Right. I'm beginning to remember that feeling I always got before. That stunning lack of inspiration. I know, for a fact, that I'll be doing a story of Roxas, and there may or may not be one from someone inside Radiant Garden, I don't know who yet, but after that, I'm drawing a blank. Obviously, suggestions are loved. If you have a favorite character or scene you want done, now's the time to let me know.

Also, it's been a very long time since I played KH1. I can't exactly remember how Jiminy came to be part of Sora's team. You'll notice that section is suspiciously vague, or missing, depending on your point of veiw.

Jiminy
I Wonder Why…This Pocket Became My Home?

I'm a cricket. That's it. To most people, I am nothing but a bug, and to other crickets I am the black sheep, a cricket incontent to while away his life playing music in the grass. One who searches for something more: an adventure, a life! Something even the most powerful human would envy! Filled with fantasy, filled with amazing sights and villainous enemies!

At first, I had Pinocchio, but all too quickly the wooden boy became real, and then he grew out of his madness, and my adventure seemed to have ended. So, I retired to Disney Castle, where I wrote my records of life in Pinocchio's wooden age, of his boundless joy and naiveté leading inevitably to a predicament that matched my needs for freedom from the grass.

Quickly enough, I became well known. There are not hundreds of crickets with my lust for life. With my almost-but-not-quite fame, I found myself one day before the King himself; he was writing a note. He made every effort to hide it from me, but I am an insect, and with the definition come the compounded eyes. I could see more than he knew. I still can. How else would I survive these tumultuous journeys, my wonderful godsends?

The note was hidden well though. All I know of its words now are scattered fragments, but I remember that it seemed as though he would be leaving for a very long time, and there was a mention of a key. In all honesty, I brushed it off. If the King was leaving his castle to create a key of some sort, who was I to bother him.

Apparently, someone important.

He didn't tell me what the note itself read as he stamped it with the three-circled seal that looks so much like himself and his Queen. Instead he told me I was going to get the adventure I had thirsted for since leaving behind Gepetto and his puppet-turned-son. I didn't know then, but now I wonder how I could have missed the pieces falling into place. I have made it my purpose never to do such a thing again.

So now, my eyes glisten and my pens flies. My entire minuscule body shakes as the sounds of battle rush through me. Every move they make, I record with endless precision. For so long, Pinocchio was my masterpiece, my only piece. Now I have Sora, Donald and Goofy to contend with, and even I sometimes wonder how they manage what they do.

Crouching in the human's little pocket with my too-large-for-me-too-small-for-them journal, I turn the page. A blank space lies imposingly before me, but there is no time to pause and savor that blankness. Not with such a battle raging! Even the slight fear that Sora's pocket will be crushed, and I with it, does not worry me any longer, not enough to make my writing slip, at least. I have survived in this little cloth home many worse things, the Hydra itself and pirates cursed into skeletons! These white elastic beings are nothing so dangerous.

So, the ink bleeds into the paper as I write furiously. What they look like, how to fight them, what to call them! Yen Sid gave us the name of Nobodies, but the rest of the names are mine to weave, and because of what I am to this story, the author and the tale weaver, these names will stick. I believe the ones they battle now will be called Assassins. Simple, but fitting.

That is the trick to this, after all. The names must make sense; simple and perfectly fit, just like every other piece of this story. And if something doesn't fit, it must be watched with utmost care, for when it does fall into place, I plan to be the first to know.

Crouched in the safety of the Hero's pocket, guarded by the magic and valor of his friends, I will write everything down.

I will do this because everyone will want to know. But another reason lies below that. I will write because without it, what would I be? After all, without a subject, I would be no author, no storyteller, no writer nor recorder.

I would be nothing but a cricket.