#content warning ​poorly translated german

[sibkisses]

all i can think about is gillbert and ludwig working out, gillbert sees his little brothers big, sweaty muscles……. n cannot control himself > < queue ludwig teasing his older brother for the rest of the night!!!

“what’s the matter, großer bruder? why are you so shy? you were just staring at me a while ago.” as he towers over gillbert n gill stares shamefully at his hard cvck, turned on by his own little brother!! aahhhggg

i’m too lazy to say what happens next ouughhhh but just to get this out there, they are absolutely so in love and they are also absolutely brothers

[angel-sweets666]

Running away!

Guard !könig x princess!reader

A guard takes a liking to the slightly younger princess he was supposed to protect

warning: smut, swearing, poorly translated German

little bit of background for yous, there is a age gap. Not a illegal one however, König is 36 while your between 19-25 (depending on you)

A/n UGHH IM WRITING THREE SERIES AT THE SAME TIMEEE😭 I’m doing all this cuz I felt like producing some different content at the same time for different people <3

König sighed and leaned against the door of the princess, you. He stood post every day and made sure you were safe. He looked up the hallway were your other sisters rooms were, their respective guards standing post aswell. You peeked your head out the window “könig..?” You whispered to him “ja?” He grumbled lowly, rolling his head over to face you. His mask always intrigued you, you wondered if he was handsome or not… “Uhm… whatcha doing..?” You fully stepped out, your hair out and in your night gown. “Making sure you’re safe, that is my job… ja?” His eyes lifted under his mask to suggest he was smiling, you smiled to him “I suppose.. yeah…” you walked over to sit stand next to him “so like.. what do you do? Like a job.. what do you do?” You asked quietly “I uh.. I train, and I protect you.” He replied “that’s nice” you sighed and then slid down the door, sitting on the floor by his feet “könig?” You looked up at him and smiling sweetly, he hummed in response “do you have a wife..? Kids?” You asked him “ah.. Nein, I have no one to warm my bed.” He shook his head, sighing “Ich wünschte, ich hätte eine Frau”.

You looked down at your thighs, then leaned onto his legs. He looked down at your head “ah.. princess what are you doing..?” He asked in his usual thick Austrian accent “talking to you” you replied. He chuckled deeply “comfy there..?” He said in an amused tone “mhm.. very…” you closed your eyes and smiled sweetly. He blushed under his mask and went back to standing up straight “you have got to go back to your bed princess..” he informs you, noticing that you were falling asleep. König places his gun down then grabs you by the underarm and pushes the door open, slowly walking you to your bed and laying you down in it “Gute Nacht” he pets your head then goes back to his post, standing by your door and waiting for his shift to be over.

the ladies of waiting you had bursted into the room, waking you up, ringing bells and opening blinded, all in a attempt to wake you. You slowly groaned and rolled over to keep sleeping “your royal highness you have a special day today!” One of your ladies grabbed you and gently pulled you out of the comforts of your bed “what…?” Your grumbled “today you must choose a groom!”

your wide awake now.

“what?! No! I can’t! I mean.. I wanna love my husband!” You yelled as they brushed your hair and pulled you into a corset “politics won’t allow that my dear” another lady of waiting informed you, she was slightly older and had served many queens and princesses during her time “but…” you stuttered but couldn’t get anything out, you couldn’t stop thinking about König and how he said he had nobody to warm his bed. “Maybe id like to warm his bed..” a little voice told you in your head, but you quickly pushed it away. He was your gaurd not your future husband… oh but he is such a gentleman…. Nope! They finally fitted you into a blue gown and did your hair, finishing up the last touches “uh.. yous done yet?” You asked the ladies in waiting “nearly!” They said in almost complete unison, which freaked you out. “I’m finished! Stop.. stop” you tried to pull the ladies off you since the finishing touches, were getting annoying.

30 minutes later

“nope.. your ugly and annoying” you said bluntly to this snobby misogynistic prick they called a prince “THIS IS A HUGE MISTAKE FOR YOU!” He yelled in frustration, you looked towards könig on your left while you leaned back on your throne, he kept eye contact with you and you blushed; trying to straighten yourself up from the obvious sexual tension. You sighed as you met a shy prince, prince Gabrielle who to be quite Frank, was setting off your gaydar. “Uh…” you leaned forward and whispered to this guy “you seem like a gay so I’ll save you the trauma” he nodded “I’ve got a boyfriend” he whispered “I just don’t think we’ll get along well and it’ll end in divorce, I’ll be happy to be friendly however. An alliance maybe?” You said in a friendly tone. He smiled to you in relief. There was only a few princes at the moment so you were safe for a while….

that night you again, peeked your head out the door, sat next to könig. Except this time you were a bit more suggestive with it, saying things like “your very tall..” him being 6,10 “very strong huh?” “Shame you don’t have a wife”

the whole time König was thinking you were the death of him, the very lovely death of him….

[orphicdreamers-wp]

Still Falling For You — Nico Hischier

Summary: Nico finds out your learning how to make his favorite Swiss foods and it adds another reason to why he’s still falling for you

Content Warnings; Subtle angst at first, med student reader, poorly translated German (blame google translate)

Pairing; Nico Hischier x Fem Reader

A deep sigh left your lips, “I understand that you miss Switzerland but I can’t just drop everything and run to Switzerland for a month Nico!” Nico scoffed as he slammed his dresser drawer shut, “I can’t do this anymore. I’m gonna go stay with Jack for a while. I’m sorry.” You let out a defeated sigh, “Ich lebe dich, fahre vorsichtig. Schreib mir eine SMS, wenn du dort ankommst?” Nico hummed, “Wie auch immer, ich gehe jetzt.” You watched in silence as your fiancé left your shared apartment without so much as a kiss goodbye. That was over two weeks ago.

You’d gone to all of Nico’s games in the meantime and crammed for your MCATS all while taking cooking classes in the meantime. You were taking something out of the oven when the door opened, “Y/N?” Jack’s voice pulled you from the kitchen, “Kitchen!” Jack walked into the kitchen to find you in a hot pink apron adorning bright yellow oven mitts and a orange chef’s hat. Jack burst out laughing, “What the hell are you wearing dude?” You glared at him as you set the pan of Rösti on the stove, “Can it squeaks. Is Nico coming home anytime soon?” Jack shrugged, “Dude I have no clue. Get him off my couch, Maisie won’t even sleep in the same bed as me while he’s on our couch.”

You sighed, “I’m trying Hughes. Have I ever screamed chef to you?” Jack paused for a minute to think, “Not particularly, speaking of what is this stuff?” You sighed as you put the pan of cake batter in the oven for the Zuger Kirschtorte. You turned to Jack, “I called his mom, I had to bribe her with my peanut butter fudge the next five times she visits to spill his favorite Swiss meals. He keeps talking about how much he misses Switzerland. I can’t go to Switzerland with my MCATS coming up, that’s why we’re fighting. So I wanted to make it up to him. I need you to get him here tonight at 6. Please Hughie?” Jack smiled at your romantic spiel, “I can try my hardest Y/N. This is really cute by the way.” You smiled, “Thanks Jack. Now go I still have to finish making the food and shower and look cute for my guy.” Jack grinned as he excused himself and left the apartment.

You checked the cake and it wasn’t anywhere near done so you placed the bottle of Oeil-de-Perdrix, Nico’s favorite Swiss wine according to his mom, in the freezer to chill while you hurried into the bathroom and turned the shower on and quickly showered before changing into a simple pair of jeans and one of Nico’s favorite shirts of yours. You made it back to the kitchen and got the cake out and iced it and it was only 5 now. You smiled to yourself as you moved all the food out of the kitchen and onto the table. You tied the apron back around you as you started the rinsing dishes and put them in the dish washer. You took the wine out of the freezer and placed it in the fridge to stay cold.

By the time you finished it was still 5:15, you brought the food back into the kitchen and cleared a space in the living room, overlooking the beautiful city view that drew you into the apartment to begin with. You moved the table out onto the balcony and placed a tablecloth on the table to give it a restaurant quality look. You began to plate up food for both you and Nico. Once you were done with that you found an old record that neither you nor Nico had played since you got engaged over a year ago. You dusted it off and put it on the record player and allowed it to start as you found the perfect dimness of the lights.

You had 15 minutes to spare so you used that small window of time to style your hair into a cute simple half up half down hairstyle you wore on you and Nico’s first date. You put on a small amount of makeup, majority being your winged eyeliner and the lip liner and lipgloss on your lips. You felt awkward not having shoes on so you slipped on a pair of sandals and poured you both a glass of wine as you waited for Nico to come through the door.

You pick up yo ur phone read the time, 6:17. For a brief moment you believe he isn’t coming and you feel your heart drop. Maybe Jack had forgotten to tell him, maybe Nico just decided he wasn’t coming, maybe he’d decided he was done and didn’t have the heart to tell you. Until your phone buzzed with a text.

J. Hughes: He took more convincing than expected. Told him he need to get a clean suit for tomorrow’s game. He’s on his way up now.

You smiled as you heard the door open. Nico froze in the doorway of his home. Granted he hadn’t been home in a few weeks but he was almost certain that his kitchen table was missing. And his house smelled like Mahogany and Teakwood, his favorite candle. That he happened to know that his fiancée hated the smell of. Love Me Like There’s No Tomorrow by Freddie Mercury faintly played through the apartment as he walked further inside, “Honey?” He hadn’t spotted you on the couch where you usually sat and studied around this time of night. The dimness of the home coupled with the silence hanging heavy in the air worried Nico slightly.

You had heard his footsteps just inside the balcony. He opened the curtain and spoke softly, “Hi pretty lady. What are you doing out here all alone?” You smiled up at him, “I’m not alone anymore. Sit before the food gets any more cold.” Nico looked at the food on the table, “Where did you learn to cook these?” You smiled at your fiancé, “The internet is a helpful place sometimes.” Nico sat down as he looked at the foods he’d loved most during his childhood in front of him and the woman he loves most in the world having made them, “Danke meine liebe.”

You smiled at him, “Es war mir ein Vergnügen, Hübscher.” Nico spoke almost sadly, “I’m sorry for how I acted angel. I really appreciate this.” You smiled, “What can I say, I love doing things for my people.” Nico smiled, “I know. It’s one of the things I find myself still falling for you because of.”

[smokefalls]

Title: Identitti Author: Mithu M. Sanyal Translator: Alta L. Price Translation Publication Date: July 2022 Publisher: Astra House Genre: fiction

I want to first preface that I am not German, nor do I live in Germany. I think this is rather important to highlight because it is very clear that Sanyal is writing with a German audience in mind. On top of this, I’m reading a translation of the book, so I’m inevitably going to miss some nuances. That being said, I can understand a lot of the academic discourse in this book, being in academia myself. I can also understand what it’s like to not be white in a predominantly white space.

Anyway, as a non-German reader who doesn’t live in Germany, this book was interesting to read, especially because I got a glimpse of how racial identity politics was working outside the Anglosphere. It’s clear that Sanyal drew inspiration from the Rachel Dolezal scandal (which did happen in the United States), who pretended to be Black but is actually white. In Identitti, the character, Saraswati, did something similar, except she pretended to be Indian. There’s also the fact that Saraswati’s research focused on race and postcolonialism (welp). Furthermore, her ideology and accomplishments were all built on her masquerading as a Brown woman. When Nivedita, a biracial (Indian and white German) student working with Saraswati, discovered this, it understandably sent her reeling. However, another reason her world was upended was because it put to question her own racial identity, which she has struggled with most of her life. Who gets to decide how you identify racially in a country like Germany? Can being “transracial” actually be a thing?

There were some interesting (even clever) points made throughout this book about identity, but damn, was it executed poorly. The discussions just went in circles to the point of exhaustion, and by the end of the book, it didn’t really reach a conclusion on whether what Saraswati did was okay or not, which… bothered me. A lot. The characters were also exhausting to deal with, having over-the-top, grating personalities. I understand that satire often means excess, but there is such thing as too much. In addition, these characters had a lot of contradicting opinions, which combined with the roundabout discussions, really frustrated me. As a result, I think Sanyal’s satire backfired and ended up with her validating Saraswati’s actions. It’s really unfortunate, because there were a lot of opportunities that would have made this book a really effective piece of satire. Something else I should add is my jaw dropped when Sanyal used the Hanau shooting as a plot device, and it played a relatively big part in the direction of the (admittedly, near-absent) plot.

I think on the more logistical side of things, there were far too many moving parts (and a lot of them were weird) for one book, with Sanyal getting sidetracked by an array of things. One thing I did appreciate was the translator’s note on how she approached the text. I wish more could have been said about particular word/term choices, such as “BIPOC,” but this is more a personal interest in her approach to localization.

Again, I think it’s important to be mindful of where you’re from when reading about discourse on identity in other countries, because, well, they play out a little differently. Whether you take this into consideration or not, though, I have to say that this was a pretty exhausting book to get through that could have been a lot shorter and clearer.

Content Warning: racism, cultural appropriation, hate crime, mass shooting, toxic relationship, sexism, some gaslighting, mentions of death and colonization

[howtofightwrite]

Q&A: Historical Research

Hi! First of all I love your blog ! So i’ll try to say this as clearly as i can: basically how to write accurate and realistic fights scenes, with miedeval weapons in my case, and develop fighting strategy when you have 0 notions in these domains? My characters are knights , they master specific weapons and strategies of battle. But i have no idea how to put it with words. Sorry for my english. 🙂

Depending on your native language, that may be an asset. There are a lot of surviving training manuals out there, and most were written in languages other than English. Being able to read German, Italian, Spanish, or even French can be a huge boon to studying how these weapons were used historically.

If you want to get a look at this stuff, Wiktenauer is an open source wiki focused on collecting, and digitally preserving, surviving primary sources. Expect to do a lot of reading. Understand that what you learn won’t be 100% correct. Keep an eye on things you’re warned not to do, because it means people did that often enough to piss off the author.

You may also want to do some basic reading on the exact timeframe you’re looking for. Weapons and armor were constantly changing and evolving.

There’s a lot of good literature on historical battlefield tactics and strategy. I can’t make recommendations for your native language, but I am sure the material exists. Nothing will give you better examples of how people fought in history than studying how actual battles played out. Detailed battlefield maps which track troop movements, is a major plus. This will help you see how the forces were arrayed and fought.

A slightly oddball suggestion would be Medieval II: Total War. I haven’t played that entry, but the Total War series present semi-realistic battlefield strategy playgrounds. This can teach you basic concepts, and let you experiment with strategies. The downside is (if later games are anything to go by) some of the systems are going to be poorly explained. The game doesn’t force “proper” deployment structures, so you would be free to make mistakes without learning from them. The game is focused on the entire army operating together, so you couldn’t focus on just your knights. It doesn’t do small scale skirmishes between a couple units, it’s focused on full armies clashing. If you’re zooming in on the units, don’t expect to learn a lot about how to use a weapon, the animations are fairly primitive. Finally, you might want to verify your language is supported.

Even video games are not your thing, there is a lot of potential in tabletop wargaming. This is going to be somewhat dependent on finding a game that fits the time and place you’re focusing on. Normally I’d suggest checking Avalon Hill’s back catalog, but the translation issue makes that a bit tricky.

For strategy, I’m certain The Art of War has been translated to your native language, and even if the book itself would be anachronistic, it is something worth reading to help with the mindset you’re looking for.

I hope this helps get you started.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. If you enjoy our content, please consider becoming a Patron. Every contribution helps keep us online, and writing. If you already are a Patron, thank you.

Q&A: Historical Research was originally published on How to Fight Write.

[diego-hargreeve2]

light in the dark

Part Seventeen

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (Netflix)

Ship: Diego Hargreeves x Original Character

Warnings: Language, abuse (emotional and physical), mental illness, violence and, in later chapters, smut.

            Chapter Specific Warning: Poorly Translated Spanish

“Eh, Diego - cómo te va?” How you doing?

“Todo bien. Vienes a la pelea la próxima semana?” All good. Are you coming to the fight next week?

“Si, si - hazme dinero - tomar una inmersión para mí”. Yes, yes - make me money - take a dive for me.

It was a brief conversation between the two men, Diego, chuckling and relaxed as he threw the comments out while walking, but it had Evie’s eyes widening curiously. He lifted one arm, waving his hand dismissively at the comment, his other still wrapped through her fingers as he led her down to the boiler room. No sooner had they left the floor of the gym and she had to ask.

“What was that?”

“Hmm?”

“What language was that?” Eve asked him. She only knew English, and rarely heard other languages often enough to even reliably identify them. To hear Diego speaking, his accent and tone shifting so much, was intriguing – and attractive.

“That’s Spanish. José’s English isn’t so great” he explained.

“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish” Evie said, perching on the edge of the bed.

Diego shrugged, sitting down to unlace his boots. The Hargreeves children had been taught multiple languages – Spanish, French, German, Russian – as part of their extensive education. In truth Diego wasn’t entirely sure what their father’s intent was by teaching them so much, given that it didn’t seem he was planning to have them seek out careers and much of the knowledge forced into their heads seemed to have little relevance on missions. He still knew enough of the others to get by in a brief conversation, but Spanish was the one he’d kept and continued to learn.

“My Mom named us based on where we were born. She found our birth certificates. I was born in Mexico. Learning Spanish – eh, it made sense” he said.

In truth, Diego had a feeling that it didn’t make sense. It was unclear what the genetic result of the Event that created them was but given that none of the seven resembled the others that closely Diego had assumed they inherited ethnicity from their mothers, if nothing else. He told himself he didn’t care. The woman who gave birth to him sold him, and never been in contact since, so it shouldn’t matter – and yet Spanish came naturally to him and came in useful. Speaking the language had come easily to him, sometimes he could even express himself better than in English.

“Have you ever thought about…the woman who gave birth to you?” she asked, curious since he’d brought the topic up, but careful not to describe her as his mother. She knew how much he loved Grace. Even the way he talked about his childhood when it touched on her was different to talking about other members of the Hargreeves deeply dysfunctional family.

“No” he said bluntly. She knew him well enough by now to know that the tone he used wasn’t aimed specifically at her and she didn’t shut down like she might have in the past. Instead she waited, pulling her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her knees.

“We were sold. Did you know that?” he asked, glancing over. He’d read Vanya’s book – well, most of it, but its contents made him too angry and he couldn’t remember how many details were included. Eve nodded very slightly, silent and waiting for him to continue.

“The woman who gave birth to me – all our mothers – they sold us to Reginald. Like livestock. They sold their own children to a man they didn’t even know, who called us by numbers based on how useful he found us”. There was rage clear in his tone. This was not something Diego had forgotten or forgiven.

He hadn’t met his biological mother – none of the seven Hargreeves siblings had been in contact with their birth mothers. They were all handed over at just a few days old. It wasn’t a story Reginald dwelt on, he didn’t sit them around the fire and share it as some heart-warming tale of how the family came to be – all Diego knew was that the women had been compensated and the rest he had constructed. That didn’t mean he was any less bitter about the account. Kicking the boots off he glanced over at her, something seeming to occur to him and pulling him out his thoughts for a moment.

“You knew yours though” he said. It was a presumption, it wasn’t something they’d discussed much, but Eve shook her head.

“No. She….” For a moment she hesitated before continuing. “When I was just a toddler…she killed herself. She hung herself in the same shed they made me sleep in when my powers kept manifesting” she admitted. The tragic story recounted in such brevity pulled him out his thoughts of a woman he had never known, and he stared at her, incredulous.

“They made you sleep in the place your mother killed herself?” he repeated, and she shrugged.

“No wonder I kept having nightmares” Eve joked, attempting to make light of the situation. Prior to Judith hanging herself it had been a storehouse. It was emptied, least her sin taint and spoil their provisions, before a metal bedframe was put in the space and a lock on the outside of the door so it could contain Eve. Many nights she had stared up at row of hooks on the wall, wondering exactly which one her mother had used to anchor the ligature she put around her neck.

As she got older, she had debated doing the same thing herself.

“But…she must have been scared. Yours too…all of them” she pointed out, her voice soft. “I mean…I know you don’t know anything about the woman who birthed you…but my mother…” She paused, gazing off the side, her expression dissociated from her surroundings even as she continued to speak to him. “My mother was a seventeen-year-old virgin, one-minute kneeling and praying, the next screaming and in labour. I was told she was very devout. To have lived your life by so many rules, truly believing you were in the presence of God’s own messenger…and then to believe you’ve given birth to the Antichrist, and to have done so out of nowhere….”

She couldn’t bring herself to hate her mother. It wasn’t her fault. Eve was a decade older than her mother had been at the point of giving birth, out of nowhere, and she knew far more about the world – not to mention she didn’t have faith to lose. She had many more advantages and still couldn’t imagine how she’d cope with a pregnancy out of nowhere. Judith was a tragic figure, not the villain of her life.

Diego stared at her, at the softness and sadness written all over her face, stunned at the level of compassion she displayed. Her childhood had been every bit as bad as his, and in very different ways their mothers had left them at the mercy of cruel men who weren’t equipped to act as fathers, and yet she had none of his rage. It was a long moment as he stared at her, genuinely amazed at her ability to demonstrate empathy despite the life she’d been subjected to, and she gazed into space and wondered about a woman she had no memory of.

Returning to the present she looked over at him and flushed slightly.

“I just…I don’t think it’s ever right to sell a child. But I can’t even imagine…I’m sorry. I’m not excusing her”. Diego stood up and walked over to her, his fingers pushing back her hair, tips of the digits grazing the side of his neck as he shook his head, a slight smile, the anger of before disappeared. Eve wanted to keep that way, wanted to distract him from unhappy memories - and figured out a way to do it.

“Say something else” Eve asked him. He looked curious and confused in equal measure. “In Spanish” she clarified.

“Why?”

“I just…I like the sound of it”. Even without knowing what he was saying there was something about the flow, like a type of music, and his accent as he spoke…it was very attractive.

“What should I say?”

“Anything” she insisted.

“No sé qué decir” he admitted with a chuckle. I don't know what to say.

He moved to sit beside her on the bed as he spoke. As soon as he was beside her Eve dropped her legs, her knees falling against him, so she was half on his lap. She inched herself even closer, her gaze on his mouth as she spoke.  The fact she couldn’t understand a word, couldn’t even guess the meaning, didn’t bother her. What she noted was how the tone of his voice shifted as well as the accent, the way his mouth made different shapes than he used when speaking English, his full lips fascinating her.  

“Keep going” she urged. “Say something else”.

“I’m not a performing monkey” he told her, rolling his eyes. Evie pouted for a moment before shifting, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lap in a way she knew he found hard to resist. Her hips pressed against his, feeling his hands slide to her thighs immediately, her hands rested on his neck as she kissed him softly.

“Please?”

He considered for a moment, looking up at her, the loose curls of her hair falling around his face as though they were curtained off, in their own little world.

“Eres preciosa” he murmured after a moment. “Mi propio ángel”.

It was close enough to the English that she could guess at least part of the meaning and she flushed, flattered and shy and nervous all in one. Evie hadn’t yet learned how to take compliment – and while, on the one hand, she loved to hear him say these things, part of her couldn’t believe him. It felt too fragile, like his view of her could shatter at any moment and he’d realised how flawed she was wrong and look at her differently, no longer with that soft gaze.  

Diego recognised her reaction and had his own thoughts on why she struggled to hear these things – mostly based in the fact that she didn’t see herself as he did, and after a lifetime of poor treatment didn’t believe she deserved the kindness. It gave him an idea though of how he could satisfy her want to hear him speak Spanish and compliment her as much as he wanted.

“No tienes idea de lo guapa que eres” he murmured, leaning up to kiss her. “No puedo describir cómo me siento cuando estoy contigo. Me haces querer ser una mejor persona”.

You have no idea how beautiful you are. I can’t describe how I feel when I'm with you. You make me want to be a better person

“What did you say?” Evie asked, shifting closer to him again and he slid his hands from her thighs to her hips and higher, gripping the curve of her waist.  

“You’ll have to learn Spanish to find out” he teased gently, leaning in to kiss her.

i dont speak spanish hence the ‘poor translation’ warning, but i do like listening to david castenda speaking spanish in interviews. 

@mrsdiegohargreeves @carryon-doctor-lock @lovinglydiego @klausbutgayer @reblogserpent @me125 @fatbottomedcurls @rhymesmenagerie

[amzscout-blog]

Amazon Sponsored Ads Q & A (for Sellers in DE, IT, FR and SP)

Selling on Amazon platforms across mainland Europe is much easier than you think. It starts with Amazon’s integrated platform. You pay £25.00 a month to list products in DE, FR, IT, and ES. There are no additional costs for an increased number of listings.

Logistics wise, Amazon’s European Fulfilment Network (EFN) allows you to send inventory to UK warehouses where it can  be sold to the DE, FR, IT and ES marketplaces. If you experience rapid growth within Europe, consider Pan-European FBA, this handles product distribution in Europe from mainland Europe rather than the UK. This speeds up the delivery process and, as a result, sales growth can be much quicker. According to Ecommerce News Europe, most Amazon sellers in Europe sell in more than one marketplace.

Warning: You need to register VAT in each country once you enable Pan-European FBA.

Despite the growth opportunities of selling in Europe, many sellers avoid it because it is a hassle, especially when it comes to translations. Amazon translates product copy, and more often than not it reads poorly. For example:

This sellers Brand Name has been translated >> Traktor Ted

Since there may not be exact terms for all English words, often automatic translations do not make sense. Check out this case where we corrected poorly translated copy.

There are a many high profile blunders due to machine translation. For example, Clairol launched a curling iron called "Mist Stick.” In German, "mist" is slang for “manure.” This shows how important it is to invest in native translations whenever possible.

Amazon Europe Sponsored Ads Q & A

Like all Amazon platforms, Sponsored Ads can work well for Amazon Europe. The return is generally good and it works the same way as in the UK, so there is no need to relearn the process.

If you’re new to Sponsored Ads in Europe, below is an FAQ that will help you get started.

Q: Which keyword tool do you recommend?

A: AmzScout Keyword Explorer is great place to start and comes highly recommended.

Q: Should we use Amazon’s suggested bid?

A: This is entirely up to you. Reviewing Amazon’s suggested bids is always a great way to find out keyword competition in desired niches.

Q: Do Sponsored Ads improve organic rankings?

A: Our findings would suggest yes, but this may not be the case for all sellers. If your product pages aren’t up to scratch or your price is too high, this will affect your rankings. It’s unlikely sponsored ads alone will help to improve.

Q: If my products aren’t winning the Buy Box, what can I do?

A: Use Repricer to ensure you are offering the best price.  Alternatively, you can offer Prime or register your brand. All of these could increase your chances of winning the Buy Box.

Q: Can I use Sponsored Ads even if I don’t sell on Amazon?

A: No.

Q: How to find out which SKUs have sold through Sponsored Ads?

A: Sponsored Products Purchased Products Report shows SKUs that have been sold via sponsored ads. This can be found in advertising reports.

Q: Does Amazon display ads based on product details with Manual ads?

A: Manual campaign ads are shown based on your keyword(s) and not the relevancy of your product content.

Q: Does all product content get used for Automatic ads?

A: Yes. When you run Automatic Ads, Amazon displays your ads based on the relevancy of your content. Even the hidden search terms become part of the targeted keywords.

Q: Is there any way to find out orders that came through sponsored ads in Seller Central?

A: Yes, if you use a pivot table in the Sponsored Products Purchased Report found in advertising reports, you will be able to determine orders that came through sponsored ads.

Q: Is the lowest bid of EUR 0.05 a good way to start?

A: Impressions will be limited with the lowest bid. There are two mindsets when it comes to bids: Starting low and increasing bids based on performance, or starting higher and decreasing bids based on performance. Both can be correct, depending on your business, but starting high will get quicker results.

Q: Does Amazon punish you for having a low CTR (click through rate)?

A: If you run an automatic campaign with a painfully low click through rate, your ads will show up with less and less frequency.

Q: My products are already on the top of the search, should I still advertise?

A: Yes. With sponsored ads, your products are shown on product detail pages, and many other places across Amazon, so it is still worth advertising.

Q: How regularly should I monitor my ads?

A: We would recommend monitoring campaigns weekly for the first 3 weeks and then fortnightly. You need to allow time for results and data to gather. Some businesses prefer to review on a daily basis, but it’s all up to the way your business wants to do it.

Q: Do I bid for my brand name?

A: Yes. Brand name bids are normally very low so it makes sense to pay. It also ensures you’re appearing for your brand name, and that competitors aren’t. This is especially true if they bid on it also.

Q: Do I bid for my competitor’s brand name?

A: Definitely. It is very common practice to do so.

Q: What is Bid+?

A: Bid+ allows Amazon to increase bids by 50% so you appear at the top of search results. Apart from the UK, DE is the only platform with this option available (in manual ads only).

Q: Does Headline Search work the same on the European platform?

A: Yes, it does. Brand registry is required separately in each country to be eligible for Headline Search Ads.

Q: Is it worth paying for English search terms?

A: Yes. In many cases, English terms are still highly searched. See example keyword report below for the DE platform:

About the Author

Prabhat Shah is a Marketplace consultant helping online sellers expand their presence on Amazon. Prabhat has 10 years of experience and has worked with both UK and International businesses.

To discuss more about how to grow your amazon business across borders schedule a call.

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

Roommate From Hijab Hell

I’m awakened from a deep sleep, exhausted and butt naked—a necessary protective measure against the heat in my un-airconditioned, poorly circulated room at the hotel I work at in Amman. One series of knocks wakes me up but I hesitate to get out of bed though I’m now awake yet disoriented. I reach for my phone to check the time, waiting for another knock to be sure it’s a knock at my door which woke me. “It’s 2:45… am or pm?” A good question considering I’ve certainly proven capable of sleeping twelve hours straight. “Did I miss work?” I think to myself through squinted eyes.

Another loud knock at the door, “Alicia?” It’s the voice of the receptionist. Okay Alicia, you’re naked. It’s the middle of the night. Do something. Brain, please function.

I wrap myself up in the thin, cheap white sheet untucked from my bed. I crack open the door and peak my red, dry eyes in the opening to see the receptionist standing with an older woman in black abaya and hijab. He asks, “Can she stay with you?” I’m thinking, yeahhhhh… as if I have a choice? It’s a hotel and if she pays, she stays. The decision isn’t mine to make.

I’ve been spoiled. Though I have currently been living in a four person female dorm room for a month, the only other person I’ve shared it with, besides the two nights a German traveler was here, was with was a fellow worker and good friend—Adelaide. But Adelaide has been gone for a week and I’ve become comfortably accustom to having my own private room, evidenced by the fact that I can comfortably sleep naked without the fear of bombardment.

I’m rather disheveled and my mind isn’t functioning even close to optimally because of being abruptly woken up compiled by the lack of sleep from the past few nights. I hear myself asking out loud what time it is, though I already know and I answer the receptionist, “Yeah, I guess. Give me five minutes.” My clothes are strewn about on the two empty beds so I shut the door and cleanup a little. I return and in comes this wide awake woman with no luggage, only a purse. Before I close the door, the receptionist warns me, “Be careful. She’s acting strange. She’s an odd woman so look out.” I ask why he would let her in my room at this time if she’s so odd and he explains, “She cried. She only had 5 dinar, she’s old and she refused to leave the lobby. Just wake her up when you get up for work.”

WHAT?! What do you mean be careful? How am I supposed to sleep with a warning like this? Is she going to stab me? Steal my stuff? Go on a rampage? Cut off my hair? Poison my toothbrush? And what did she do to make him call her strange? Listening to your own paranoid mind churn is a funny thing. My room has been forcefully invaded by a stranger who has come with a warning label and my body is now pumping with adrenaline; there will be no sleep for me.

The woman who doesn’t speak English immediately tries to become my friend and I watch her perform for me, unimpressed. I know right away that she’s overcompensating and attempting to build trust for something but I’m nice at first. She manically reenacts the receptionist knocking and her entering; I think she’s implying that he wanted to enter without knocking but she “protected” me. She’s rather animated—leaving the room and using her full voice and body to show me the story in an attempt to form some womanly bond. She’s smiley and I’m so uneasy at how to handle all of this. At this point it’s 3am. Woman! Don’t you want to sleep? She prowls the room and opens a random drawer (red flag) and walks over to my makeup to touch it. She has no sense of personal space and apparently no awareness of the time or the disruption she’s caused me. She comes back and sits on the bed next to me; it’s only a foot away. She just sits on the edge and stares at me, smiling. Without hijab she looks even older, she’s badly balding and wrinkly in the unflattering florescent light. She’s already pissing me off but my face is a pro at hiding my real emotions.

She eventually takes a shower in the room’s bathroom. A long, long shower. I feel as if she’s banking on me falling asleep but I cannot because she makes me so uncomfortable and I’m in this heightened fight or flight state. I decide to take my laptop and tablet to the receptionist desk for safety. I glare at the receptionist for letting her in my room, telling him she’s still not asleep. When I return she’s still showering and eventually she comes out; the light is still on and it seems clear she’s either a completely unabashedly rude woman or she’s up to no good. I like to keep the faith and see the best in people so I imagine her to be a beggar who saved up enough for a hot shower and a bed for a night. Ha.

But there she is, clean and safe and she still will not sleep. I’m curled up in the fetal position on my bed; I’ve already hidden my small purse behind the curtains. She sits on the bed next to me again– watching me. I do not trust this woman. She makes a “hmph” noise occasionally as if she’s perfectly content to be awake all night. And she keeps sniffing her underwear to buy herself time and still will not turn the lights off though I motion at them over and over. Then she tries to be all cute and throws away an empty water bottle of mine like she’s cleaning. She looks at me as if she wants me to applaud her action.

Randomly she points to herself and says “old” and points to me and says “young”. I only see this as a way to garner sympathy for a future act of injustice she will commit. I’m no fool but my patience certainly lasts too long at times to my own detriment in hindsight. When I demand she sleeps by pointing at the lights and the time on my phone, she goes to the bathroom again. When she returns she starts rambling on in Arabic in her see-through pink tie-dyed short dress about something and I get up to turn off the lights myself, ignoring her. I can no longer stand to see her stupid grin. I tried to be nice. Finally she lays down and I pretend to sleep—with one eye open of course. From the way she lays there on her back and doesn’t get under the covers but instead wraps herself shabbily in a nearby blanket, I know that her intent is not to sleep. But I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. Ha.

My intuition is proven right once again—this happens a lot when traveling—and after five minutes she sits up in bed speaking about something and goes to turn the light on. I’m really in awe. She begins to point to the television repetitively. I hand her the remote; she repulses me but I’m telling myself to continue being patient, she’s old and maybe she’s picky about how she likes to sleep. Ha. I turn it on; it’s the Mecca channel– my favorite– it’s hypnotic and the Quran is beautiful when being sung in Arabic. She wants the “Hindi” channel and tries for a few minutes to find it. At this point almost an hour has passed and I’m so done with her.

I pickup my phone and point over and over to the time. I say, “Halas! Enough! Look at the time!”, I motion in the universal language of charades for her to sleep. My increasing frustration transmits. And I recognize that no one shows up to a hotel crying for a room at 3am to repetitively avoid sleeping. She won’t turn off the lights though I keep asking and at that point I storm out angrily; I’m going to have the receptionist kick her out. She rushes to the bathroom and slams the door. I go to the receptionist and he agrees and heads to my room; I’m so angry that I take the elevator to the rooftop to make tea. I cannot be around her and must remove myself from the situation. I need peace and a view for my boiling blood; though I’d be more humored if it weren’t 4am and I didn’t have to work in two hours.

The phone in the kitchen rings. The receptionist wants me to come downstairs to check her bag to see if she’s stolen anything. Uhhhh do I have to? I usually go such lengths to avoid conflict and this one is being presented to me on a platter I must take. I go to my room first and see that she didn’t find my small purse but only my big, empty one with my passport. I see my shoes and other bags are all in different places. She was ransacking my stuff and apparently wouldn’t let the receptionist enter right away blaming her “modesty”. I exit the elevator and there she is, back in hijab leaning on the lobby desk and the receptionist is going through her purse. She has multiple passports and he reads some of the many notes she has in her bag. For some reason she utters the words “American boys”. She’s still trying to be charming towards me I think. She then points to her lips, drowned in red, and the receptionist tells me that she says the only thing she took and used was my lipstick. Ew.

But her irritation quickly spills over at the violation of him going through her stuff and she randomly explodes with an irrational, intense anger all aimed at me. This woman is seething and it’s in this anger and hatred that I see how absolutely insane she is. She’s batshit crazy. She’s screaming insults at me back and forth between Arabic and Hebrew and English and I feel as if she’s casting a curse on me from the way she’s using her hands. The witch. I start laughing at her when she curses in English because she’s getting in my face screaming “duck” and “donkey” over and over. She’s fully committed to naming these farm animals as if she’s a child who just learned “Old McDonald Had a Farm” for the first time. Apparently, calling people animal names is very offensive in Arabic. The offensive nature was definitely lost on me because I impulsively start to “quack” at her and make the animal noises while giggling as she’s screaming. I whip out my phone to record a snapchat for the beautiful memory. Simply for posterity. She’s furious at this point.

Bitch. Pig. I found out she was saying these things when my friends laugh hysterically while translating the mini-video for me later. I think the fact I was unaffected began to piss her off more. She reaches down to her foot and removes her shoe and raises it to strike me. Okay granny. I don’t want to have to whip out these ballet inspired self-defense moves on a woman almost thrice my age, but I will if I have to. I flip 180 and suddenly hear myself calling her a myriad of nasty words which is so unlike me. I’ve absorbed her anger; I felt threatened. She is in my face with her hand raised and she’s screaming, surely waking up the guests. I hear the word “haram” and she lunges over and grabs my butt. A big beautiful handful, enough to leave a red mark that I discover later—something I would love under different circumstances. She then tries to pull down my ankle length skirt. I’m grateful she’s unsuccessful because not wearing underwear is kind of my thing when traveling. The less dirty laundry, the better. At this point the receptionist has called the police (it’s Jordan, they never come) and has gotten out the big black cane from behind the desk to threaten her with like she’s some stray animal who wandered inside and needs to return to the streets. He suggests I leave and I do, gladly. I head back up to the sixth floor and still hear her nasty voice echoing up the hotel walls. I thought how unsurprised I’d be if she hopped on a broomstick hidden under her abaya and flew to the sixth floor to continue harassing me through that thin-lipped mouth which is wearing my red lipstick. Gosh, it’s 4am and I already need a drink. A shot. Actually, make it three. Back to back, no chaser.

I’m not sure how or why these kinds of situations find me, but they do. Even when I’m peacefully asleep and locked in a room. They always find me.