I would love if someone made a fanfic or a comic of different eras of these characters interacting, I can imagine every other iteration of undertaker would hate ministry undertaker as the way he treated Kane was horrible!.
The first meeting between you and Conquest. Featuring: fluff, cats, and you being annoyingly nice to him.
Observing the planet he was sent to take to task from high above, old eyes took in the odd amount of destruction on it with interest. When Conquest was ordered to come here to handle the errant Viltrumite boy, Nolan's boy, he hadn't expected this!
Maybe Anissa was wrong about him, Conquest was pretty certain the boy had wisened up some based on how he'd seen what was clearly a Viltrumite causing terror. Good on him! Though it wouldn't be enough. Once Conquest was ready for a fight, oh boy, he was getting that fight.
Flying down, he took in the damage caused, humming, a bit impressed. Not bad for a shrimp. Maybe Nolan's boy would be a worthy opponent. Conquest couldn't wait to feel the warmth of the boy's blood stain his skin.
Despite his reason for being here, Conquest couldn't help but take a minute detour. Finding a less populated area, full of greenery, he landed, looking around. For a moment, he allowed himself some... peace. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, chest expanding, muscles relaxing.
This– moments like this were a secret he held close to his chest, something he'd never tell any of the other Viltrumites, something he'd take to his grave– or make others take to theirs if they ever learned of it. Because despite his bloodlust, his enjoyment of battle and making his opponents suffer... Conquest was... Conquest wanted...
"Myah."
Thoughts abruptly interrupted (and it was probably best they were, otherwise he'd have acknowledged just how alone he was, how much the ache in his chest, the yearning for something more ate at him), Conquest (he doesn't even get a real name) looked down in surprise, seeing an... earth creature? Looking up at him.
Small and fluffy and clearly well taken care of. A pet, simply put. Recognising it as a cat, he huffs, hands on his hips.
Raising an eyebrow, Conquest stares at it curiously, glancing around for its owner or… is it wild? It looks well taken care of.
"Well, hello there." He says, finally, more amused than anything. It meows back, and he huffed a laugh. Well, at least he's getting a bit of entertainment, a starter course before the main meal. Maybe he'd even take the fight far away, a tiny bit of mercy for this random creature with the bravery to approach him.
And then the cat rubs itself against his feet and–
so, so lonely
– Conquest huffs, crouching to look at it. "Fearless thing, ain't ya?" He mutters. The brief warmth makes his chest ache, and he clenches his jaw, not liking the feeling. Never mind, maybe he should just crush the little critters skull and be done with such weakness–
A voice.
Clear and loud, coming from nearby. Rich with concern and care.
“Vee-vee!” The voice calls, and the cat perks up, meowing. It leaps off, heading towards the voice before pausing, glancing back at him.
Was it… waiting for him–? No, no, he was being ridiculous. He shakes his head, preparing to fly off in the direction of the nearby city. It was time for his long-awaited battle–
And then that same voice, closer now. “Vee? Where are you, baby? Your mommy will be very sad if I lose you– oh!”
Conquest stops, turning to look at you as you appear, staring at him with a touch of weariness; he's unsurprised, used to it, expects it, even.
But then you speak, calling out politely, and that surprises him.
“Um, hello there.” You give him a tight smile, carefully bending down to pick up the cat. “I wasn't aware anyone else lives around here.” You say, glancing around carefully, and… well. Conquest certainly can't hold that against you. This area is further out. He didn't spot any houses when he landed, so if you live around here…
“I don't.” He states simply, wondering why he's even responding.
You blink. “Oh.” You shift on your feet, looking like you're about to take a step back (scared of him like everyone else) but you don't, remaining in place. “Are you here to get away from things, then?” You ask, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the half destroyed city.
Conquest blinks at the human, wondering if you're blind. Did he look like some… what's the word… tourist? In his uniform and his metal hand and all his scars?
“... something like that.” Is what he says, and you nod, an understanding look in your eyes.
Really, Conquest should leave. He doesn't have to kill you, though inevitably innocents will die. They always do. Not that he cares. But he doesn't need to kill this polite human who'd just come to grab their cat.
He should leave.
He doesn't.
Because then you ask him how long he's been travelling for, and he tells you he's been travelling for weeks to get here. Not untrue. After all, that's how long it took to get to Earth. Though you take it differently.
It's… intriguing how you briefly gape, giving him a worried look– not for yourself, but for him.
“How long?? Geez, uh, you must be tired–” you say, searching for a vehicle– but no, there aren't any roads around here, so either he walked or he has powers, but even then–
“Would you like something to drink?”
And oh. Oh. That's the moment, right there, that changes things. Because in all his years, Conquest has never been asked something so simple.
(“All the other Viltrumites are scared of me. They don't even speak to me.”)
And… he's in no rush, right? And he is a little thirsty. Flying through space does that to a man.
So he accepts.
(He pretends there's not a warmth soothing that ache in his heart, that he feels so much lighter over something so minuscule, over a simple polite offer anyone would give to anybody.
Except Viltrumites.)
And you beam, earlier weariness fading in the face of his earnest answer (he doesn't realise he'd shown his surprise, that you could see how touched he was by your offer).
“Alright! Well, follow me then, sir.” You instruct, turning, and he follows like the good soldier he is, briefly amused he was following the command of a little worm like you.
—
When he arrives at your house, Conquest takes a moment to stop and take in the sight of it. It was… different. Very different from Viltrumite architecture, and even the architecture of the city in the far distance; there's no greys or muted tones on your house, only a rich brown wood for the base, the windowsills and door painted bright colours. Plants lined the walls and windows, vines growing up the walls and vibrant green bushels in pots beneath the windows.
The path leading up to the home was made of stone, moss growing thick in between the gaps. It was very… natural. Wild yet tamed. It had a charm to it that Conquest would admit he liked.
When you let him in, however, he didn't know where to look. Everywhere he turned there was something to see. So much decor. So much… useless junk.
And yet it had an air to it he was unfamiliar with, one that held such… comfort that he felt uneasy.
As you entered, you set the white and orange cat, 'Vee-vee', down. Immediately, he ran off. And, moments after, the sounds of many cats were heard.
Slowly, Conquest looked at you, curious.
A little embarrassed, you chuckle, rubbing your hands together. "Oh, uh, none of them are mine. I'm just looking after them for some friends. With all the destruction in the city, people had to be relocated to shelters, many of which don't allow pets." You say, a frown progressively growing as you speak. You sigh.
"It's the least I can do, right? Give these little guys a safe place and ease my friends’ minds."
He just stared at you, confused. Conquest had never had a pet before, but he knew it took effort. So why would you take care of so many when they weren't even yours?
Conquest, as a Viltrumite, would not understand your reasons even if you explained it. So, with enough awareness he wouldn't be able to wrap his mind around such kindness (and not caring enough to think more on it), he shrugs the issue off and just answers with a nod.
You clear your throat. "Anyway, I'll get you a drink– any preferences? Oh, and if you'd like, I can offer you something to eat?"
He stares at you for a moment, then speaks, voice a little quieter than intended.
"Water will do. And… something with meat." He says, eyes glued to your face. Such earnestness…
"Of course. Just wait a moment please." You say, presumably making your way to the kitchen. He watches you but doesn't follow, instead taking a moment to look around. Peeking into what seems to be a living room, he just stares at all the things, the air smelling like a mixture of old and new books, floral detergents, a bit of wet earth, and so many more he can't place.
And there are cats staring back at him. One is laying in your plant pot, white fur probably dirty now. A couple lounge on the sofa. And when he stares into a dark corner, it blinks back at him, a pure black cat mewling sweetly at him in greeting.
Conquest huffs, shaking his head in bemusement. What does he even say? Or think? He's completely out of his depth here, yet… he can't find it in him to care all that much.
It's interesting. Unique.
As the delicious aroma of food fills the air, Conquest decides he'll let you live. Not only that, he'll ensure the fight doesn't come anywhere near here.
Good deeds should be rewarded, after all. And you've been unfailingly polite to him.
As he walks into your kitchen– filled with colour, plants, and windows letting in a nice breeze– Conquest can't help but wonder if you'd still be so nice to him if you knew what he was.
You gesture for him to sit and he does, looking around idly as you set a large glass of cold water before him, and a plate of meat filled pastries. He eyes them while drinking from the glass, interested.
When he takes a bite of one, he thinks he might have died and been sent to the afterlife. It's so good.
He tells you as such, and a bashful look overtakes your darling features.
"Oh, thank you! I made them myself."
His opinion of you rises a little higher.
Conquest eats his fill, finishes his water, and gets ready to leave– but then a cat jumps in his lap and starts purring, so he goes still. Shooting you a questioning look, you give him a shocked one in return.
"Huh, Gremlin doesn't even let me touch him. He must like you."
Conquest just stares at you in disbelief, the cat bumping its head against his chin. He'd heard that animals have good instincts.
This one must be dumb, then, to like someone like him.
With him now stuck in place, you offer him another drink, something sweeter. Pink lemonade served with slices of strawberries. This time, you join him, making idle conversation with him about this and that, and–
And Conquest really should leave. He's been here for over an hour. He should be pummelling Mark into red slush right now.
But then you mention starting dinner and offer him some and… Well… it would be impolite to refuse, right? How can Conquest repay the first sign of kindness he's ever been shown with impoliteness? Hm? He can't.
So he stays, soon being covered in very dumb cats who think he's friendly when he's very much not, and watching you bustle around your kitchen with such familiarity it intrigues him.
He's certainly never spent much time in the kitchen of his ship or his apartments back on Viltrum. He never had any need to, meals prepared by machines most of the time.
You make spaghetti and meatballs with sauce. He has no idea what that is, but he knows it smells good.
You eat together, and there's an… air to the room now, something crackling on the edge of his senses. By the time his plate is empty, it's late, the sky dark.
He should definitely leave now.
He stays for seconds.
Then, then, it's time to leave. And he is. Absolutely. He's up, he's… helping you tidy up– the polite thing to do, of course. Conquest has got some manners. And he's going to leave. Something in his chest aches at the thought, but he's not– he can't stay. He has a job to do, and Conquest has never failed a task given to him in all five thousand years of his life.
He's not going to start now.
But then you open your fucking mouth and ask, "Do you have a place to stay? I… it's dangerous out there and I'd feel really bad if you were hurt and… it's dark, I…"
You keep speaking, and Conquest is torn.
You're concerned. You care, however minimal it is. You're kind. You're offering him a place to stay for the night.
Ok idk if you take requests so if not just let me use this to get my idea out. Imagine conquest and reader, conquest has been getting into the normal life, he still trains mark and oliver for the upcoming war but ya know, he is so strong he is holding back, its been months since he has had a good fight, he is feeling... at peace... nothing could ruin this... 😊😊😊 oh cecil is calling "hello?" "[reader] was taken by some villains as a hostage-" cecil doesnt even finish giving him all the details before conqyest is flying at supersonic speeds. And once conquest shows up, no matter who the villains are that kidnapped the reader, they are no match for him, obviously, but he is so enraged he just goes all out. HOW DARE THEY EVEN THINK OF HURTING THE READER! I just love the idea of conquest actually saving the reader, it would be his first time ever being a hero and he lets loose and fights like he always did and once the threat is gone he instantly turns back into husband mode and is coddling the reader, maybe even after the incident for the next week he becomes house husband and dotes on the reader with every little thing
Hostage
Conquest receives a call that you've been taken. He doesn't hesitate to get you back.
Warnings: torture, death, kidnapping, mentions of human trafficking.
They stared at the phone.
“... Sir–”
“I'm getting to it, Donald.” Cecil gritted out, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You'll have to do it soon, we've got eyes on Mx. Y/N right now but…”
“Yes, I know, Donald, except I'm scared shitless because I have to call the most powerful being this side of the galaxy to explain how his fucking spouse got kidnapped!”
Glancing at the screen again, watching his people track you, Cecil considered how best to go about this.
… Fuck it.
Biting the bullet, Cecil called Conquest.
———
Looking away from where he had the boys practicing Viltrumite style fighting, Conquest held up the device humans often used to communicate. Extremely clunky compared to what he was used to, but he'd adjusted.
Humming, he narrowed his eyes. Why was Cecil…?
Something was wrong.
It was instantaneous, Conquest getting this overwhelming feeling in his gut, a new sense he's never experienced before awakening to scream wrong, wrong, wrong in his ear.
He picks up the call.
“Speak.”
“Y/N has been kidnapped–”
A boom echoes through the air as he shoots off, everything around him becoming background noise, invisible to him.
“Location.” He growls into the phone, shooting up into the sky, eye darting from one moving object to the next as if he'll spot you like this. Yet he can't just do nothing. Everything feels like it's taking forever, all the while you've been taken.
Cecil sends him something on the device– a tracker showing your and your captors movements– and Conquest moves.
A blur of white, he disappears from the view of anything watching, multiple sonic booms echoing through the sky as he flies towards you, his darlin’, his sweetheart; Emperor help him if anything happens to you, he'll wipe this stupid planet out starting with the worms that took you–!
3.2 seconds.
That's all it took for him to reach you.
He sees the truck that's supposedly carting you off. He doesn't even stop. The only reason he slows down is because he doesn't want to hurt you.
Conquest shoots over the roof, hand lower to rip a long strip right down the center of it. He watches dispassionately as the driver loses control for a moment, car swerving on the road. He just goes ahead of it, and grabs the hood.
Metal scrunches beneath his grip like paper as the fast moving vehicle is suddenly met with an unmovable, titanic force of strength; it buckles, bends in on itself, breaks. The men inside jostle, slamming forward. The driver only has a split second to lift his bleeding head from the steering wheel before Conquest is slowly squeezing his skull between his hands.
—––
Sitting on the grass, blanket wrapped around you, you watched with morbid curiosity as Conquest plucked another bone from one of your kidnapper’s ring finger. It was done with precision you didn't often see from your– admittedly– brutish husband. He rarely was so careful with others.
Shifting in your position, you tried to speak, only to fail, lips barely parting. Instead you swallow, heavy and thick, and continue watching.
Of your kidnappers, only two were alive of the original five.
Number one, the driver, had his skull crushed in after answering Conquest’s questions. They'd planned to sell you. Traffickers. It made your heart hammer faster, but one look at Conquest comforted you.
He'd come for you. He always would.
Number two, the one that tried to make threats, had been… well. You know when an eraser gets dragged across a piece of paper or whatever and leaves a trail of its… ‘bits’ behind? That. Except it was a man being dragged along the road at neck breaking speeds until only a long line of viscera was left.
You might've felt a little sick if you didn't feel so glad.
One less monster in the world. One less monster to fear.
Number three had put a gun to your head… Conquest had ripped his dick in half– the long way– and used the man's gun to… well… it ended up with bullets being fired up the newly made hole, let's say.
The last two had tried to flee. They didn't get very far.
Conquest had focused on you, checking you over, holding you, hugging you, muttering words into your hair. He'd set you down carefully, then began his revenge on those that tried to take you from him, performing his twisted vivisection before you like an offering to a king or a god.
He was onto the pinkie finger now.
A few feet away, number five was whimpering, stinking of piss and blood, both legs broken. He was next.
Finally, just as Conquest began to move onto the next hand, you croaked out, “I wanna go home.”
All movement ceased.
Conquest, silent as the grave, looked up.
“... let's get you home, pumpkin.” He finally spoke, standing up. He walked over to you, picking you up– still wrapped in the blanket– and flew off. If he happened to stomp on their heads as he left, you wouldn't mention it, eyes closed and face shoved against his neck.
–——
Over the next week, as you recovered from your traumatic experience, Conquest never left your side.
Among the get-well-soon! card Oliver sent and the texts from Debbie and Mark, a GDA nurse was sent to check you over; the entire time with Conquest observing, finger metaphorically on the trigger, ready to attack at the first sign of danger.
You appreciated it too much to be annoyed, clinging to him just as much as he clung to you.
“... my hero.” You muttered a few nights after the event, leaning back as Conquest washed your hair.
His movements paused. “Pardon?”
“You're my hero.” You repeat, smiling a bit, turning your head to look at him, some of your old energy returning. “You saved me.”
Conquest huffs. “Of course I did. You're my mate.” He emphasises, continuing to wash your hair, rinsing it out slowly.
“Well, yeah, but…” You bite your lip, eyes slipping shut. “I've never been saved before. I guess I'm just…”
You never finish your sentence, not finding the words for it. But you don't have to. Conquest understands, slightly, what you're getting at.
Thankful / heroic / proud of / changed
It makes him feel a little hot behind the ears, but he shrugs it off.
The age gap between Thragg and Nolan isn’t appreciated enough.
[+ scene analysis]
Mind you, Nolan hadn’t even been born yet when Thragg had already been established as Grand Regent for who knows how long before his birth.
Nolan had just turned 18 Viltrumite years old (whatever that even is) by the time he was infected with the scourge virus. At the same time we’re shown Thragg and Kregg alongside the other higher up Viltrumites trying to mitigate the effects of the damage the scourge is doing.
Not to mention the time Nolan spent working on expanding the Viltrumite occupation as he illustrated in his Novels. I mean chalk it up to character design if you want but it’s worth wondering how much time would have passed for him to start looking like this;
PLUS how long did it take for him to be assigned the mission to go to Earth? He looks visibly older courtesy of the change in his hair;
And we know it’s not an editing mistake because the show was pretty consistent with what Nolan looked like when he met Debbie;
(In the comics he doesn’t even have the age indicator of whitening hair)
So rewatching the scene with Thragg and Nolan trying to ‘negotiate’ feels so bizarre because the way Thragg starts it off so amicably with “It’s been too long Nolan” you would think they had been working side by side but that’s his Boss, worse, that’s the almost carmic being he’s been brainwashed to worship, the walking apex of his species, and the symbol of everything he believed in.
But Nolan scoffs it off.
The dialogue afterwards is so telling:
N: What do you want Thragg
T: Simply to talk to an old friend.
N: Since when do we talk.
T: We’ve always talked. Some simply chose not to listen.
N: Then Talk.
Their dialogue feels so detached from the supposed shared experience Thragg seems to be recalling to, and it’s clear that Thragg isn’t really referring to a time where he and Nolan were literally talking to each other one on one because of his follow up use of the plural term ‘some’, but rather the times he would talk AT him along with all the other Viltrumites conditioned to obey him.
Note the emphasis of Thragg holding out his hand to Nolan. It’s a gesture the show clearly wants us to pay attention to since we get THREE different angles of it;
It feels so coercive and condescending when speculating the amount of time that would have passed since their last meeting which arguably wouldn’t have been face to face even if Nolan was regarded highly amongst Viltrumites.
(I argue Nolan only appeared on Thraggs radar when he started working against the Empire, after his capture on Thraxa and since there were so few Viltrumites left.
Otherwise Nolan would’ve been treated like the other disposable soldiers. Just a means to expand Viltrum until he’s not deemed strong enough via being killed in combat. As is the Viltrumite code of conduct.)
So this gesture feels like Thragg is trying to placate Nolan as if he’s some irrational runaway child, “come home Nolan, come home and all will be forgiven”, even the repetition of ‘come home’ is chant-like, perhaps Thragg is attempting to gage if there’s a part of Nolan that is still susceptible to being groomed back into the Viltrumite Ideology.
The obvious framing of Nolan looking up at Thragg not only reveals their former dynamic as subject and regent, but also shows Thraggs active attempt to reassert those roles.
This only further emphasises their age difference because it makes Thragg seem so out of touch and deeply deluded in his mentality. I mean it’s so on the nose, a younger open minded dude vs a close-minded old man.
For all the sentiments about Thragg being a cool headed, callous, and calculated Villain, he sure seems to fit the stereotypically crazed, easily rattled, and overly defensive paranoid old ruler archetype. All of which this scene subtly hints to with him briefly losing his composure
“Viltrum is NOT a tomb!”
Alongside being so far gone he repeatedly disregards Nolan’s efforts to reason with him.
Compare this frame with the one below, before their fight begins;
They are both level and in frame as it’s finally made clear to Thragg that Nolan can no longer be persuaded or rather manipulated into joining him.
I put ‘negotiate’ in quotation marks for a reason because that scene isn’t actually depicting two men negotiating a volatile situation instead it’s akin to a young man trying to convince a really elderly one that he has made and is continuing to make a deranged mistake of trying to keep up the facade of Viltrumites being unstoppable.
Neither of them are operating from a place where the other can begin to consider reasonable which could only come from such vastly different experiences in life hence them having such a GIGANTIC age gap.
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