American King: Take Two
- Thread starter Napoleon53
- Start date
Hey Napoleon and Rooster, great job on this TL. This is one of my first experiences reading alternate history (aside from Turtledove), and I just have to say that it's really entertaining. Andrew Jackson as a non-Waterloo'd American Napoleon? Napoleon as a Louisiana version of Andrew Jackson? FREAKING AMAZING!
Also, the Side story of TTL Joseph Smith as a Lenin analogue is actually pretty genius, considering how close early Mormonism was to Marxism, particularly when it was practiced in the Utah Territory. Heck, I AM Mormon and I think it's pretty hilariously awesome in a twisted sort of way.
So, all in all, great work guys. Keep it up, I'll keep reading!
Also, the Side story of TTL Joseph Smith as a Lenin analogue is actually pretty genius, considering how close early Mormonism was to Marxism, particularly when it was practiced in the Utah Territory. Heck, I AM Mormon and I think it's pretty hilariously awesome in a twisted sort of way.
So, all in all, great work guys. Keep it up, I'll keep reading!
A Royal Apology
It is with a solemn heart that I write this. I feel I have failed in my duty to provide regular, compelling, and detailed updates to this timeline. Unfortunately, real life has continued to intervene to make it exceptionally difficult in my case. Between school, work, the exhaustion that comes with those activities, and writer’s block, I have been unable to provide updates for quite awhile. This Rooster has indeed been roasted by life. The fact that despite my lack of contribution, people are still reading and checking on this timeline is amazingly nice and thoughtful. Thank you for your loyalty.
But please, do not confuse my lack of updates with a lack of writing. It seems hardly a day goes by where I don’t work on American King, unfortunately just not in traditional-update format. I have lists of major politicians and their careers going into the 2000s, lists of Governors for several states, fleshed out stories of future figures, plans for Europe, fleshed out stories for major party nominations and politics, and a treasure trove of interesting historical characters to give this timeline life. Although, this is all meaningless without the updates that have brought this timeline readers.
I have also continuously updated the American King wiki, which is up to 350 individual pages: http://americankingseries.wikia.com/wiki/American_King_Series_Wiki
Alas, even the additions to the wiki cannot make up my lack of updates which I doubt will be more forthcoming in the near future. When Napoleon53 gave me control over this timeline, this situation was my worst case scenario. But like most things in life, the worst case scenario has in fact happened. I have failed you all, and I feel the shame that goes with that. Please do not feel sorry, for it is my own doing.
Now, to address the future. I feel I have simply put too much time, thought, and energy into this timeline and wiki to simply give it up. I shall continue to write, edit the wiki, and perhaps someday return to updating. Of course, I realize this is no solution to most of you, and it is merely the selfish ramblings of a failed TL-Keeper. That is why I officially endorse the creation of an American King III. I give full permission for its creation and its use of any ideas I’ve already presented and for the use of my personal character, Hunter DeRensis, for whatever purposes necessary in the storyline. Perhaps better yet, all of you good readers could work together in a coalition American King III. So while I do not abdicate my throne of American King II, I do allow everyone and anyone to secede into the creation of an American King III.
Keep in mind, all of the previous paragraph is powerless and without legitimacy without the official permission of Napoleon53, the original author and creator. Perhaps he’d even like to write it himself, similar to American King I and the first half of this one.
I know I’ve just put a lot on the table, and I’m not sure how you all feel about this. They say a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine goes down (I just watched Saving Mr. Banks, and it was good but not great). So, here is a long awaited update I wrote a while ago for a creative writing class just to get my thoughts down. Keep in mind, this in not in continuity of previous updates.
Left: Lord Secretary of the Army Franklin Pierce of New Hampshire
Right: Lord Secretary of the Navy Jesse D. Bright of PolypotamiaWith Glas strode two members of his cabinet who would be accompanying him on his mission south. Franklin Pierce, the 64 year old Lord Secretary of the Army. A one term Congressman, General, and the 1852 Whig Viceroy candidate, Pierce had strong friendships among southern leaders. Of course, a polite and friendly man like Pierce had friends in all circles. His once handsome face had grown wrinkled and his brown hair had gone gray, but his likability and cheerful smile remained. The other was the infamous Lord Secretary of the Navy, Jesse D. Bright. Despite being from Polypotamia, Bright had received recognition as one of the most southern-minded men in Congress during the 1850s. A firm defender of slavery, Glas had made an ally of him despite their differences. Bright was a member of the Crown Party of course, Glas’ opposition; but both agreed on enough issues that Bright had earned a minor spot in the cabinet. Bright almost permanent scowl was off putting to strangers, but southerners trusted no one more. With these two accompanying him, Glas was sure he could smooth any trepidations the south had about his second term.
Left: Allan Pinkerton
Right: Lafayette C. BakerOn normal circumstances, Glas would take a private train to where he wished. But the Prime Minister hoped to keep this trip underwraps; newspaper attention could only hurt the situation. It was due to this that they were in a regular train station, preparing to travel by regular train. First class, of course. Still, for the matter of safety, the three politicians were not alone. The trio was flanked by either side by a sole bodyguard. There was Allan Pinkerton, a Scot by birth who had run a private detective agency in Illinoisa before being hired by the government. His short beard and receding hairline naturally gave off a feeling of ruggedness. Known as one of the best investigators in the country, he was fiercely loyal to Glas. The other was a more tricky sort, a New Yorker known as Lafayette C. Baker. Originally a military spy, Baker had committed what some called treason when he spied on his own War Department under the Lincoln Administration. His suspicion of corruption was correct however, and this, plus timely intervention by the newly inaugurated Glas, saved his career. He had a much more common face than Pinkerton, and he still looked almost a boy despite being 43, only 7 years Pinkerton’s junior.
“Mr.Prime Minister, I was wondering if we might discuss the military budget while he wait for the train,” said Pierce. The five men were all standing within a space of about ten square feet inside the station. It’d be a good twenty minutes before the train was suppose to arrive.
“Quiet Franklin,” said Glas. “No need for formalities here. We wouldn’t want to attract attention. Go on.” This was despite the fact that normally Glas should have been instantly recognizable with his olive skin, dark mop of black hair, and prominent nose.
“Well,” continued Pierce, “now that the election is over, there is no reason to keep the army at the size it is. Since we’ve pulled out of Britain, there’s no need for such a large force. We’ve already started demilitarizing South Carolina, and even the African colonies have remained quiet. Maintaining such large troop numbers when they’re not necessary is simply a drain on the budget.”
“You make good points Franklin, but I’ll hear no more of it,” Glas said firmly. “When I took office I swore I’d cut down this government as much as possible. But I swore there were two issues I wouldn’t touch; slavery and the army.” As a man who’d been a soldier for nearly 30 years, Glas had always had it in his mind that to touch the military budget would be a sort of betrayal to his comrades.
“That’s why I think whole trip is a waste,” complained Bright. “The south knows damn well that you won’t confiscate their property. You never campaigned on such a thing or planned on it. They’re only kicking up dust to gain attention. And I’ll tell you what; we’re heading in the wrong direction.”
“How so?” asked the intrigued Prime Minister.
“Since we killed the Bank back in February, New England has been near boiling over. When we killed that beast, we killed a lot of their investments and a lot of politicians’ payrolls. They blame us. Specifically, sir, you.”
“The Bank is dead Jesse. I have nothing to fear from it’s ghost.” Glas was resolute that we wouldn’t look back. He had come too far for that.
While these administrators spoke, a man walked unnoticed into the station. A very old man, he looked like he had to be at least 65. His skin was very pale, and his hair was even whiter. His hair was long, and his enormous white beard covered most of his chest. All of his hair was wild and uncombed. He looked almost like a buffalo in human form. Despite only being in his 60s, he could have passed for an 80 year old. He was the kind of man who wore his years on his face. He mouth, at least what you could see from it, was coarse and hard. His voice, as revealed when he purchased a ticket, was firm like thunder. If he wanted to, his shouts could have rocked the very ground. His eyes were like burning coals in his head, doorways that marked a divine passion. This was a man who was on a mission of God. At least in his own mind, that is. He wore a large coat, unusual for such a sunny September day. Yet for some reason there was no sweat on his brow.
A ticket now in his pocket, he gazed around the station, and in the middle of it spotted five men. Three in professional clothing, all speaking close together. The other two, some feet away from the others, in simple long coats and boots. One had a visible gun belt while the other one, a bearded man, seemed to be unarmed. Yet it was obvious to any observant man that his gun was hidden under his coat. These two formed an attempted parameter around the others and their heads glancing around. The old man began to walk towards the group, although not in a direct line. He was walking towards a column that was juxtaposed to the group. His shoes were unusually quiet, and he moved with a certain grace. The loudest thing about him were the hymns he was singing under his breath. When he was twenty feet away from the men, he stopped.
The old man took a deep breath. He opened up his coat, revealing a gun belt and several other loaded pistols strapped to his chest. His hands reached for the two six-shooters at his side, and gripped them. Lifting his right arm up, he held it there horizontally for one long second, taking aim at the bodyguard with the gun belt.
Turning his head, Allan Pinkerton saw the man taking aim. Instinctively he reached for his pistol he had hidden under his coat. And in his loudest voice he shouted “GUN!” Silence erupted across the entire station.
Lafayette Baker’s head turned towards the shooter. A bang broke the silence as a bullet struck him square in his forehead. His head exploded with blood and brains, and his bodily husk fell to the ground. Pinkerton’s gun raised up and with skilled aim fired away. One bullet missed the old man by an inch, hitting painlessly into his now wide open coat. The other struck home, shattering the man’s left knee. The old man fell, and was now kneeling. By this point he had both guns out, and was firing away wildly at Pinkerton. One bullet hit his shoulder, and the detective’s gun flew out of his hand. Cursing his luck, two bullets hit his chest and he fell back. His right pistol empty, the old man threw it away and ripped another loaded one from his chest.
This bloody shootout occurred in a matter of seconds while Glas, Pierce, and Bright stood around each other coming to grips with what was happening. Glas attempted to push past his comrades and charge the old man straight on. But Bright put his arm in front of the Prime Minister, and with all of his strength pushed him back, covering him. His back to the assassin, the old man riddled him with bullets. Bright fell, dead before he hit the ground.
“The Lord is coming boys!” shouted the old man in a voice that contained madness, holiness, and joy. Firing away, the old man no longer attempted to aim. The air filled with bullets, and many of the bystanders, unable to even process what was going on, were hit. Pierce began to shout and wave his arms, perhaps attempting to distract the assassin so Glas could escape. A bullet pierced his throat, and with bright red blood covering his chest and hands, he collapsed onto the body of the now former Lord Secretary of the Navy. Glas, perhaps to brave, perhaps to stupid, did not take the chance to try to escape. A bullet hit him in the hip, and another grazed his head. Losing his balance, he fell to the ground and smashed his bloody head against the ground. Shaking his head, he could hear the madman’s gailing laughter in the background. Crawling on his stomach, the Prime Minister of the Union of Royal American States took cover behind the bodies of his now grimly cabinet.
Turning his head, a silvery iron shape came into view. His vision still blurry from his wound and fall, he reached for Pinkerton’s fallen gun. His hand grasped empty space until he finally had it in his hand. The old man continued to fill the air with lead, throwing away and replacing his weapon every time one would run out. Hannibal Glas, near blind, screamed out a warriors yell and used the last of his strength to lift himself up. He fired off Pinkerton’s gun in the general direction of the assassin. By pure luck, or some would say divine intervention, a bullet caught the old man in the stomach; but not before Glas was hit again in the collarbone and went unconscious.
When the bullet pierced the old man, he gave out a yell, twisted from his still kneeling positon, and fell forward, landing on his back. Pistol smoke surrounded him and his large white beard soaked up his own blood. A thin smile came to his lips.
“I did it,” he shouted to the other people in the train station who were now able to walk towards the mangled scene in safety. “My name is John Brown, and I have fulfilled God’s plan.” Coughing up blood, he whispered to himself “Oh how I’ve longed for the Kingdom of Heaven.” Closing his eyes, John Brown died there on the scene.
Prime Minister Hamilton Fish of New YorkIncluding the assassin, seven people died within those fateful September day in 1869 (three civilians died due to stray bullets, along with countless wounded). Allan Pinkerton, despite his wounds, survived the onslaught after months of recovery. He was forced into permanent retirement. Glas, still unconscious, was quickly rushed to the nearest hospital. He died on the way due to blood loss. Hannibal Glas, the Prime Minister of the Union of Royal American States, became the first to die in office at the age of 54. He also became the first to be assassinated, introducing a dark concept into politics. His assassination would spark a small war, all started by the actions of radical Christian and Smithist John Brown. Glas’ successor, fellow New Yorker Hamilton Fish, would try his best to follow through on Glas’ policies in an attempt to further spread liberty. But the upcoming 1870s would hardly be a peaceful decade, for assassination would soon give way to rebellion…..
It is with a solemn heart that I write this. I feel I have failed in my duty to provide regular, compelling, and detailed updates to this timeline. Unfortunately, real life has continued to intervene to make it exceptionally difficult in my case. Between school, work, the exhaustion that comes with those activities, and writer’s block, I have been unable to provide updates for quite awhile. This Rooster has indeed been roasted by life. The fact that despite my lack of contribution, people are still reading and checking on this timeline is amazingly nice and thoughtful. Thank you for your loyalty.
But please, do not confuse my lack of updates with a lack of writing. It seems hardly a day goes by where I don’t work on American King, unfortunately just not in traditional-update format. I have lists of major politicians and their careers going into the 2000s, lists of Governors for several states, fleshed out stories of future figures, plans for Europe, fleshed out stories for major party nominations and politics, and a treasure trove of interesting historical characters to give this timeline life. Although, this is all meaningless without the updates that have brought this timeline readers.
I have also continuously updated the American King wiki, which is up to 350 individual pages: http://americankingseries.wikia.com/wiki/American_King_Series_Wiki
Alas, even the additions to the wiki cannot make up my lack of updates which I doubt will be more forthcoming in the near future. When Napoleon53 gave me control over this timeline, this situation was my worst case scenario. But like most things in life, the worst case scenario has in fact happened. I have failed you all, and I feel the shame that goes with that. Please do not feel sorry, for it is my own doing.
Now, to address the future. I feel I have simply put too much time, thought, and energy into this timeline and wiki to simply give it up. I shall continue to write, edit the wiki, and perhaps someday return to updating. Of course, I realize this is no solution to most of you, and it is merely the selfish ramblings of a failed TL-Keeper. That is why I officially endorse the creation of an American King III. I give full permission for its creation and its use of any ideas I’ve already presented and for the use of my personal character, Hunter DeRensis, for whatever purposes necessary in the storyline. Perhaps better yet, all of you good readers could work together in a coalition American King III. So while I do not abdicate my throne of American King II, I do allow everyone and anyone to secede into the creation of an American King III.
Keep in mind, all of the previous paragraph is powerless and without legitimacy without the official permission of Napoleon53, the original author and creator. Perhaps he’d even like to write it himself, similar to American King I and the first half of this one.
I know I’ve just put a lot on the table, and I’m not sure how you all feel about this. They say a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine goes down (I just watched Saving Mr. Banks, and it was good but not great). So, here is a long awaited update I wrote a while ago for a creative writing class just to get my thoughts down. Keep in mind, this in not in continuity of previous updates.
The Night of Broken Glas
Prime Minister Hannibal Glas in military uniform, circa 1850s
Prime Minister Hannibal Glas walked into the train station, ready to depart from the capital city of Philadelphia to a trip to the Deep South. He planned to meet with southern leaders to assure them that his administration was no threat to slavery. They had been nervous about supporting his reelection campaign; his entire first term had been dedicated to reigning in “tyrannical powers” in a “March of Liberty.” Still, they had lined up behind him when Glas ran on a platform of abolishing the national bank. The fight had been hard, but Glas succeeded in his mission. The press had said only a man of his confidence and force of presence could have accomplished in taking down the “monster bank.” Now this force of man walked through a common train station, although he did not walk alone.
Prime Minister Hannibal Glas in military uniform, circa 1850s
Left: Lord Secretary of the Army Franklin Pierce of New Hampshire
Right: Lord Secretary of the Navy Jesse D. Bright of Polypotamia
Left: Allan Pinkerton
Right: Lafayette C. Baker
“Mr.Prime Minister, I was wondering if we might discuss the military budget while he wait for the train,” said Pierce. The five men were all standing within a space of about ten square feet inside the station. It’d be a good twenty minutes before the train was suppose to arrive.
“Quiet Franklin,” said Glas. “No need for formalities here. We wouldn’t want to attract attention. Go on.” This was despite the fact that normally Glas should have been instantly recognizable with his olive skin, dark mop of black hair, and prominent nose.
“Well,” continued Pierce, “now that the election is over, there is no reason to keep the army at the size it is. Since we’ve pulled out of Britain, there’s no need for such a large force. We’ve already started demilitarizing South Carolina, and even the African colonies have remained quiet. Maintaining such large troop numbers when they’re not necessary is simply a drain on the budget.”
“You make good points Franklin, but I’ll hear no more of it,” Glas said firmly. “When I took office I swore I’d cut down this government as much as possible. But I swore there were two issues I wouldn’t touch; slavery and the army.” As a man who’d been a soldier for nearly 30 years, Glas had always had it in his mind that to touch the military budget would be a sort of betrayal to his comrades.
“That’s why I think whole trip is a waste,” complained Bright. “The south knows damn well that you won’t confiscate their property. You never campaigned on such a thing or planned on it. They’re only kicking up dust to gain attention. And I’ll tell you what; we’re heading in the wrong direction.”
“How so?” asked the intrigued Prime Minister.
“Since we killed the Bank back in February, New England has been near boiling over. When we killed that beast, we killed a lot of their investments and a lot of politicians’ payrolls. They blame us. Specifically, sir, you.”
“The Bank is dead Jesse. I have nothing to fear from it’s ghost.” Glas was resolute that we wouldn’t look back. He had come too far for that.
While these administrators spoke, a man walked unnoticed into the station. A very old man, he looked like he had to be at least 65. His skin was very pale, and his hair was even whiter. His hair was long, and his enormous white beard covered most of his chest. All of his hair was wild and uncombed. He looked almost like a buffalo in human form. Despite only being in his 60s, he could have passed for an 80 year old. He was the kind of man who wore his years on his face. He mouth, at least what you could see from it, was coarse and hard. His voice, as revealed when he purchased a ticket, was firm like thunder. If he wanted to, his shouts could have rocked the very ground. His eyes were like burning coals in his head, doorways that marked a divine passion. This was a man who was on a mission of God. At least in his own mind, that is. He wore a large coat, unusual for such a sunny September day. Yet for some reason there was no sweat on his brow.
A ticket now in his pocket, he gazed around the station, and in the middle of it spotted five men. Three in professional clothing, all speaking close together. The other two, some feet away from the others, in simple long coats and boots. One had a visible gun belt while the other one, a bearded man, seemed to be unarmed. Yet it was obvious to any observant man that his gun was hidden under his coat. These two formed an attempted parameter around the others and their heads glancing around. The old man began to walk towards the group, although not in a direct line. He was walking towards a column that was juxtaposed to the group. His shoes were unusually quiet, and he moved with a certain grace. The loudest thing about him were the hymns he was singing under his breath. When he was twenty feet away from the men, he stopped.
The old man took a deep breath. He opened up his coat, revealing a gun belt and several other loaded pistols strapped to his chest. His hands reached for the two six-shooters at his side, and gripped them. Lifting his right arm up, he held it there horizontally for one long second, taking aim at the bodyguard with the gun belt.
Turning his head, Allan Pinkerton saw the man taking aim. Instinctively he reached for his pistol he had hidden under his coat. And in his loudest voice he shouted “GUN!” Silence erupted across the entire station.
Lafayette Baker’s head turned towards the shooter. A bang broke the silence as a bullet struck him square in his forehead. His head exploded with blood and brains, and his bodily husk fell to the ground. Pinkerton’s gun raised up and with skilled aim fired away. One bullet missed the old man by an inch, hitting painlessly into his now wide open coat. The other struck home, shattering the man’s left knee. The old man fell, and was now kneeling. By this point he had both guns out, and was firing away wildly at Pinkerton. One bullet hit his shoulder, and the detective’s gun flew out of his hand. Cursing his luck, two bullets hit his chest and he fell back. His right pistol empty, the old man threw it away and ripped another loaded one from his chest.
This bloody shootout occurred in a matter of seconds while Glas, Pierce, and Bright stood around each other coming to grips with what was happening. Glas attempted to push past his comrades and charge the old man straight on. But Bright put his arm in front of the Prime Minister, and with all of his strength pushed him back, covering him. His back to the assassin, the old man riddled him with bullets. Bright fell, dead before he hit the ground.
“The Lord is coming boys!” shouted the old man in a voice that contained madness, holiness, and joy. Firing away, the old man no longer attempted to aim. The air filled with bullets, and many of the bystanders, unable to even process what was going on, were hit. Pierce began to shout and wave his arms, perhaps attempting to distract the assassin so Glas could escape. A bullet pierced his throat, and with bright red blood covering his chest and hands, he collapsed onto the body of the now former Lord Secretary of the Navy. Glas, perhaps to brave, perhaps to stupid, did not take the chance to try to escape. A bullet hit him in the hip, and another grazed his head. Losing his balance, he fell to the ground and smashed his bloody head against the ground. Shaking his head, he could hear the madman’s gailing laughter in the background. Crawling on his stomach, the Prime Minister of the Union of Royal American States took cover behind the bodies of his now grimly cabinet.
Turning his head, a silvery iron shape came into view. His vision still blurry from his wound and fall, he reached for Pinkerton’s fallen gun. His hand grasped empty space until he finally had it in his hand. The old man continued to fill the air with lead, throwing away and replacing his weapon every time one would run out. Hannibal Glas, near blind, screamed out a warriors yell and used the last of his strength to lift himself up. He fired off Pinkerton’s gun in the general direction of the assassin. By pure luck, or some would say divine intervention, a bullet caught the old man in the stomach; but not before Glas was hit again in the collarbone and went unconscious.
When the bullet pierced the old man, he gave out a yell, twisted from his still kneeling positon, and fell forward, landing on his back. Pistol smoke surrounded him and his large white beard soaked up his own blood. A thin smile came to his lips.
“I did it,” he shouted to the other people in the train station who were now able to walk towards the mangled scene in safety. “My name is John Brown, and I have fulfilled God’s plan.” Coughing up blood, he whispered to himself “Oh how I’ve longed for the Kingdom of Heaven.” Closing his eyes, John Brown died there on the scene.
Prime Minister Hamilton Fish of New York
A few months ago I also jotted down some ideas for "Alternate Alternate American Kings." I did it for fun, although now they might seem like legitimate ideas for American King III for other future ones. These are merely suggestions and are open and in the air.
Hamilton's Dream: Alexander Hamilton exerts more influence over King Andrew, and considered his most important advisor, is appointed Prime Minister in 1805. He then molds the country into what he wants, and establishes a much more powerful police and financial state with his Lord Secretary of the Treasury Tench Coxe.
Hamilton's Dream: Alexander Hamilton exerts more influence over King Andrew, and considered his most important advisor, is appointed Prime Minister in 1805. He then molds the country into what he wants, and establishes a much more powerful police and financial state with his Lord Secretary of the Treasury Tench Coxe.
- Alexander Hamilton (Crown, 1805 -1816)
- Andrew Franklin Adams (Crown, 1816-1824)
- Alexander Hamilton II (Crown, 1824-1832)
- Joseph Story (Crown, 1832-1840)
- Oliver Hazard Perry (Crown, 1840-1848)
- William Henry Harrison (Crown, 1805-1816)
- Henry Clay (Crown, 1816-1824)
- Hunter DeRensis (Whig, 1824-1832)
- Oliver Hazard Perry (Crown, 1832-1836)
- Hunter DeRensis (Whig, 1836-1840)
- Andrew Franklin Adams (Crown, 1840-1844)
- Hunter DeRensis (Whig, 1844-1848)
- Stephen W. Kearny (Crown, 1848-1856)
- Abraham Lincoln (Crown, 1856-1864)
- Hannibal Glas (Whig, 1864-1872)
Thought I'd bump this again, TBH. This is honestly an interesting timeline.....also, Steve Kearny & Abe Lincoln as PMs? Now that's interesting.
It's so sad that this TL is dead...
American King The Third is in prototype development.
American King The Third is in prototype development.
So does this mean this whole thing will be rewritten, or are you just going to go back, tweak some things and then repost it? Either way is fine if you ask me, as it is mostly your work.
Not decided yet, but I will revive it some point in the not too distant future.
Will you still accept cameos in American King Version 3.0?
Heck yeah, it's part of this TL's board culture. It's gonna be a good while before the restart, though.
Breathe life back into American King!
In the name of King Andrew I, I command you to return to life!Live, damn you! LIVE!
In the name of King Andrew I, I command you to return to life!Live, damn you! LIVE!