harry & steve
@ambiticvs
Steve's relationship with art at this point in his life was complicated at best. It had drifted away from him after he joined the army, his life too violent and fast-paced for something that soft, and it had died pretty conclusively when Bucky fell from the train. He'd picked up a pencil now and then since coming out of the ice, but the past couple years in Sallow Hills gave him more time to revisit the hobby. Most of the things he'd wanted to draw were from memory, and he'd painstakingly conjured up the details of Bucky, Natasha, Sam, and the rest of the Avengers in a notebook, along with a number of other things. Lightning crackling off a hammer, a plane sinking under an ocean, aliens pouring through a hole in the sky over New York City.
He wasn't quite at the level he wanted to be though, and that would only come with practice. He'd found a place in the park to practice three-minute sketches, his phone on a silent timer ticking down next to him. Focus was never his problem, the world around him narrowing as he tried to see with his hand and not just his eyes. He'd adjusted in almost every way to this body, but it was pre-serum the last time he'd tried anything like this, and the muscle memory was just off. He let out a frustrated breath as he snapped a third pencil, flipping to a new page and flexing his hand, the other moving to pause the timer.