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Growing up with the comics and then watching the films gave me a weird double perspective on Gamora and Nebula. In the original comic-book threads, Gamora is introduced as the last of her species, a child found and trained by Thanos to be his deadliest operative. He essentially transformed her into an assassin — teaching, arming, and mentally reshaping her so she would serve his ends. That origin paints him more as a master sculptor of warriors: he remolds lives to suit his cosmic ambitions. Nebula, meanwhile, has a messier comic history. At different times she’s been a space pirate, a self-styled heir of Thanos, and an antagonist who claims familial ties; the comics play fast and loose with her exact relation to him, sometimes calling her a granddaughter or an opportunistic claimant.
The MCU streamlined and dramatized all of that: Thanos brutally conquered their worlds, took both girls in as his daughters, and used favoritism and physical cruelty to control them. Gamora became the favored child and the moral weight we see on screen, while Nebula became the one rebuilt and broken each time she failed, literally losing parts and getting them replaced. For me, the interplay between comic ambiguity and the films’ harsher, clearer trauma is what makes their shared story so compelling — it’s not just about who adopted them, it’s about how that twisted guardianship created two very different survivors, and that complexity is why their arcs are so satisfying to follow.
Their origins with Thanos are twisted, emotional, and different depending on which source you pick, and that’s exactly why the story works so well: it’s brutal in both the comics and the films, but the details shift. In the original comics, Gamora is the last of the Zen-Whoberi; Thanos annihilated her people and then took her in, grooming her into a deadly warrior and his protégé. That ‘‘adoption’’ is grim and one-sided — he essentially rescued her from extinction and then remade her in his image. Nebula’s comic history is more complicated and not originally the same character as the MCU version; she starts out as a space pirate with different ties to Thanos. The movies streamlined and combined things: both girls become his adopted daughters after he conquers or destroys their home worlds.
In the Marvel Cinematic Universe the emotional core is easier to spot. Thanos invaded or attacked planets, killing or displacing families, and then took the surviving children — Gamora and Nebula among them — as trophies, soldiers, and tools. He trained them as assassins and gladiators, pitting them against each other to harden them. The films show a particularly cruel pattern: Gamora often emerged victorious, and Nebula was repeatedly made to fight her sister. Every loss meant Thanos replaced more of Nebula’s body with cybernetics, literally remolding her, which deepened her hatred and sense of inferiority. It wasn’t a loving adoption; it was control disguised as ‘‘raising’’: forced loyalty, emotional manipulation, and physical punishment. Scenes across 'Guardians of the Galaxy', 'Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2', 'Avengers: Infinity War', and 'Avengers: Endgame' slowly reveal that Thanos treated them as instruments for a warped philosophy rather than as children.
I find the whole dynamic painfully compelling: it’s a story about power, trauma, and the aftershocks of parental abuse masquerading as destiny. Both Gamora and Nebula are survivors who internalize and then rebel against that abuse in different ways — Gamora through moral conviction and eventual defiance, Nebula through rage and a long, slow path to healing. Their relationship is the emotional anchor in a lot of the cosmic chaos, and every time I rewatch those confrontations I feel both furious at Thanos and oddly hopeful for those two sisters. It’s tragic, but it’s also one of the strongest portrayals of coerced ‘‘family’’ in the whole franchise, and it sticks with me.
Quickly put: neither Gamora nor Nebula was adopted in any warm, voluntary way — Thanos took them. In the movie timeline he conquered their worlds, killed or displaced their people, and claimed the girls as daughters to be trained and weaponized. Gamora was groomed into a top assassin and given a strange kind of affection that made her moral conflict interesting; Nebula was repeatedly modified and punished, building resentment and rivalry. In the comics the details shift — Gamora is often presented as the last of her people taken in and made into Thanos’ agent, while Nebula’s relationship is more convoluted, sometimes a self-styled descendant or nemesis. Either way, the point is that Thanos’ version of family is control, and the result is two damaged, complicated women who carry those scars into every confrontation. I find that harshness oddly magnetic; it makes their reconciliation and rebellion all the more powerful.
Think of it like this: Thanos didn’t pop over and fill out paperwork — he conquered, killed, or otherwise dismantled the lives of these girls’ families and then took them as his own. In the comics Gamora’s people, the Zen-Whoberi, were wiped out by Thanos and he raised her afterward, turning her into a deadly warrior. Nebula’s comic origin differs, but the films merged their stories so both became his adopted daughters.
In the MCU Thanos essentially ‘‘rescued’’ or claimed them after destroying their worlds, trained them as assassins, and used favoritism and violence to control them. He forced them to fight each other and replaced Nebula’s limbs with cybernetics whenever she lost, which became a source of deep resentment. So their adoption is less about family and more about possession and conditioning — a twisted, abusive relationship that leaves both daughters scarred but ultimately capable of breaking free. I always come away from those scenes feeling a mix of anger at Thanos and respect for how resilient Gamora and Nebula turn out to be.
I've always been drawn to the darker, grittier family drama in space, and the story of how Gamora and Nebula wound up under Thanos' roof is one of those things that sticks with you. In the Marvel Cinematic Universe, it isn't a gentle adoption at all — it's conquest dressed up as possession. Thanos wiped out or conquered their homeworlds during his campaigns, and he personally took Gamora and Nebula as spoils. He raised them as daughters in the way a warlord might raise trophies: he trained them to fight, hardened them into killers, and used psychological manipulation to bind them to him. Gamora became his prized pupil and eventual assassin, while Nebula was constantly pitted against her and modified whenever she lost — cybernetic limbs and ruined organs became tokens of Thanos' cruelty and his lessons about strength and worth.
The siblings dynamic is what makes it brutal and fascinating. Thanos favored Gamora, which bred jealousy in Nebula; he rewarded obedience and punished failure. That emotional warfare is as important as the physical training — it's why their relationship explodes across 'Guardians of the Galaxy' and 'Avengers: Infinity War'. In short, Thanos didn’t adopt them with any parental love; he raised them as weapons and as leverage, and the scars — both mechanical and emotional — tell that story every time they share a scene. It’s cold, complex, and oddly heartbreaking, and I keep coming back to those quiet moments where their past leaks into the present because it feels so raw.