EintItRein

You know that thing where a story is written in tight third person limited — we’re meant to be inside someone’s head, seeing the world through their thoughts — and then suddenly the narration says “the blond frowned” or “the shorter woman sighed” about a person the POV character knows really well?

That’s called antonomasia — using a descriptive label instead of a name. And it’s fine when we’re talking about strangers: “the cashier handed her the receipt,” “the tall guy blocked the door.” The POV character doesn’t know their names, and we just need a quick way to tell people apart.

But the moment it’s used for someone the POV character already knows, it breaks immersion. Because that’s not how our minds work. We don’t think “the older man smiled at me.” We think “Mark smiled.” Or maybe “my boss” if that relationship matters in the moment.

Third person limited means the narration sits inside someone’s perception. Their inner monologue is the story’s voice. So when you switch from “Mark smiled” to “the blond smiled,” you’ve pulled the camera away from their mind and turned it into an outside shot.

If you want to create distance or irritation, you can do it on purpose —

“The idiot from accounting emailed again.”

That’s character voice. That’s judgment. That works.

But otherwise?

As soon as your POV character knows someone’s name, use it. While we do tend to worry about repetitions, names rarely register as such to the readers.

If you need variety for rhythm, use relational or emotional identifiers that make sense in their head: her friend, his partner, their teacher, the person they loved.

Because inside someone’s thoughts, there are no “blonds” or “brunettes.”

Loyalty (1869)

— by Briton Rivière

Loyalty (2025)

the dua lipa of it all

Ilya is sitting on top of the toilet seat lid, phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder, cutting his toenails. 300 miles away, Shane is ironing his game day slacks, phone on speaker.

"No. Not really."

"Never?"

"I don't know, it seems hard. Like, the training and stuff."

"You're Shane Hollander. You would do it so easy."

Ilya says this a lot: You're Shane Hollander. Like that explains everything.

"I don't know if I want to. Don't you have to eat, like, freeze dried food?"

"Oh my god, Hollander. Imagine it is luxury spaceship. You have full gym and hockey rink and yummy homemade food you can eat and a giant window to watch the stars from. Would you want to go to space?"

Shane is silent as he thinks. Ilya carefully clips a toenail and watches it fly across the bathroom. Then, Shane:

"Are you going with me?"

"Would that change your answer?"

"Maybe."

"Then yes."

Shane thinks some more, focusing on folding the pleat of his slacks just right, then presses the hot iron on top. He makes one, two passes over the fold, then sets the iron down.

"I don't know. I kinda like it down here."

"You would rather be at your cottage?"

Shane squints at a spot on the leg of his pants. Leans in closer, tries to smudge it away with his finger.

"Yeah. I like hearing the birds sing." Licks his finger, tries again. "In the morning."

"You could have recordings of it in space. Listen every day, like an alarm."

“Haas, where are you right now?”

“The club by the hotel.”

“And he’s not in the bathroom?”

“No.”

“Not on the roof?”

“No.”

“Not trying to access any of the dancers poles?”

“What? Why would- Oh, Troy says no.”

“Is he hanging out with drunk girls in the women’s bathroom?”

“Umm, one sec. Harris, can you ask her if Ilya is in there? … Harris says no.”

“Ok. What were you talking about before he disappeared?”

“We were trying to figure out where to eat.”

“Did anyone bring up sushi?”

“He didn’t say he wanted-“

“Just answer the question.”

“Uh yeah, someone suggested it, but he said he wanted-“

“He’s at the pier.”

“What?”

“He got bored, sushi put fish on his brain, which made him think about water, and he likes going to piers, and the hotel is walking distance from a boardwalk by the water. He’s there, most likely trying to look at fish going under the dock.”

“… How do you know that?”

But I’d love a fic where one or both of Shane’s parents drop by the cottage for phone charger/laundry pod reasons and find Shane snuggled on the couch fast asleep on Ilya’s chest and that’s how they find out

They’re dressed in soft casual clothes, sleeping like the dead and wrapped around each other like vines and Ilya’s hand is in Shane’s hair and Shane looks so so comfortable and relaxed