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um yeah im completely getting rid of the secret twin thing - this is Black Butler, but I'm picking and choosing what I want from it (mostly anime, with some manga plotlines)

also, some characters in this are going to misgender Grell, who will be they/them in third person, but will mostly be called he/him in dialogue.

London, United Kingdom

Summer, 1969

A Day in the Life as the Queen's Bitch

The note came as swiftly and secretly as they always did, bearing her Majesty's seal.

Their current Queen, Elizabeth II, rarely used the services of her Guard Dog - finding far more solace in raising actual dogs and racing her prized stallions in her spare time than make any attempt to manipulate the underworld. However, in this case, it appeared to have been arranged by the Queen's Uncle with her blessing and signa resting alongside the Duke's words.

Citizens were being found like drunkards, wandering the streets confused and alarmed by their surroundings. One man in particular shouted, with emotion and desperation, "What century is this?"

That, coupled with several eyewitness accounts of the victims bizarre attire, had befuddled the police - one or two citizens acting this way was one thing - the growing number of twelve was another entirely.

Scotland Yard had been quickly booted off the case when one of their victims died in their care, handed to higher-ups... Until finally it had reached the doorstep of the Phantomhives.

More specifically, to Lady Eleanor Francis-Claudia Phantomhive, who currently held the secretive title of the Queen's Guard Dog - gained tragically from the death of her Mother, who had previously claimed the title from Eleanor's Grandfather. And although the girl had always known her family's - and what was to be her own - role in English society, what had remained hidden from her was the supernatural element of the Underworld. Black magic, spells, insanity-fueled maniacs whose dreams were recreate Frankenstein's monster, were more rampant than she'd ever known. It made her feel stupid and unprepared, and more than ever furious whenever her Mother told her that there were no ghosts or demons lurking beneath her bed.

She'd been lied to - for her benefit or not. It was like having a rug pulled out from under her over and over - first her Mother's death, and the world she'd been holding back to protect her from.

But with that rug gone, it had revealed a trapdoor, leading Eleanor to an arsenal of resources that were now fully hers to take advantage of.

"Father!" She called out, carefully placing the envelope in her satchel and locking it shut. "I'll be taking one of the cars!"

/~/

The Undertaker's parlor looked like it came from the last century (and from what she knew, it actually had). All old stone and a rickety, wooden sign. It was amazing that he still got any business at all, with his shop looking like it did, but she supposed that Grim Reapers didn't actually need things like food or drink anyway, so why would he care if he had business or not.

The bell rang cheerfully as she entered, and the smell of formaldehyde, moth balls and rubbing alcohol flooded her senses as she expected them to.

And soon, the voice of the shop's owner graced the dusty room. "If it isn't my dear, Lady Phantomhive. After my latest customer, I was wondering if I was to be seeing your lovely face." The man chuckled sinisterly from behind the counter, where he either had been sleeping or hiding behind it. "It seems I'm seeing you Phantomhives less and less with each Monarch that turns."

"Some would say that's better." Eleanor countered, sitting in the lone, old velvet chair that might've once housed a family of dust bunnies. "Like seeing a dentist or a doctor."

"A less selfish man may agree with you, Lady." The Undertaker grinned, and then suddenly approached. "Now, Lady, please, all that I ask for - !"

Right. A joke.

"Very well..." She agreed, trying to think quickly. "Uh, how about a limerick?"

The Undertaker was already snickering, enjoying how on the spot he made her when it came to this, and happily nodded his agreement.

"There once - " Eleanor stopped, frowned, before stiffening her lip and moving forward with, "There once was a woman from London, who went to the market for an onion... She was making a stew, and although her husband knew... He helped himself to some - " She winced, but finished poorly anyway: "Funyuns?"

It was truthfully terrible. But clearly it wasn't the joke that the Undertaker found funny, but her horrible delivery and the fact that she had to say 'Funyuns' to avoid making a sexual innuendo - it sent the old Reaper into raucous laughter, doubling over like she'd just been pie'd in the face.

"Hehehe, alright then Lady, you've paid your toll." The Undertaker snickered, raising himself back up from where he'd partially collapsed. "My information is yours. Would you like coffee or tea?"

"Coffee." Eleanor replied shortly, pushing her dark hair away from her warm, slightly embarrassed face. She couldn't even imagine her powerful, strict Mother doing the same with Undertaker, exchanging jokes for intel. Or even her Grandfather, whose portrait hung in the Townhouse - saved from the Manor ruins after it burned down the second time - a tall, equally serious looking man with a black eyepatch over his right eye. The three most recent Guard Dogs - and not a funny bone amongst them.

"Undertaker, your latest client - the drunkard. Did you find anything strange about the body?" She asked while the grey-haired man clink and clanked about with his goosenecked kettle, brewing his intensely bitter coffee grounds.

He snickered again. "Actually, no, there wasn't."

"There wasn't?" Eleanor repeated, taking the chipped coffee mug he pushed into her hand. "He was in his mid-thirties, and yet he died from a heart attack according to the report you made. But nothing about that cause of death was strange to you?"

"Oh that's odd indeed, but I personally didn't find it strange." He stressed through his smile. "After all, I knew him personally."

"You knew him? What about the others, those who didn't die, who acted similarly this last week? Do you know those people too?" Eleanor asked, catching the scent through his vague wordings, gaining another short laugh from the Reaper.

"Of course. I met them maybe oh, eighty or so years ago."

"Eighty - these men are hardly older than my Father." Then, she readjusted. Recalculated. "Are they some of yours, then? You and - Will - and Sutcliff, then?"

"You're a quick one, Lady." The Undertaker said through a slurp of coffee. "But not quite our ilk."

"Others, then?" Eleanor picked up on, sharply.

He caught her meaning and chuckled. "No worrying, your Ladyship. There haven't been Demons walking in London since the War."

"Indeed?"

"Far more troubling than Demons, I'm afraid. Luckily, easier to spot." The Undertaker said, setting down his cup on the ancient sideboard. "An being, well, not quite of Heaven milady. They deal in funny matters, those pencil pushers. They're akin to Reaper secretaries, all paperwork and filing. Few have some abilities to move through time as they like - seems like one such Secretary has been participating in some after-work play." He snickered, clearly amused in what his former 'coworkers' were up to.

Eleanor's hands tightened on her cooling coffee, considering her options. Well - option. She had no other choice.

"Does - Do the Reapers know? About these occurrences?" She worded carefully.

The Undertaker's smile widened. "I'm not quite sure, Lady." A lie, a dare.

"Very well." The Guard Dog allowed. "Thank you, Undertaker."

"And thank you - " He returned, raising his mug to her, his grey hair parting only so to reveal one, chartreuse-colored eye. "Very much, milady Phantomhive."

/~/

Will had never met such a group of incompetent Reapers before.

His fellow managers had elected him to be their ground observer in this case, despite not belonging to the correct department for the situation - an internal breech, of an Unknown Secretary playing games in time. Of course, he was no stranger to dealing with unruly employees, Sutcliff being the main, glaring example, despite the other Reapers relative good behavior since the first War. Busy minds, he supposed.

"Mr. Spears, I've got those requisition forms you asked for - and the administration files are on top." Ronald said, handing over the thick stack of documents.

"Thank you. You should prepare your scythe, we will be leaving soon."

"And Sutcliff?" The younger Reaper said lightly. "Should I look for him? It says he's on the case with us."

"There is no need." Will returned coolly. "They are already in London. We will convene at our checkpoint as scheduled."

"Oh, shit." Ronald said, before hurriedly flipping through a bundle of paper from his pockets. "The checkpoint, it's, I had it here. Oh, it's - the Phantomhive house?"

"It is," he affirmed, controlled, lowering his hand to his desk, on his mountain of papers. "Grell has been watching the house for the past week."

"Really? I didn't think that the Collective would've warranted that. Huh." Ronald said, befuddled, but hardly pressing for more information.

Will was glad for his disinterest - especially since it was not a Collective order, but his, that Grell watch the house - and her.

Eleanor Phantomhive, like her Mother and Grandfather before her - were terribly drenched in the darkness of the world. Any unusual thing, just so happening on those tiny islands, seemed to always involve a Phantomhive in some manner. The newest Guard Dog was no different, taking up the mantel of her ancestors with gusto, her intent seeming to mirror her Mother's attitude when dealing with the shadier and more supernatural happenings in her Queen's country.

He was not one for rule breaking - or even bending, as it were. There had certainly been Reapers who had certain dealings with humans. There were no real laws against it, though taboo. Their way of 'life' would not change, nor would their job of reaping souls vanish when the time of a Reaper's lover came to pass. All humans died.

Still, he'd placed Grell (who Will reluctantly accepted was still superior to himself in forms of strength and strategy) close to her as soon as the news of the Secretary's came. She would come to the case from London's side as soon as a pattern was set. Hopefully that idiot Grell had enough sense to keep their distance from her until they arrived.

And he could guess the likelihood of that.

"We're leaving now, Ronald."

/~/

Her Father was out when she returned home. She took this opportunity to stow away in her office and add to her increasingly more frustrating case board, which currently had the photos (and in some cases, autopsy reports, thanks to the Undertaker) pinned there.

Twelve men, all forcibly transported through time by a loose canon pencil pusher of the Grim Reaper Association.

This - left her with very little to actually do. Stopping this Secretary required more power than she had at her disposal.

Her phone looked ever tempting, sitting there innocently. She knew precisely where his card was - in her third drawer to the left, in a wooden box that used to hold playing cards. The number was ridiculous, she thought he'd been insane when he'd given it to her.

William T. Spears

Manager

000-000-0006

But it had worked. She'd dialed it one night, staring at it after a double of scotch and she'd rung him, sure that she would hear nothing on the other end.

Except that he'd answered it. "This is William T. Spears." He'd said, sounding so official, and far more in control than she felt that night. She hung up the phone immediately.

If she called him now, would he answer?

"You know, I'm glad I decided not to kill you." Came an unexpected, but familiar voice from her office door, which she had mistakenly turned her back on. "You've got some fabulous quality things." Grell, all six feet of them and drenched in red. In their hand was her silver cigarette case, which they were currently attempting to sneak.

"I didn't realize theft, on top of breaking and entering was admired at the Association." Eleanor said coldly, gaining a sharp grin in return. She held out her palm expectantly for the case. There were only two ways to control this particular Reaper, neither of which she did perfectly. They responded only to threats or intimidation, both of which aroused them thoroughly. But it was intimidation that led to the 'least' amount of bloodshed (given her Great Aunt's coat which still hung around the Reaper's shoulders).

Grell thankfully did not look bloodthirsty as they breezed forward, dropping the heavy case in her hand. "What an unkind hostess, denying me my meager wishes." They said dramatically, her dead family member's coat swishing with their wide arm waving.

"What are you doing here, Grell?" Eleanor asked calmly, ignoring their antics.

"You've got me." The red Reaper replied casually, beginning to nose their way through the large bookshelves in her office, picking up and looking at the photos or knickknacks that caught their attention. "Will told me to keep an eye on you a few days ago. He didn't tell me why." Then, they scoffed dismissively, setting a family photo back down with a 'clack'.

"Will asked you here?" His name almost caught in her throat. Eleanor turned to her case board - the word 'reaper?', written there in marker catching her eye.

Grell made an annoyed grunt, a 'yes.'

"That's curious." She heard herself say. So much for keeping a distance, she thought. "You say you began watching me a few days ago, Grell?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Was this your posting date?" Eleanor asked, suddenly getting up from her place and approaching her case board, touching the date of the first time-victim.

"Hm?" Grell hummed disinterestedly, following her gaze, before allowing a short, amused grunt. "Oh yes, that was it."

A loud, static bang suddenly echoed horribly throughout the house, shaking the light fixtures and making the Reaper scream shrilly as Eleanor ducked below her desk. The wailing noise didn't decease, in fact, it got louder, the ringing increasing in pitch and volume, even as she pressed her hands against her ears, desperately trying to muffle the sound until finally, every lightbulb in the room, and presumably the entire house, shattered instantly.

It was only after the glass fell down around them, did the noise cease, leaving a terrible ringing in her ears as Eleanor and Grell were left in silence.

im falling victim to all these time travel fics guys