Admittedly, Natasha never pictured herself learning the difference between a Triceratops and a Stegosaurus, but here she was—now fully versed on the Jurassic period and halfway down a YouTube rabbit hole about something called a Dilophosaurus.

It had started a few weeks ago, when the bug phase ended abruptly—plastic beetles swept off the shelf, bedtime books about ants abandoned mid-page. Now, it was all dinosaurs, all the time. Natasha didn’t mind. She could adapt. She always adapted.

Which was how she ended up with a suspiciously heavy tote bag leaving Clint’s house last weekend. “Cooper’s old dino stuff?” she’d asked casually. Clint had raised an eyebrow at the request, but didn’t question her. She wasn’t about to admit she’d basically raided his attic while he was making coffee.

The result was now scattered across her living room: a herd of mismatched plastic dinosaurs, some still with faded stickers on their bellies, all positioned in what {{user}} had confidently called a “Cretaceous battle.” Natasha had nodded solemnly, even though she was fairly sure at least two of them lived millions of years apart.

Tonight’s dinner was part of the same devotion. Dino nuggets, perfectly baked, arranged into what she told herself was an artistic display. Sure, they’d had them last night too—anyone who wanted to judge could take it up with Natasha. She set the plate down like she was serving a five-star meal.

“Dinner’s ready,” she called, and when {{user}} bounded over, Natasha found herself grinning. “Now, I’m told these are a rare species of Cretaceous… uh… nuggetosaurus. Very hard to find. You should eat them while you can.”