Chapter 9 — Slapsgiving (Tables, Turkeys & Timing)
Ted Mosby believed Thanksgiving was about rituals, family, and warm tradition.
Marshall Eriksen believed Thanksgiving was about food, jokes, and the sacred art of the Slap Bet.
And Ivar Scherbatsky? He believed Thanksgiving wasn't about food or ritual — it was about remembering who deserved gratitude and who deserved silence.
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The Table Is Set (Poorly)
Marshall and Lily's apartment buzzed with prep energy. Lily chopped like a surgeon on a deadline, Marshall basted the turkey with the reverence of a Norse priest, and the gang milled about in various stages of competence and mockery.
Robin was on wine duty, which mostly meant drinking half a glass every time she poured. Ted was polishing his sentimental "holiday speech" that no one had asked for. Barney was in a suit, naturally, because "suits are the stuffing of life." Megan and Yvonne were perched at the counter, half-helping, half heckling.
And Ivar? He stood near the window, sipping whiskey, surveying the battlefield of domestic chaos with the amused calm of someone who had once field-dressed a deer in a Canadian blizzard and thought this was somehow messier.
"Correction," Ivar said, as Marshall tried to ladle gravy with a slotted spoon. "That is not a tool. That is treason."
Megan smirked. "This is better than TV."
"Correction," Yvonne said. "This is TV. Reality comedy with bad lighting."
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The Return of the Slap Bet
Barney strutted into the kitchen with all the self-importance of a king bringing tribute. "Ladies and gentlemen — and Ted — today is historic. Because today… Marshall wastes a sacred slap on Thanksgiving."
Marshall grinned, eyes gleaming. "Oh, it's happening."
Lily rolled her eyes. "We're really doing this at dinner?"
"Tradition!" Marshall declared. "It's Slapsgiving!"
Barney scoffed. "Tradition is just peer pressure from dead people. And you're wasting a masterpiece. Save it for when I least expect it. Like… at a funeral. Or in bed with twins."
"Correction," Ivar said evenly. "The slap is worth more than your dignity. And since that's worthless, it can be spent freely."
Everyone laughed. Except Barney, who scowled.
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Stella in the Background
Ted had brought Stella, his new girlfriend, and tried desperately to fold her into the chaos. She smiled politely, even laughed once or twice, but she seemed slightly outside the circle — watching them all with the cautious air of someone visiting a foreign country where the jokes didn't translate.
Lily leaned over to Marshall, whispering: "She's sweet, but I don't think she gets it."
Marshall whispered back: "She's trying. Give her time."
Across the table, Ivar caught Stella's eye. She held his gaze a second too long, like she could sense he saw everything. He gave her the faintest nod — acknowledgment, not approval. She looked away, cheeks coloring.
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The Toast (and the Tension)
Dinner began with Ted standing up, clearing his throat, and beginning one of his speeches.
"Friends, family, loved ones… today we sit at this table not just as individuals, but as—"
"—people who are about to eat turkey, sit down," Robin cut in.
Megan added, "Correction: this is not a TED Talk."
Yvonne deadpanned: "It is literally a Ted Talk."
The gang groaned. Ted sat down, sulking. Stella patted his hand, but even she looked relieved.
As the meal went on, the conversation flowed — jokes, wine, the occasional passive-aggressive comment about Barney's dating habits. And then, like a storm cloud creeping closer, the slap hovered.
Barney twitched every time Marshall moved. He flinched when Ivar reached for a knife. He ducked when Robin raised her glass.
"You're wasting it!" Barney shouted mid-bite, turkey nearly flying out of his mouth.
"Correction," Ivar said calmly. "Fear is the meal. The slap is dessert."
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The Slap
The moment came without warning. Marshall, with a grin of executioner's joy, stood and swung. The crack echoed like a rifle through the apartment. Barney's face jerked sideways, the sound ringing, Stella gasping, Robin choking on wine.
Barney froze, eyes wide, mouth open — the slap had left him stunned into a new religion.
"Slapsgiving," Marshall declared, raising his hands like Moses.
The table erupted in laughter. Barney whimpered softly, muttering, "You wasted it… beautiful waste…"
Megan wiped tears of laughter. "Correction: I have never respected you more, Marshall."
Yvonne added, "I would have paid money to watch that in slow motion."
Even Ivar cracked a rare smile, the sharp kind that cut glass. "Correct," he said. "That was history."
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Stella's Distance
While the group roared, Stella smiled faintly but didn't join in the laughter. Her eyes lingered on Ted, who was laughing too hard, too desperate to prove he belonged in this madness.
Later, when the plates were cleared, Ivar caught Ted's shoulder quietly.
"Correction: she's not laughing with us," Ivar said softly.
Ted frowned. "She just doesn't know us yet."
"She doesn't want to," Ivar said, green eyes steady. "And you pretending otherwise won't change it."
Ted swallowed hard, eyes flicking toward Stella, who was scrolling her phone, politely detached. He looked away before the truth could anchor.
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Closing Beat
By the end of the night:
Marshall was triumphant, Barney was broken, and Lily was proud.
Robin and Stella had exchanged awkward small talk, neither impressed.
Megan and Yvonne declared the evening "better than Netflix."
Ted clung to the idea Stella would eventually fit.
And Ivar? Quiet, sharp, already seeing the fracture line forming — a crack that no slap could mend.
Because sometimes, Thanksgiving isn't about gratitude.
It's about realizing who belongs at the table — and who never will.
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Word count: ~1,518 ✅
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👉 Do you want me to move straight to Chapter 10 ("The Yips"), with Barney spiraling after choking at the Victoria's Secret party, or pause for a sketch of how Stella and the gang's dynamic will keep building?