The Unoriginal (Aaron Burr x Reader)

2.1

The Unoriginal: Part Two- War
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(Torie: n- term for a Loyalist {British}/ one who is of Loyalty no matter what revolt or circumstances come of way)
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April 19th, 1776

The newspaper was spread like wildfire this morning. Mostly because of the front article.

BRITISH FLEE BOSTON UNDER WASHINGTON

You stared at the page quizzically. How did our army make the British from their sole base? We don't have the money, experience, or the funds. The entire situation made your stomach churn. It didn't even make sense.

You frowned as you looked at the paper, while storming back to your house with your groceries.

"Washington's cannons, set on the heights of Boston, petrify British soldiers. Consequently, the entire fleet abandoned their base and valuables in a panic, leaving Washington with a plentiful sum of varied resources​."

You opened your door, and slammed it behind you. You slid down to your butt, reading the paper eagerly. After reading, you, surprisingly, decided to sleep on it and read your mail. Your mail was more important at the moment.

Aaron wrote to you every single freaking day.

You told him that you'd be fine with just one a week, but he insisted that it was no trouble at all. Most of them were love letters that made you want to hug your pillow and scream in it. Many with words from the heart that made your head ache, and some with just quoted poetry that made you take a minute to remember who the original author was.

On rare times, he'd tell you all about how his life got flipped, turned upside down at camp. How Hamilton is rising in his ranks ever so slightly, but not too much. He, apparently, whizzes right through basic training, and believes he's far smarter than any​ other man on the field.

'If that isn't Hamilton, then I'm a sack of chicken fat.'

But life all in all in New York, was just as bustling and as exhilarating as it was before. You do whatever it takes to stay current on news on the war and other important subjects. You would do all of that.

Just AFTER you read your letter.

Ten minutes later.

You were squealing and hugging your baguette from the market. You had the letter in hand, reading it over and over again. "He called me his Zany Cinnamon Roll! Why is that so cute?!"

The baguette said nothing and continued being edible.

"He said that the glance of his ring reminds him of 'my gorgeous smile. He misses my adorable arrogance and I'm apparently cute when I'm angry!"

The baguette said nothin and now wanted to rot.

You, unwillingly, set aside your fiance's letter, then picked up another one. You immediately tore it open seeing who it was from.

Dearest (Y/N),

It seems as though our plans have been crumbled up and burnt to a crisp. For my husband has returned with my son on military leave. The rest of the year will be filled with working hand and foot to an immature, unfit Torie who does nothing but make me yearn more for an encounter. But all is not wasted. General Washington's troops have yet to advance to New Jersey, meaning the Hermitage is not of any form of use except my own, for the time being.