what If rusty joined shadowclan?? (fanfic- I am taking requests!!)
this is a little fanfc (slightly rushed) based on an idea from https://wcrpforums.com/thread/80103/favorite-firestar-au (all credits go to them for the idea! this is the story:
Rusty’s body froze as the dark tom towered over him, the surrounding cats closing in like a suffocating wall. The name “kittypet” struck like a slap.
“I didn’t know,” Rusty managed to say, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean any harm!”
“Silence!” The tom’s snarl cut through the air, and the other cats fell deathly quiet. “I am Brokenstar, leader of ShadowClan. Your ignorance doesn’t excuse you. But I think we can find... a use for you.”
Rusty’s ears flattened, fear pulsing through him. “What do you mean?”
Brokenstar’s lips curled into a cruel smirk. “You’ll find out soon enough. Take him back to camp.”
The warriors dragged Rusty through the forest, their claws pricking his sides whenever he stumbled. The camp loomed ahead—a shadowy hollow surrounded by thick brambles. Rusty’s breath caught as he was shoved into the center of the clearing. Cats emerged from dens, their eyes wide with curiosity and suspicion.
“What’s this?” an older she-cat rasped, her gray fur scruffy and her eyes sharp.
“A trespasser,” Brokenstar announced. “He’ll serve ShadowClan as a prisoner. Make him earn his food—or starve.”
Rusty’s heart sank as the crowd murmured. A smaller tom stepped forward, his pelt mottled brown and his eyes tired.
“Brokenstar, we don’t have time to look after prisoners,” the tom said carefully.
“You don’t have to, Runningnose,” Brokenstar replied coldly. “He’ll work under you. Maybe you can teach him something useful.”
Rusty’s life as a prisoner began that night.
Days blurred together in a haze of exhaustion. Rusty lugged crow food back to camp, cleaned dens, and followed Runningnose into the woods to gather herbs. The older tom wasn’t unkind, but he didn’t speak much. At first, Rusty wanted nothing more than to escape, but there was no chance. Brokenstar’s warriors always watched him, their claws ready to strike if he faltered.
Rusty hated the camp—hated the dark looks the warriors gave him, the murmurs of “kittypet” spat like venom. But one thing softened the misery: the kits.
“Are you really a kittypet?” asked a tiny black-and-white she-kit, her voice full of awe.
Rusty looked up from where he was stacking herbs and offered her a small smile. “I guess I am. What’s your name?”
“Dawnkit,” she said, her chest puffing out. “But Brokenstar says I’ll be Dawnpaw soon.”
Rusty hesitated, glancing at the other kits lingering nearby. They looked too small, too fragile to be apprentices yet.
“Do you... like training?” he asked carefully.
Dawnkit’s bravado faltered. “It’s... hard,” she admitted. “Sometimes it hurts.”
Rusty’s chest tightened. He couldn’t stand the thought of these tiny kits being forced into battle training before they were ready. That night, he slipped a piece of prey into the nursery, whispering to Dawnkit and the others, “Eat this. You need your strength.”
Over time, Rusty became a quiet protector for the kits. He shielded them when they were too weak or scared to train, distracting their mentors with clever excuses or taking on extra work himself. His kindness didn’t go unnoticed.
“You’re too soft for this place,” a sharp voice murmured one evening.
Rusty turned to see a wiry brown tom—Mousewing—watching him.
“I’m just trying to help,” Rusty said defensively.
Mousewing sighed, his gaze darting toward the nursery. “I’ve seen it. What you’re doing for the kits. I... appreciate it. They’re my kits in there, you know.”
Rusty blinked in surprise. “Why don’t you stand up to Brokenstar?”
Mousewing’s expression darkened. “Because I don’t want my kits to pay for it. But I can help you, kittypet. If you want to survive here, you’ll need to learn how to fight.”
Rusty hesitated, then nodded. “Teach me.”
Under Mousewing’s guidance, Rusty learned the basics of fighting. Each night, they trained in the shadows, away from prying eyes. Rusty’s muscles grew stronger, his strikes more precise.
“You’re learning fast,” Mousewing said one evening, brushing dust from his pelt. “Keep this up, and you might stand a chance if Brokenstar turns on you.”
Rusty’s ears twitched. “I’m not just learning for me. I want to protect the kits.”
Mousewing’s gaze softened. “They’re lucky to have you.”
One fateful day, while helping Runningnose collect herbs, Rusty stumbled across a heap of gray fur sprawled beneath a bush.
“Runningnose!” Rusty called.
The medicine cat rushed over, his eyes widening as he recognized the she-cat. “Yellowfang?”
Rusty crouched beside her, nudging her shoulder gently. “She’s alive, but barely.”
“We have to help her,” Runningnose said. “Brokenstar can’t know.”
Together, they dragged Yellowfang to a hidden hollow and nursed her back to health. As she recovered, Yellowfang told Rusty of her exile and her regrets.
“I made him leader,” she said bitterly, her voice hoarse. “I didn’t see the darkness in him until it was too late.”
Rusty hesitated before speaking. “There are cats here who want to fight back. They’re scared, but they’re ready. We can stop him—together.”
Yellowfang’s yellow eyes burned with determination. “Then let’s end this.”
The rebellion began under a full moon. Cats who had once cowered under Brokenstar’s rule rose up, their claws flashing. Rusty fought alongside them, his strikes swift and fierce. When the dust cleared, Brokenstar was gone, exiled into the wilderness.
In the aftermath, the camp was silent, save for the soft murmur of the wind. Yellowfang stood before the gathered cats, her shoulders heavy with newfound responsibility.
“I never wanted this,” she said, her voice steady. “But ShadowClan needs a leader who will protect it, not tear it apart. I will do my best to be that leader.”
The crowd murmured their approval. Flintfang was named her deputy, and then Yellowfang turned to Rusty.
“Rusty,” she said, her gaze warm. “You’ve done more for ShadowClan than many of its own. If you’ll accept it, we’d be honored to name you a warrior.”
Rusty’s breath hitched. “I... I’d be honored.”
“From this day forward,” Yellowfang declared, “you will be known as Rustheart, for the quiet fire that burns within you, lighting the way for those in the shadows.”
The camp erupted into cheers, and Rustheart bowed his head, his heart swelling with pride.
Though he still carried the scars of his moons as a prisoner, Rustheart stood tall. He belonged to ShadowClan now, and he would protect it with all the strength in his heart.
as I said, it is rushed. please leave feedback or constructive criticism in the comments! I really appreciate it. also feel free to request any fanfic ideas in the comments! I will definietly write them.