why he would want to meet so fastidiously this summer.

“You… want to keep internally guessing, or should I get to it?” Devineaux asked, turning from the cooling seas to his dinner company.

The wine came, he tasted, approved; then both glasses were filled and she took her first sip.

“You have documents,” she hinted to the large brown envelope next to him, “I thought we agreed to never speak of work?”

Chase smiled, but omitted his usual chuckle at her teasing.

“This isn’t work…,” he pulled the envelope into view, “Rosen did as she promised after the operation in Kamchatka, she destroyed the files. Except for a few of yours.”

“She got rid of your files but kept mine?” her dulcet laughter preceded another sip of rosé, “That sounds like her.”

“They were important,” he exhaled, “these are yours… incident reports about a hotel fire, child services, everything that got you into the system. It’s not much, but what I have in here are the remaining physical copies.”

A silence extended and the thief was momentarily still.

“Have you made these digital?” Her question was nonchalant.

“Yes…” hesitantly, he told her the truth.

“Then send that to me, and burn all this.”

Chase breathed, “Wait, there’s more.”

Her body language conveyed little, but her eyes clearly hinted curiosity.

“Have you heard the name Malcolm Avalon?”

Leaning back into her chair, she crossed her legs, “You’re going to tell me about him?”

“Argentinian businessman, collector, acquired an Amedeo Modigliani sculpture last month?”

“Modigliani, a Tête de Femme?” she commented and took another casual sip of wine, “Good turn-of-the-century pieces are rare, do you know his broker?”

“Hold on,” Devineaux paused, “let me focus.”

“Then focus,” she mildly mocked him and put her glass down for the waiter to refresh.

“The night of the fire, Avalon lost both his wife and daughter, there’s a corresponding police report… a few newspaper articles…” Chase scrolled through items on his tablet, “You were found not far from the hotel…”

Salads arrived and she took a bite. Then she watched him move around making his case, and gave a slight approving nod.

“It could have been sloppy police work, or some misunderstanding, but at the time, nobody made the connection.”

“And why are we trying to make this connection?” her question lingered at the word ‘why’, “Is it so impossible that my mother was an undocumented hotel staff?”

“You think that’s your story?”

“I think it makes no difference,” that statement flowed easily, and Chase believed her.

“Right,” Devineaux nodded, “So, some of ACME was at Avalon’s Buenos Aires Hacienda when the Modigliani was delivered, small party.” The detective moved to an image of ACME’s Secretary of the Board Gunther Metzger among some nameless faces in front of a large artwork, “The woman in that painting... —”

She held his arm to better study the picture.

“Chase,” she sighed, “why didn’t you start with this?”

— part two...

[carchaseonacarchase]

tête de femme —part two 🤍🍸🦪

hey there! i'm saving this here on my blog in case of broken link, this is part of the journals in the elusive carmen sandiego site, all credits to cj & prudence :D

For the rest of the meal, she was quiet. The food came and went, and both of them declined dessert. Chase because he didn’t like them and his guest, well, because she wasn’t feeling it.

He was terrible with smalltalk, so he said nothing.

By this time, the sun was below the horizon. The sea was indigo, lit only by sodium lamps along the shores of a small port. Located between Libya and Sicily, Malta was a strategic location for power over the Mediterranean. Having been inhabited by a dozen or so civilizations from Arabic to Spanish, this unassuming island saw more action in a century than most parts of the world in eons.

In the white noise of the restaurant, she opened her tan woven Bottega Veneta clutch and pulled out a golden locket on a small chain. The necklace looked older but well restored, a tiny representation of Jesus of Nazareth on the cross with the letters INRI hung below the flat ovoid pendant. Chase remembered seeing the keepsake prior, she seemed much more protective of it back then.

“Help me think,” she placed the chain on the table in front of him and Chase opened it to verify the portrait inside.

“This has to be expensive…,” Chase noted the craftsmanship, his thumb traced an artisan arabesque along the locket’s inner edge, “The kind of money that can afford a piece like this, and for a toddler?”

She was impassive, and it felt to him that she already knew the answers.

“Alright, I’ve decided,” his companion said abruptly, “I think we should burn the papers.”

“You don’t care that you might have verifiable birth information?” He handed the chain back to her.

She considered, he saw thoughts passing behind her wandering eyes, but something else prevailed and she put the locket away, “Nothing changes.”

“Absolutely nothing?” He wanted to call her bluff. She couldn’t possibly deny herself this knowledge, being such a seeker.

“I’ve chosen my family, emphatically,” That reference to VILE was ironclad, but Chase only furled his brows.

Maybe she was decathecting from this to protect herself, but psychological barriers or no, another argument existed. Sometime between three and five years ago, Malcolm Avalon donated his DNA to a research project with UCSF. That branch also coincidentally shared data with ACME Labs.

“What about DNA?” he threw that thought out there and instantly received a subsidiary frown.

“Let me stop you,” she had volume in her voice, he knew that was a cue to drop the subject, “I appreciate this, I don’t know what this may mean for you, but you owe me nothing.”

He disagreed, owing anyone anything had nothing to do with the truth. Considering his next words, Devineaux sank into his chair and watched her through the sound of breaking waves. If he told her she deserved justification, he would be ignoring the many times she dodged the consequences of her actions. And if he did insist on change, he could seem overreaching, meddling in something that wasn’t at all broken.

As she finished her glass of Maltese rosé, either pity or empathy let her hand fall next to his, and she found his pulse. He realized that he had waited too long to speak.

“When I’m ready, I might go see this… Tête de Femme.”

Hearing that, he chuckled, somehow freed from having to put thought into words; and the thief gave herself a congratulatory smile.

“I need to go,” she eventually indicated, briefly clasping his palm in hers.

“Go, I got this,” he signaled the waiter, but as he reached for his pocket, he found it light.

The side of her lips curved up and the pickpocket signed the dinner bill with an Italian alias. Once satisfied with her victory, she gave him back his wallet.

“Thanks,” Devineaux accepted, then he rose to pull out the chair for her.

Gracefully, she stood and leaned to kiss his cheek, running her white-lacquered nails over his clean shave.

“Good night,” she studied his eyes before glancing to the documents, “Thank you.”

Chase nodded affirmatively. Even though his thoughts cycled back to what else could be done, he resolved that it was best to honor her wishes. Buttoning up his linen jacket, he adjusted his cuffs and reached for the envelope.

Then he stopped, pausing over her empty wine glass and the ghost of her lipstick.

— part three...

[carchaseonacarchase]

tête de femme —part three 🤍🍸🦪

hey there! i'm saving this here on my blog in case of broken link, this is part of the journals in the elusive carmen sandiego site, all credits to cj & prudence :D

A month later, perhaps two…

Buenos Aires, Argentina

Slums littered this city, but most of Argentina’s wealthy lived like kings. The hacienda sprawled along a cliff-side beach complete with a Venetian glass mosaic pool, a hedge maze, statue-lined fountains and other such sybaritic landscaping. The dwelling itself wasn’t terrible. One floor with varying steps, it had the awareness of Frank Lloyd Wright with the simplicity of Ludwig Mies van der Rohe.

But it was sterile.

Aside from the large leather sofa and a chair or two that hinted frequent use, the place felt too clean, made-for-display, not unlike certain museums.

The large-format painting she had come to see was much more impressive now than when it was framed by a tablet under restaurant lighting in Malta. Opposite of it was Amedeo Modigliani’s Tête de Femme, one of a few sculptures in the artist’s short career. He died at only thirty-five.

A considerably moving theme revealed itself as she surveyed his collection. Malcolm Avalon lived alone, surrounded by products of artistic minds taken too soon.

Returning her attention to the painting, Carmen stood squarely before it and compared the woman’s likeness to a portrait miniature inside a golden locket. The resemblance was clear, but now what?

Nearly as soon as she asked herself that question, a decision was made for her. The observer felt that she was being watched, and she may have been so for some time.

“Estoy aquí por poco tiempo, Sr. Avalon,” her Spanish was Castilian, slightly Americanized.

“I haven’t called the police,” but even if he did, she knew she had plenty of time. The man seemed benevolent, but continued in a more demanding tone, “Who are you and what are you doing in my home?”

He spoke American English, and while that fact shouldn’t surprise her, it did. Hearing his words, her heart raced, triggered by a natural fight or flight. But as she took a long breath and pondered through reasons, she found her response along the ridges of the hacienda’s mountain view.

“When I was younger, I saw the Rocky Mountains for the first time and believed nothing could be grander,” she started, lifting the locket in her hand so he could see it as well. The gold gleamed bright, reflecting light from outside.

“Then I ventured across the Alps, and that redefined ‘grandeur’,” she offered him the jewelry, “Sometime later, I braved the Sahara with meager supplies and a camel named Sobek. Under the stars, I began to see that perhaps ‘grandeur’ was nothing,” as she said that, he opened his palm to accept, “if not the right moment in time.”

She placed the locket in his hand, soft shadows accentuated the cross and its intricate lines.

“This was with me through all that,” she still clasped the chain, “but then I learned the portrait within is your wife, and this fact changes my perception.”

He was studying her, a scrutiny that wasn’t entirely discomforting, but she had never been under such a spotlight.

“Who I am is unimportant, but I’m here,” she glanced to the object connecting them together, “because I see myself holding onto something that means more to someone else,” definitively, she released the necklace.

As she let it go, the gift made no sound, and neither did the man that held it.

“I don’t know this woman,” she confessed, “Not even her name. Anything that I’ve invented of her is now offset by who she may have been, and that information rests with you.”

Taking a step back, she tilted her head slightly, “Honestly, I don’t know if I’m ready to turn imagination into knowledge.”

She gave the air a moment to settle before turning to leave.

That was hardly the conversation she planned to have when a more childish version of herself envisioned the discovery of familial ties. It also did not play out the way she hoped after that fateful revelation in Malta. She wanted to leave the locket here without explanation and be instantaneously free from consequential repercussions, or worse; heartache. But while the situation organically unwound, she doubtlessly preferred this tête-à-tête over the alternative.

— final part...

[carchaseonacarchase]

tête de femme —final part 🤍🍸🦪

hey there! i'm saving this here on my blog in case of broken link, this is part of the journals in the elusive carmen sandiego site, all credits to cj & prudence :D

Somewhere between San Francisco and Los Angeles.

Chase woke at 6:00 AM and immediately read the previous day’s reports. He reviewed the news, checked messages from international contacts, and completed a 2-hour morning routine.

A double shot of espresso later, he was driving down the highway from San Francisco towards LA for an evening conference.

An ‘unknown caller’ activated his in-car Bluetooth.

He pressed to pick up, “Devineaux.”

“Secured line please,” the contralto request wasn’t unusual.

“Hold on,” he smiled and tapped a code on his linked communicator, “Right, we’re good.”

She waited a few seconds more.

“The weather in Buenos Aires was amicable,” she started.

He processed her clue, raised his brows and countered, “I see you did the thing.”

“I did,” a laugh was in her voice, “Thank you.”

Chase nodded at the ‘thank you,’ despite knowing she would be blind to his action, “So what happened?”

“I gave him the locket,” her tone remained steady, “Only one of us knew the woman in it, and it wasn’t me.”

Devineaux exhaled with some relief, she seemed happy, "Glad this ends well."

“…And I was thinking,” her topic shifted, “Meet me in Nice? Let’s race down the Upper Corniche to Menton.”

“This weekend?” The weekends were busy along the Corniches and it was wiser to race either at night or before sunrise. He wanted to avoid traffic. The mention of Menton also reminded him of limoncello, and he could use some to restock the bar. He suggested, “I can do Saturday night, predawn Sunday, but I need to be in Brussels Monday afternoon.”

“Airport, Saturday night, I’ll have a car ready,” she ended the call.

With voice command, Chase connected to Renee Grovesnor.

“Renee, free up my weekend? I need to take a flight to Nice, I’ll find my own way to Belgium.”

“Certainly,” she affirmed, “You have a redundancies meeting with Organized Crimes this Friday morning, I’ll cancel?”

“Move it to next week.”

“Friday afternoon, a conference call with Milan?”

“I’ll take that mid-trip.”

“Saturday afternoon reviewing cadet performance at the airfield?”

“Send Euge an apology, please.”

“Yoga with Dr. Weller and his wife early Sunday morning?”

“How… did I get invited into that?”

“Last week’s dinner conversation,” Thankfully, Renee kept notes.

“Cancel politely and send him a box of that gluten-free stuff he likes.”

“Done, and…,” his assistant trailed, “Chase? There’s a Malcolm Avalon calling you, this is the second time in an hour, should I patch him through?”

“Who?” Chase knew the answer to that question, but he was buying time.

“Malcolm Avalon,” Renee repeated, this time clearer, “He’s not a previous contact, I can relay —”

“No, it’s fine, let him through.”

As signals from Argentina rerouted through ACME and into Chase’s calibrated communicator, the indicating tones beeped an eternity.

Then came the silence.

“Devineaux,” Chase reluctantly greeted.

“Director Devineaux,” there was a pause.

“Yes, Mr. Avalon,” the detective apprehensively offered, “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been told, Mr. Devineaux,” Avalon was more forward, “that you are the man to contact if I want to find my daughter.”

Some things never end, Chase suddenly realized, they only get more complicated.

— from the findcarmen site uwu

[carchaseonacarchase]

is it just me or when chase handcuffed carmen, i started shipping them 😳😳

They have a fun dynamic tbh, so I can see the appeal in shipping them.

Chase: LA FEMME ROUGE

Carmen: Oh, hey again, handsome 😘