#Vacuum Forming Machine

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[newbusinessideas]

How to Start a Business with Thermoforming Packaging Machine

Hey you! 👋🎥 Ready to kickstart your manufacturing business? 🏭💼 In this artic, W'll show you the step-by-step process of starting a manufacturing business with a thermoforming machine. 💪🔥 Get inspired and take action today! #business #thermoforming

Thermoforming is a manufacturing process that involves heating a plastic sheet and shaping it into various forms using a mold. Thermoformed products are known for their versatility, cost-effectiveness, and durability, making them highly sought after in various industries. It is widely used in industries such as packaging, food, healthcare, and more. The thermoforming industry globally has seen…

[thermoformingmachine]

What is the best Vacuum Forming Machine Srisaithermoformer

The Srisaithermoformer  best vacuum forming machine for you will depend on your specific needs and requirements. Here are a few factors to consider when choosing a vacuum forming machine:

Size: Choose a machine that can accommodate the size of the parts you need to produce.

Material: Make sure the Thermoforming Machine can handle the type of plastic you plan to use, such as ABS, polystyrene, or PVC.

Production volume: Consider how many parts you need to produce per hour, and choose a machine that can meet your production needs.

Ease of use: Look for a machine that is easy to set up and operate, with clear instructions and user-friendly controls.

Price: Vacuum forming machines can range in price from a few hundred dollars to tens of thousands of dollars, so consider your budget and the features you need before making a purchase.

We provide Blister Forming Machine and Blister Cutting Machine

That's great! Blister forming and cutting machines are essential equipment in many industries, especially in the packaging industry.

Blister forming machines are used to heat and mold plastic sheets into a specific shape or design. These machines typically use vacuum pressure to create the desired shape and are used to create packaging for a wide range of products.

Blister cutting machines are used to cut the formed plastic sheets into individual blister packs or other shapes. These machines may use a variety of cutting methods, including rotary or flatbed die-cutting.

Both machines are important components of the blister packaging process, and having high-quality and reliable equipment is crucial for efficient and effective production.

If you have any questions or need any assistance with your blister forming or cutting machines, please don't hesitate to ask.

[singhalindustriespvtltd1]

Vacuum Form Plastic Sheets for Eco-Friendly Packaging Solutions

In the quest for sustainable and eco-friendly packaging solutions, vacuum form plastic sheets are emerging as a versatile and efficient option. This method, known for its ability to create detailed and precise plastic products, is gaining traction in various industries, from food packaging to medical supplies. This article delves into the benefits, applications, and environmental impact of Plastic sheet vacuum forming, emphasizing the role of thermoplastic sheets for vacuum forming and the technology behind vacuum forming machine plastic sheets.

The Process of Vacuum Forming

Vacuum forming is a simplified version of thermoforming where a plastic sheet is heated to a forming temperature, stretched onto a single-surface mold, and forced against the mold by a vacuum. This process is highly efficient for producing large quantities of uniform items. The vacuum forming machine plastic sheets are pivotal in this process, as their quality directly influences the final product's integrity and appearance.

Advantages of Vacuum Forming Sheets

Thermoplastic sheets for vacuum forming are particularly advantageous due to their recyclability and ease of molding. These sheets, which can be heated and reformed multiple times without significant degradation, are ideal for creating eco-friendly packaging solutions. This property not only minimizes waste but also allows manufacturers to reuse excess materials, further reducing their environmental footprint.

Versatility and Customization

One of the most significant benefits of using vacuum form plastic sheets is the versatility they offer. These sheets can be molded into virtually any shape, accommodating a wide range of packaging needs. From simple trays to complex medical device housings, the customization possibilities are nearly endless. This adaptability makes vacuum forming an attractive option for businesses looking to create unique and functional packaging.

Material Efficiency

The efficiency of material usage in vacuum forming is another key advantage. The process ensures minimal waste, as excess material can be trimmed and recycled. This efficiency not only reduces costs but also aligns with eco-friendly practices, making it an appealing choice for companies committed to sustainability.

Environmental Impact

While plastic is often criticized for its environmental impact, vacuum form plastic sheets can be part of a more sustainable approach when managed correctly. The use of Thermoplastic sheets for vacuum forming contributes to a circular economy, where materials are continuously reused and recycled. This reduces the need for virgin plastic production, lowering the overall carbon footprint of the packaging process.

Innovations in Vacuum Forming Technology

Recent advancements in vacuum forming machine plastic sheets technology have further enhanced the sustainability and efficiency of the process. Modern machines are designed to optimize energy consumption and improve precision, resulting in higher quality products with less waste. These innovations are crucial for maintaining the balance between productivity and environmental responsibility.

Applications in the Food Industry

The food industry significantly benefits from vacuum form plastic sheets due to the need for hygienic and secure packaging. These sheets can be easily sterilized and formed into airtight containers, ensuring the freshness and safety of food products. Moreover, the lightweight nature of these plastic sheets reduces transportation costs and energy consumption, contributing to a greener supply chain.

Medical and Pharmaceutical Packaging

In the medical and pharmaceutical sectors, the precision and reliability of vacuum form plastic sheets are invaluable. These sheets can be formed into customized trays and containers that protect sensitive medical devices and pharmaceuticals. The ability to create sterile and durable packaging is critical in these industries, where safety and hygiene are paramount.

Consumer Goods Packaging

Vacuum form plastic sheets are also widely used in packaging consumer goods. The flexibility and aesthetic appeal of these sheets allow manufacturers to create attractive and functional packaging that enhances product presentation and protects the contents. This combination of practicality and visual appeal is essential in a competitive market where packaging plays a crucial role in consumer decision-making.

Reducing Carbon Footprint

One of the primary environmental benefits of using vacuum form plastic sheets is the potential reduction in carbon footprint. By utilizing thermoplastic sheets for vacuum forming, companies can significantly decrease their reliance on non-renewable resources. Additionally, the ability to recycle and reuse these materials reduces the overall environmental impact, contributing to a more sustainable packaging industry.

Challenges and Future Directions

Despite the many advantages, there are challenges associated with vacuum form plastic sheets that need to be addressed. The initial cost of vacuum forming machines and the complexity of the process can be barriers for some businesses. However, ongoing research and development are focused on making the technology more accessible and cost-effective. Innovations in material science are also paving the way for new types of thermoplastic sheets that offer even greater environmental benefits.

Conclusion:

In conclusion, vacuum form plastic sheets represent a promising solution for eco-friendly packaging. By leveraging the properties of thermoplastic sheets for vacuum forming and the advancements in Vacuum forming machine plastic sheets technology, industries can create sustainable, efficient, and versatile packaging solutions. As the demand for environmentally responsible practices continues to grow, vacuum forming offers a viable path forward for reducing waste and conserving resources. Embracing this technology is not just a step towards sustainability; it is a leap towards a more circular and eco-conscious future. Frequently Asked Questions(FAQs) Are there any challenges associated with vacuum form plastic sheets? Challenges include the initial investment in vacuum forming machinery and the need to select the appropriate thermoplastic materials. However, the long-term benefits and sustainability often outweigh these challenges.

What advancements are being made in vacuum forming technology? Recent advancements include the development of bio-based thermoplastics and improvements in machine automation and precision. These innovations enhance the sustainability and efficiency of the vacuum forming process.

How can businesses benefit from using vacuum form plastic sheets? Businesses can benefit from cost-effective and eco-friendly packaging solutions that meet consumer demand for sustainability. Vacuum form plastic sheets also offer versatility in design and high-quality production.

[sylvialabtronuk]

Ethylene Oxide Sterilizer

Labtron Ethylene Oxide Sterilizer is a vertical, constant temperature heating box type sterilizer cabinet with manual door opening offers 120 L of capacity, 50 ℃ sterilization temperature, -60 kPa work pressure. it has Automatic ventilation with Sealed wear parts an Simple and convenient operation with long service life for more information visit our website https://www.labtron.uk/

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 3 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: a quick look through concerning the early months of your life “married” to stanley pines, particularly centered around moments on the couch

warnings (TW): mdni, contains mature/suggestive content, swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of drug use

tags: mature/suggestive content (in act iii), fluff, early relationship described, pining, affection

notes: please note that there is heavily implied/suggestive/mature content in act iii of this posting (after the second break)- if you do not wish to interact with this type of content i swear to you you can completely skip it if you like, i attempt to not tie TOO much significance to the written scene- and if you would prefer that the postings stray away from this kind of content i will attempt to better balance it in the future! i am in no shape or form a very “smutty” writer (mainly bc i have never written it), so i hope the scene isnt like… terrible ya know lol (also i don’t consider it much for “smut”- i am def using said word very loosly). annnnyyywayyys hope you enjoy and as always my dms are open for suggestions in the future and general conversation and encouragement! enjoy!

also to note! I believe the story is best read in order- i put certain dependences on certain words and bring descriptions back to really solidify the importance of certain scenes/interactions ! but completely up to you, lol

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked the up to date masterlist for this series- thank you for reading, hope you enjoy!

word count: 4.5k

| masterlist | part iv |

She had caught him sleeping on the couch in the early heat of June. 

They had a late night on the couch, discussing Ford’s margin notes and rewatching The Price is Wrong. Stan had a certain affinity for price matching, and she was more than a little stunned to learn of it the first couple of months they resided in the shack together. 

She just didn’t expect this 30-year-old man to know the price of most common household appliances. 

After his divulgence last month, in which he had confided a little bit of his background in sales, she began to piece together that although Stan considered himself a conman in every way but words, she considered it pure brilliance. 

So she quickly got used to late-night T.V. shows, as they discussed next steps back and forth, with Stan interrupting conversations to yell out extremely accurate prices at the small box T.V. in front of the couch. It had grown on her, actually, and had turned rather… endearing. 

If not also incredibly hilarious, as he was so passionate about his own accuracy he usually forgot his volume, and sometimes took to ranting at her. 

“Hun! Hun! This is a load of malarkey I tell ya! That vacuum price is way too high! It don’t even come with added nozzle attachments!” 

She would laugh, and he would revel in making her do so. 

They had concluded the night in a similar fashion, and she had stumbled up to her bedroom. The first one on the right from the stairs. But he had lingered in the living room, muttering about tidying up some soda cans and taking the trash out quickly. 

She had shrugged it off, giving her goodnight, and made her way up the stairs. She had fallen asleep so quickly, she hadn’t heard the usual meandering steps of Stan as he made for his own room across the hall from her. 

She almost never woke up before him, another thing that surprised her. She figured he was the type to doze in and out in the early morning, but he seemed to be quick to rise and even quicker to make a pot of coffee, usually stumbling down the stairs thirty minutes before she could manage to roll out of bed. 

So she thought it odd to look down the stairs and not see the usual kitchen light on, and the usual grumble of the shitty coffee machine either. 

She found him snoring on his back, the throw blanket she had brought with her half on half off him. It had grown a little muggy in the shack, due to the distinct lack of central air, but Stan’s solution seemed to be very simple. 

Just wear less clothes. 

Something that wouldn’t disturb her in the slightest, if it were not for, well… Stan. 

She was a scientist, a usual logical thinker, and only slightly prude (due to her upbringing), but she was no idiot, and she knew the man she was cohabitating with was attractive. 

I mean, he was also funny- made her laugh more times than she could count. He was oddly sincere for his age and even more oddly protective. He was flippantly affectionate and even more flippantly kind to her. 

And he was also shirtless. 

Something she takes note of instantly, instinctually. Whipping her head to make for the kitchen, and trying to forget the curve of his broad shoulders and the slight swell of his stomach. The smattering of dark hair on his chest all the way down to the crisp edge of the boxers she had folded two days ago. 

Coffee, coffee coffee! 

She didn’t make as good of a cup as he did, she had never had to before. Something he scoffed at, but quickly took to doing himself. He made it every morning, now. Always up before her, with her mug waiting for her by her worn kitchen chair. 

She turned to the stove instead, moving pans and turning on the burner. She’d make breakfast for them instead of her shitty burnt coffee special. Pulling eggs and bacon out of the small fridge she went to work. 

The smell woke him up, and she noted his groggy fumbling to redress himself. Glancing out the archway from kitchen to living room she watched him pass to the stairs, still shirtless. He takes the stairs two at a time, back up to his room to retrieve new clothes she presumed. 

He returns in minutes, in typical fashion it took him not too long to get ready in the morning. 

He walks in, still stretching, with hair muddled from sleep. A pair of work jeans that had seen a lot of love in the past month, and a shirt that was quickly growing too tight around his arms and shoulders. She decided to ignore that sliver of stomach that peaked out when he raised his arms a little too high, otherwise, the bacon would burn. 

He made his way to the coffee machine, beginning the usual morning routine as it spurred to life. Moving to the sink he began washing their shared mugs. 

Breakfast was always a little quiet like they both couldn’t be bothered to open their mouths beyond sating their appetite. They still moved the same, instinctually and without words. Falling into their unassigned assigned seats, Stan moving to grab her feet and drag them across his lap, while she moved the salt and pepper between them both. She always reached across to his plate, grabbing his toast to butter first and then moving to her own. 

She had decided to interrupt their usual silence this morning, looking across to Stan as he fumbled with the morning paper. He always went straight to the comics in the morning, hoping to pick up on a joke to read to her that day, hoping to make her laugh first before anything else in the morning. 

But she had thrown a wrench in his usual plan (that she still hadn’t picked up on yet). 

“Why were you on the couch?” She asked, biting around her toast. 

“It’s cooler down here hun.” 

“I know heat rises Stan, but the sun rises on my side of the house in the morning. It ain’t that hot upstairs yet. Is there something wrong with your bed?” 

When first rearranging rooms he had resolved to take Stanford's old one. He didn’t want her to have to live in the shell his brother had left behind. His more intimate nick-nacks and sticky notes had been scattered around what is now Stan’s room. Along with his random mismatched socks and sweater vests, and his cologne. And he didn’t want to think about having her live around the last remnants of Stanford, because she got this weird look in her eyes already when she retraced his brother's writings and he couldn’t stand it. He had lived with Stanford for eighteen years, and sometimes entering the room was at least therapeutic. 

Except Stanford always had a weird affinity for sleeping on the ground. 

It’s the main reason Stanley even had the top bunk during their preteen years to begin with, because Stanford would find himself stiff on the floor most mornings. His brother had a tendency to doze away on any hard surface he could rest his head on, starting at his desk most nights, moving to his bed, but usually rolling off it in favor of the floor. Stanford was… not one for restful sleep. And his hard ass mattress showed it. 

“Ya.” Stan muttered behind the newspaper. “‘Ford trying to fuck my back up from another dimension.” 

“You can have my bed?” She offered up her own mattress, one she had splurged on with her own money. He still remembers her playing Goldilocks that day at the flash mattress sale she had circled in the classifieds the week before. 

He shook his head at the memory, them both laying side by side on each bed as she had discussed odds and ends. She had argued that she needed approximately 5 minutes on each mattress to sink into each, and that she couldn’t be intrinsically thinking about her comfort when doing so. So she had him lay beside her and talk to her, as she flipped from her back to her side testing out her comfort and considered the gravelness of his voice. Until she had landed on the right bed, the tenth one, declaring it her perfect match as she looked over at him beside her. 

“Nah, I can’t take your perfect match, hun, your one true love.” He joked, folding up the newspaper with the comics up, setting it aside in favor of looking at her. “Besides my bed is fine for now. I just… sometimes I like being close to the door.” 

She hummed. “I can rearrange the living room today? Do you want to move your bed downstairs?” She hadn’t even questioned it, still searching for something to sate his comfort. 

He laughed at this, he would never let her rearrange things without him and she knew it. He had hovered something harsh those first three months, moving around most things for her as she pointed from object to object. 

“No, no.” He shook his head. “I just, I ain’t used to sleeping in a room without a straight way out of it yet.” He admits, munching on his bacon, shrugging like he was discussing the weather. “So sometimes I just, sleep on the couch. No big deal.” 

She sits back in her seat, shock marring her face. He had spent so long hopping from place to place she had forgotten he hadn’t had a place to call home in a decade- besides his car. Something that may have four walls, but had no heart. 

Hotels, to cars, to floors of shelters, he had slept in questionable places for far too long, and in some cases Stanford’s room sometimes felt like a new prison, or at least reminded him of a certain Colombian one. Except this one contained taunting memories and a stupid amount of sweaters. 

It hurt more, to open his door to find hers closed, for some reason. He didn’t like the thought of her trapped either, nestled in a part of the house he couldn’t get to. But he didn’t know how to voice this to her without sounding mad in a way. Or obsessive maybe. 

She digs her toes into the junction of his ribs, grabbing his attention. She’s smiling across from him, and standing before he can ask why. Grabbing his hand, she pulls him up the stairs to their own parallel doors, not even hesitating to walk through the door Stanford used to call his own. 

She’s muttering under her breath as he stands in the doorway, landlocked by witnessing her in this exact space for some reason. She moves to the window, opening it all the way and fumbling with the screen. She gets it off and makes to climb out the window before he can protest. 

“If you want a way out, you got it right here!” She grunts, footing her way through to the shingled roof, his protests falling on deaf ears. 

“Get the fuck back in here!” He leans out, making to grab her. “Ain’t no way this shack's roof is any good!” 

She prances around, slightly mocking him by moving away from his waving arm. “Stan! It’s fine!” She laughs, the sun shining on her figure. Suddenly serious she stops, hands on her hips. “Seriously, if you need a way out, keep the window open, okay?” 

She crawls back through the window a moment later, using Stan’s hand as a weight as she balances back on the wooden floor. 

Still serious, she continues, “Stan if you need to keep the window open, you can keep the door open also if you feel like it.” 

She smiles like she has a brilliant idea, moving across the hall she opens her own room to display her own mess of things. “I can keep mine open also if it helps.” 

How the fuck had she read his mind? He was continually dumbfounded by her unquantifiable amounts of patience she had for him. Like it was a reserve she tapped into, to specifically deal with all his dumb bullshit. He would let it pile in the back of his head, but she’d reach back in and shake him awake, present him with a solution, and he forgets himself in his need to question “why?”. 

He had taken too long to respond, and she stands in the hall, hands wringing her too large t-shirt and looking surprisingly bashful. “Is this okay?” She asks, is this what you need? Vying for his approval as she continues. “Because really I don’t mind you sleeping on the couch, I really don’t, you can keep doing it if you like! Really! I just… I just…” 

Unspoken between them, he already knew. She meant well, she meant the best actually. She wanted him to be comfortable, here, with her. Wanted him to stop moving from place to place in the house because no where felt right because it all felt like a trap. Wanted him to know the four walls they shared could never be a prison, and that she didn’t want him to hop around anymore searching and clawing his way out of it. To not have to Goldilocks around the house, because across the hall from her had to be just right. 

And it was. Because she had read his mind as usual, and he was almost tired of being absolutely astounded by it. 

He nodded, smiling across from her, his confirmation in the squeeze he gave her hand as he reached for her again, and in the ruffling of her hair he gave her as he slipped from the house later. Making his way outside to his work, somehow lighter than usual.

They ended up on the couch most weekends, or at least most Saturday nights. 

She had insisted, against his better nature, that it was not appropriate to drink yourself into a stupor on a weekday. So he had gotten used to the shared moments on the weekend, routinely looking forward to shitty VHS movies and even shittier boxed wine and beer. 

She laughed at fucking everything when she was drunk. He almost wondered if she had ever been high, or if she even needed to be. He might as well be a stand up comedian most weekends, because if he thought he had a great audience Monday through Friday, well he had an even more endearing one on the weekends. 

It was a hot July night, and she had scoffed at his light beer that resided in the back of the fridge. Tisking at him as she danced around the kitchen, pouring sweet red wine into mugs (their only cups), and shooing him back to the couch. Only wine in the summer, only wine when it was this hot.

And it was hot, and humid, unsurprising for Oregon really. So hot in fact, that she had decided pjs were appropriate attire for the night, luckily for him. So he shed his jeans in favor of loose boxers and a well worn shirt. Unluckily for him, she had decided upon much the same wardrobe, which was odd for her and only uncomfortable for sober him. 

But he wasn’t sober anymore, and he had to admit she was rather enchanting hunched over on the couch, laughing at his shitty jokes with one of his old band t-shirts on, shorts that she made no indication of even owning, bagging up around the tops of her thighs. 

He had been intoxicated on numerous amounts of things, nothing, of course, too hard or addictive per say, but it’d be the first time he was this drunk on wine. 

And it was… different. 

He had scoffed at the movie she chose originally tonight. She always chose the second movie, and he chose the first. They had a habit of in depth discussing during films, especially when more intoxicated. 

But he had never been so incredibly invested in a romantic comedy in his entire life, he blamed his company and the alcohol. 

“I can’t believe that he thinks he stands a chance with the likes of her! She’s sacrificed so much! Her jobs on the line here and he won’t even consider marrying her for a green card!” He yelled, just about jumping at the screen. This man in the movie was ridiculous, demanding things from his assistant and throwing her away the next. 

She ran back into the room, mugs full with their next round. She had become the bartender tonight, waiting on him and grabbing snacks when he’d ask in exchange for rubbing her aching shoulders. 

“What did I miss!” She rushed back, handing him his mug and taking her seat back in front of him on the floor, her throw blanket being used as a cushion. 

He takes a sip, setting the mug aside her own on the floor and moving back to place his hands on her tense shoulders. 

“She’s being kicked out of the country right in front of her boss and he ain’t gonna do anything about it! She basically does everything for this man, why doesn’t he see he needs her?” 

She groans below him, her head rocking back as she takes her own drink. “Are we gonna discuss the intricates of them having a relationship though? I love marriage of convenience, don’t get me wrong, but that’s her boss! Isn’t there a weird power dynamic here?” 

“Oh ya!” He agrees, nodding along as his fingers began to dig into her muscles. “We gotta talk about that because if this gets creepy we gotta pick out a different one. He’s already pissing me off!” 

She looks up at him, eyes glowing with an idea. Enchanted, she moves away from him, crawling to the cabinet beside the T.V., and he really swears that he tries to look away. But he also reasons that it’ll be a while before he gets the chance to see her in shorts again. And fuck. 

She turns back, a new VHS in hand. “This!” She exclaims. “Now this is my favorite rom-com!” 

A shitty picture is well worn on the front of the movie sleeve, a VHS he doesn’t recognize from the donation bin sitting in her hands. She must have brought it with her, and she must have had it for a while. 

She crawls forward, movie in hand and a bright, flushed smile on her face. 

“Please, please, please Stanley! This one!” She all but yelled as she leaned up into him. His legs had already been parted to accommodate her sitting in front of him, but now were warm with her torso between them, as she crawled into his lap, movie still in hand and smile still on her face. She leaned up onto his chest, a fake pout on her lips as she looked up at him. 

He forgot himself for a minute, excusing her silently for calling him Stanley in her drunken plee. His hand finding her waist as he answered. 

“Okay, okay!” He snorted. “Better be a better love interest because this guy sucks.” 

He missed her as soon as she left, but his heart still felt something sick when she yelled victoriously on the ground, hand raised in celebration, movie clutched to her chest. Rolling from her current position to the VHS player and popping out the current horrendous movie. All the while she giggled, and he followed in much the same manner. Laughing while running his hand through his hair, trying to soothe himself to forget her warmth. 

She crawled back to him (fuck) settling back into his knees from her position on the ground. The title screen flashed, but he was much too busy watching it illuminate her face. Heart sick again when she leaned her head all the way back, hair across his knees and thighs, she smiles up at him, a thank you on her lips. Clutching his mug in her hands, bringing it to her lips for a sip before passing it up to him too. 

And when he carried her to bed that night he wondered when the tight sickness would leave him. He never closed either of their doors. 

It didn’t happen like this, that night. 

Not from what he could remember anyway, but he felt too groggy to care about accuracy and too intoxicated by the image of her to care much for what was right. 

Her hands had continued up his thighs from her place knelt in front of him, his back hot against the living room couch. She had climbed up on top of him, creeping up to sit on his knees and thighs like she had been there before. Her smile turned sweet into something twisted as she leaned in close to his face, the closest she had ever gotten to it. Whispering something between the heat between the two of them, something lost on him, as he tried to lean closer, tried to bridge the gap between their chests, aching to feel her against the very front of him. 

He knew it was different because she had never worn this in front of him before, at least willingly. He had caught her in the middle of the night, stumbling from her open bedroom door to the bathroom down the hall, panties striped and endearing on her ass. He had seen them in the washer, had seen her fold them and tuck them away. And she was in them, sitting on his fucking lap. 

His hands made for her, reaching behind her and dragging her close, his fingers edging the back of the band of her striped panties. 

She gasps like she does when she’s happy for him, always jumping from her position on the couch cheering along with him when he gets a stupid fucking The Price is Wrong answer right. 

And it’s how he imagined it, fuck, how he was currently dreaming of her noises. In bits and pieces he could remember, his brain scrambling to paint an image of her wanting him.  

Her hands edge along the back of his head, running through his long hair, and tracing to the front along his jaw. Mouth open, her fingers glide along the bottom of his lip, teasing. 

She whispers again, closer now. Her chest heaving against his own, her ass waits precariously positioned above right where he dreamt of her being. Right along the space he places her feet every morning, right where he thought she may kill him.

He catches it this time, between them. Her voice wavering like it had that day in the car when she had apologized for calling him him. He thought of begging for it, allowing her to say his name, but she had read his mind like she always fucking managed to do. 

“Please, Stanley.” 

He had surged forward like his own tidal wave, meeting her in the hot space between them. But he could only imagine a kiss with her, dream of it here. 

He imagined it slow, and building. Imagined her hesitation and the pout of her lip between his fucking teeth, imagined her moan when he eventually came back for more. 

Her hands pulled at his fucking hair, the only time she had placed them there to harm, and he groaned as she pulled him forward, meeting again in the middle of the heat they shared there on the couch. She moaned, her hips rushing to his own, making a new heat between them. 

The friction between them was the same as the kiss, slow and building. Grinding herself in the curve of his lap, right where they both needed each other. Every pass slightly faster, every groan from her more imagined, more unreal. 

The pressure felt real though, and her fingers in his hair felt even more so. His head thrown back on the couch, he looked down his nose at her, a groan leaving his throat as she makes a home in his shoulder, as her hips cause waves against his fucking lap. 

Her breath is hot on his neck, something real, and her echoing noises move up his shoulder to his ear and it makes him hotter than he could imagine. Her groans come to a precipice, getting higher in octave and volume and she thinks to fucking bite him there, right on his shoulder. 

The image she makes shakes him, his hands remembering where they are on her ass and hips, as he makes to work them harder, to somehow bring her closer and harder to the crook of his boxers. Her teeth nestle into him, and it makes him groan more, her hot breath and aching moans reverb off his skin back to him. 

It sends him reeling forward, his own head rushing off the back of the couch, groaning in heat, moving in blind passion. His head rests against the top of her own, his big hands digging into the fat of her behind, finger creeping in through the top of her panties. 

“Fuck.” He groans between them. “Fuck, honey.” His hips canting up, her moans echoing again, her teeth unlaching, like she can’t ground herself to him anymore, because all the movement is him now. He’s fucking using her, the pressure hot, and she peels back to look at him, a heat in her eyes he can’t have imagined. He must have seen it before, marring her face. He had, he swears, seen her with this heat in her eyes before.

He was using her. 

It stops just as abruptly as it began, and he wakes to his discomfort. His room is cool despite the morning sun, the curtains by his windows billowing out with September wind. His door wide open, and his hand curled around something that no longer needed relief. 

His other hand, clutching his hair in a fist. The back of his head tender from the pressure, and his fingers heavy from sleep. 

He got up quicker than usual, his heart still pounding oddly in his chest as he attempted to catch a breath he didn’t remember losing. On his way out of his room, dresssed for the day, he peaks into her parallel room, her door wide open like it was every day now. 

He groans low, she’s wearing the fucking stripes. 

He tries not to think about it the rest of the day, tries not to be disgusted with himself, but his chest aches something odd and his stride is somehow uneven for the rest of the day. His heart carries something sickly when he sees her that day, and she pretends it doesn’t hurt he’s oddly quiet that day, or that he doesn’t read her the morning comics like usual. 

She thinks it has something to do with how flushed he is, when she catches his staring that evening, as they sit beside each other on the couch, T.V. echoing in the background.

[auckie]

There should be public pods, and mandatory time off, and moments of silence for different arranged groups of citizens dedicated to being afraid. If you are in sector 4 subset D category 133 third quadrant and select group 14.4B then your allotted moment is a four hour reprieve between 8am-12pm EST on April 2nd (dependent upon year) and if it is not your allotted time then you may use your STO (scared time off) and if you are out then you should find a FEAR POD to reside in until the terror passes. The pods are to be organically shaped, ergonomic and sound proof with harmonic egg technology which blasts soothing lights and beta theta binaural beats and the brown note. The seat is a recliner with stirrups suspended from the roof wherein the users feet will be raised. there is a built in toilet and feed trough providing wetted oats for sustenance and hydration, along with an automated tranquilizer which will dose you with lethal amounts of ketamine to soothe hysteria and induce a tranquil state of coma followed by death. the booth then sterilizes by heating to a sustained 220-1100C for an undisclosed amount of time, and then promptly vacuum packages your remains to be shipped off to next of kin or the dumping grounds. There will be one of these pods on every street corner and they will be powered by a potent mixture of solar, geothermal, wind, and nuclear energy which will shatter this nations infrastructure, economy, and ofc, power grid beyond repair, thus necessitating more booths to calm the scared masses. The dumping grounds will be so overrun with ashes that a new kind of weather phenomena occurs, like a mix between a dust storm and volcanic ash clouds, which produce a never before seen form of lighting known as ‘soul strikes’. These storms will create temporal rifts which allow djinn and ghouls and machine elves to break through the astral barrier into our dimension and wreak havoc by means of, you guess it, inducing mass hysteria. Thus, necessities the creation of more pods. We will hit a point of pod to person alignment, quickly followed by an excess of pods, and then a gradual over saturation of the market— but by then most industry will have already been dedicated to pod production and ash removal, at which point we will see more astral beasts than humans, and have no choice but to try and lure said beasts into the pods, thus. Say it with me. Necessitating the production and placement. Of. More. Pods.

[ridatcompany]

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[machineheraldbabe]

arcane, populism, and why viktor is the odd one out (yet again)

as a piltover-anti, a silco criticizer, and a pacifist, i am very very interested in how arcane presents not just the political undertones of both topside and the undercity, but the characters/dialogue through which they communicate those undertones. allow me to use some political science bro lingo to air out some thoughts.

long, long post incoming.

there are 2 ideological struggles at war throughout s1 (and i can predict that the struggle will carry over into s2): neoliberalism and populism - in their broadest terms since we're talking ofc about a fictional show dealing with surface level political machinations. by neoliberalism, i mean a focus on the social, political, and cultural structures of a polity (piltover, for our purposes) refocused into a strictly economic vacuum. and by populism i mean a unifying belief that the existing political systems of a polity fail to adequately represent their constituents, so the masses choose to rally around a specific gripe or issue, i.e., class discrimination, xenophobia toward immigrants, etc. this, in turn, forms a populist party or movement. an applicable example i can think of would be Nasser's Egypt in the 1950s.

*i know these are weighty topics with very real world implications! i just want to separate the theory to apply to our favorite fictional world.

the political struggle in question is put forward immediately by piltover, who, though presented as a technocratic state, embodies crucial neoliberal ideals emphasized especially by up-and-coming counilor mel medarda, much like how fresh-eyed american economists blew up the economic scene in the 1980s with a revival of capitalist, free market enterprise. take how she seizes the advent of hextech, for example:

she quickly sees hextech's potential yet not from the solely intellectual standpoint that jayce and viktor do - for her, it is profitable, literally and in terms of international relations. her goal is for piltover to prosper, but she has no rose-colored glasses on; prosperity means capital gain, and she's willing to override piltover's political and social systems to achieve her goal. an important caveat is that she draws the line at ambessa medarda's progression into militant authoritarianism, which deserves a whole post of its own!

piltover's populism moment will come later. first, let's unpack silco, who is probably arcane's most blatantly political figure, and a masterclass in the merits and failures of left wing, class-based populism.

silco, having been spurned by the classism and xenophobia that piltover's elite proliferate, and assisted by his rampant shimmer operation, fills the vacuum that vander's pacifism opened up. though silco's methods are unilaterally cruel (argue with the wall), the undercity clearly invested faith in him at some point, especially as vander's credibility as a guiding figure wavered over the years. he was fighting alongside vander for zaun's right to exist as their own independent body. in other words, he was uniting the undercity toward a common cause because the existing political system failed their constituents. to quote councilor shoola: "they may not be our preferred constituents, but they're still our people."

the track record of populism in our real world frequently ends in the ruin that silco himself brought upon the undercity. the kingpin is too dedicated to self-preservation, sees himself as too central to the movement, which prevents both compromise and/or a necessary armed revolt (insert your own politics about self-determination here). see italy's right wing populism party, Lega Nord, as a real-time example of this phenomenon.

but arcane makes an interesting plot decision with jayce, a very unexpected and "unwilling" contributor to piltover's abrupt dip into right wing populism. the showrunners love foils!

in arcane lore, i think it's safe to say that jayce's moniker "the man of progress" is pretty tongue-in-cheek. both he and viktor have a bemused tone about it in the run-up to his speech, and jayce is taken aback by heimerdinger's insistence that he deliver said speech. but the glowing, savior-esque imagery can't be ignored, nor can jayce's quick switch into his councilor role, no matter how reluctantly he makes it.

jayce is confronted by 2 forces that he seeks to combat in his quick tenure as councilor: internal corruption and an ineffective governing body. the latter goal is inspired almost solely by viktor, playing into jayce's naivety as a fresh-faced political figure, but this will be especially important to note later on. the innocence he offers up to mel is quickly erased, transformed instead into an uncomfortable - and inexperienced - militancy:

important in the bridge scene to my analysis is the populist "out group," or the designation populists give to those whom they actively oppose, and this opposition serves as their basis for organization. in this case, it's the undercity (keep this in mind for viktor's role!!).

jayce's combined frustrations at the unrest in the undercity and the council's (namely heimerdinger's) refusal to act, to both save viktor and to deal with the undercity's looming violence, motivates him to act like silco for a short time. unsatisfied with the status quo, he unites a likeminded individual, vi, along with the enforcers, to undercut the political system he feels is unable to represent its constituents or act in an effective manner. however, UNLIKE silco, jayce's realizes the inevitable cost the method of violence has and refrains in the end. he returns to the council and capitulates to some of silco's demands in the name of a peace piltover and zaun always thought impossible.

jinx's complete undoing of this underscores the failures of populism, especially as an extended movement over time. she wasn't accounted for. it's common sentiment at this point that she didn't attack the council for political gain. she was not invested in zaun's independence. she did it out of her and silco's twisted parental bond, and thus undid piltover's brief instance of compromise and compassion.

so...where does viktor fit into all this? and what are his implications for neoliberalism vs. populism in season 2?

viktor is neither wholly within nor wholly outside the populist outgroup - though jayce unintentionally shoves him back there in the pivotal bridge scene. furthermore, viktor also makes use of piltover's technocracy. he seems to have had a "raise yourself up by your bootstraps" history in arcane, contrary to left wing populist insistence that neoliberal ideals make this impossible.

this compounds as a double alienation for viktor, who also is straddled with the complications of his disability. a lot of his story is searching for a fellow in arms, if you ask me, and he had that with jayce until the pendulum swung, hence his return to singed.

if we stop there, viktor represents the failing of these 2 very flawed political ideologies. he fits nowhere and arcane uses him adeptly as a symbol of the failings of binaristic ideologues and systems. but let's speculate some more!

i'm convinced that viktor, due to his ambiguous 3rd party role in the story so far, will be one of the central villains (if not THE villain, if you allow me to be admittedly hopeful/biased) in season 2. consult the innumerable very well written theory/meta posts about the subject for more details, but one piece of evidence i want to focus on is this inherent physical, cultural, and ideological separateness that is innate to his character.

can we see him allying ever again with piltover, knowing that there's a split incoming? even without outside knowledge of league lore, singed's damning prediction ("if you take this path, they will despise you") cannot go unheeded. alternatively, then, can we see viktor allying with the supposed jinx-as-revolutionary side? no. personally, i see him as becoming increasingly unwillingly to compromise his a) immediate survival; and b) his ideals, especially after being endlessly sidelined in his attempts to express them in acts 2 and 3. he's also just a loner, guys.

there's some controversy on this point, but i'm convinced that the finger-printed cultists/followers we saw in the s2 trailer are devoted to viktor. starting with the shimmer addict he touched in the teaser, he is accruing a following all his own. and since noxus is here, touting their authoritarian militancy to replace piltover's outdated liberal ideals, nothing that jinx's revolution OR viktor's following does can be apolitical. to organize and to fight is survival under s2's raised stakes.

there aren't any binary spectrums when it comes to political theory in my opinion, so i am prepared to witness viktor introduce an entirely separate totalitarian narrative into arcane. where it will surely lack in militancy, it will make up for in its domination of the arcane. my biggest speculation is that, as they always do, piltover will fold and compromise at the last minute, perhaps yield to noxus, and invest wholeheartedly in taking down viktor's BBEG cultist regime. and by isolating his narrative repeatedly in s1, the writers planned this out expertly.

even if i'm wrong about viktor as third party, i like to think my observations still stand about the specific and qualifiable political divisions between piltover and zaun. the biggest hole this leaves for me is the question: will arcane ever take a stand? they seem very averse to making a blatant political statement, but i think their pervasive anti-police thread makes it clear that we're not meant to sympathize with piltover yuppies or their seasoned, jaded councilmen. let me know your thoughts!

also, as a jayce fan and a fan of arcane's overall story, none of this is meant as a CRITIQUE of him, mel, or silco. as silco said, "we all have our parts to play." i believe arcane's very greatest strength is their archetypal storytelling, and these distinct character roles are crucial to the success and vibrancy of the story.

if you read all the way to this point - ily <3

[maddragon15]

Finalized design for my version of Etho for hermitcraft s10!

Warning long infodump ahead about the decisions made and general lore

So I've had this idea that redstone is like uranium. Powerful, can be used for energy + various machinery and scientific discoveries, used to increase the value of the everyday lives (uranium girls ref) but with the major cause of life deletion/life altering affects. I believe that it would cause more mutations within redstoners over the course of time they are exposed to it and the varying degree that they're covered in it. But redstone is a fairly new resource that has been discovered in the world of minecraft/hermitcraft. So the research behind it isn't as strong nor as known as it should be. Therefore every effect that happens to the pioneers of redstone is completely new and unheard of. Which might be the reason why some builders like Grian, Scar, Ren, Gem, etc are hesitant to fully learn redstone mechanics due to the unknown nature of it but still aren't fully opposed because of the benefits it has.

In my world of hermitcraft for season 10 it's built off of the fact that there's quite a few people leaning into that cybery, technological, sci-fi theme. Like the Punks, then Ren's Gigaverse and of course the nature of Doc in general. So the main story is that this world of hc2410 is that it's a world that was much similar to earth. It went through the usual set of technological feats bit by bit, culture by culture.

For a long time their main power source which fueled everything was glowstone, a semi renewable material exported from the Nether and harvested from blazes and the blaze rods. Blaze rods were grinded down then compressed into glass like bilets which were then heated, strained, and forged into various forms that were needed. For a while it was small 2x2 inch cubes mainly used in lamps and later 6x6 foot cubes for lighthouses. But as the age of the iron wore on, technology looked much like the era of the vacuum tubes.

Thus began the swap of simplified forms of glowstone into the complexities of tubes and the requirement of more materials and longer time to create these specialized parts. Though that didn't stop what pioneers were part of that era, these guys being Etho, Tango, Doc, and Mumbo. Now these guys were very basic hybrids, Etho an arctic fox, Tango a nether born blaze, Doc whom was a rare specices of creeper, and Mumbo who was actually just a human. It took long and multiple days worth of work to even produce what would be a 4 part machine in modern redstone technology with glowstone. Though these guys were at this point young and determined to optimize their creations.

Glowstone in itself was a relatively safe material to work with unless of course consumed, if consumed it would wear down the lining of the stomach, cause holes in the intestines, and heat the user to an unbearable degree akin to the infamous iron bull method of torture except it was your insides and only your insides being subjected to it. To the person that found this out would never be credited and largely forgotten in most history records. Mainly because he died such a painful death and most didn't want to remember it. So when Etho was working on the mines with his crew and discovered redstone there was a guess and perhaps a hope that it would be as safe as glowstone. Therefore safety percautions that were used with materials like obsidian and diamond were thrown out the window. Instead it was instantly collected into glass cylinders and brought back to the workshop to be played around with.

Thus the reason why for most parts of hc2410 many will be seen with previous and malfunctioning innovations or straight up tech from the glowstone era. One of these people is Mumbo who still uses comms from the glowstone era as a way to keep his small hometown economy running because any way to help Big Ron was a win in his book. Pearl is also another example user of older innovations or at least less redstone heavy variations. Rather going into the world of solar, and botany side of technology dubbed leafstone. Other variations of older innovations would also have to be old port towns who used wind and small hydroplants to keep their town running and connected with the rest of the world such as Gem's & Grian's hometown.

With Etho being the main guy who really played around with it and pretty much like at it like ate it like it was sugar was thee very first to experience the mutational effect of redstone. At first his left eye would begin to flicker with rapid involuntary movement, then followed a set of what would be dubbed "chromatic abberation" (etho would be the only one to experience this and no one can confirm what he saw was accurate due to the mental state he was in), and the onset of vision loss. But this wasn't the first and last effect, he would begin to develop a second tail and unusual pelt coloring akin to the color of the newfound material. Much like the later steps of his changes the second tail development was not a pain free one. As the months continued his mental state worsened, this was due to the psychoactive effects of redstone and already altered vision. He would begin to see things that weren't there in a translucent red glow often accompanied by intense localized migraines behind the left eye. It would get so intense and unbearable that in the middle of developing the infamous etho hopper clock he began to claw at his left eye but the fingernails weren't enough and instead used a screwdriver to try to get it out. However Doc and Tango would find Etho moments before a prosthetic eye would take the permanent place of a redstone scarred eye.

Although Etho did wear a mask during the initial stages of redstone development and technology it wouldn't be enough against the sheer intake the 4 went through. Therefore under the careful guise of Xisumavoid, who'd later become the main caretaker/medic and manager, and Doc they would make several changes to how redstone was regulated. Making a mandate that all personnel, consumer, mechanic, and who ever else would have to wear a respirator and gloves during the usage of redstone. You'd think this would be easy to get the crew to swap into using respirators at the very least but it was met with much hesitation and backlash due to the blukiness that came with them. It was already tough to pack around the canisters of redstone, glowstone tubes, and iron baseplates and now they also had to squeeze into tight spaces with a clunky mess? But again Doc and Xisuma found ways to make sure that each member found a way to have their own variation of resperation based upon needs. It wasn't too hard to make one for Etho because he already had a mask but his stubbornness rivaled Doc, and took a near fatal pass out due to lack of blood production, aka just more extreme anemia, and bloody nose to convince Etho to finally add that respirator onto his mask.

Despite however the apparent dangers of redstone it sent the world of hc2410 into a new world of technology seemingly overnight, from clunky 60s-70s style tan and heavy clunk switches into an age more similar to thin touch panels and streamlined designs of now but with the flair of the iconic synthwave/cyberpunk style deemed by the 80s-90s. Yet it was met with strife due to how time consuming redstone was even with several engineers helping out on one project and most innovations were only available to the richest before being thrown out for the latest and greatest.

Also you may recall, if you've made it to this point, that I mentioned that the 4 were basic hybrids. Well much like Etho the effects on the rest weren't simple nor painless, and varied quite differently from each other. But those will be covered once their designs are finished.

I thank you if you've made it this far and I'll see you on the next hermitaday posts! :3

Edit: I also want to include that one of the main design inspos is actually Snakeyes from Gi Joe because that man is absolute gender to me. So why not combine my two favorite guys into one character.

Edit #2: Added more text breaks bc I no longer have 5 am involuntary eye movement. Which is odd because you'd think I'd need more text breaks but it's the opposite.

[comicaurora]

What other mythological creatures would be fun in space? If the answer is "most of them?", Then limit the scope of the question to what becomes *more* fun in space?

Still "most of them," unfortunately.

Deep in the bowels of a derelict, drifting hulk, so battered with cosmic rays and space debris all sign of its original function have eroded away, something that could have been human roams the labyrinthine halls. Who knows what terrible crime or tragedy spawned it? It is huge, and hungry, and terribly, terribly alone. All anyone knows is that the drifting hulk that screams to the void in a hundred looping distress calls is to be avoided at all costs, for the maze is deadly and its lone prisoner even deadlier.

An enchanting woman knocks on the porthole with a broad smile, hair flowing in beautiful curls and mouth moving soundlessly in the boiling vacuum. She seems unaware of the inch-thick tempered plasteel, or perhaps unaware of its necessity for the mortal and the fragile within. As she stares unblinking, whispers begin to crackle over the ship radio, half-parseable snatches in many voices - surnames, stardates, coordinates. The knowledge is so, so tempting.

The astronaut is standing just outside the airlock. The sun is starting to sink behind the lunar horizon, cutting razor-sharp shadows across the silvery dust. He's been standing, patiently, for over four hours. The crew in the lander are huddled as far away from the door as possible, unconacipusly avoiding the astronaut's cold and vacant bunk. They had buried him, after all, three rotations ago, the special kind of dead you only get after decompression-induced exsanguination. And yet here he stands, looking better than ever, a healthy blush in his cheeks clearly visible without that bulky reflective helmet in the way. His eyes catch the setting sun strangely, almost red.

Space is an ocean, they say; the analogy is imperfect, and yet persistent in its poetry. The seafarers of old coasted along the surface of a vast and unknowable deep and called it sailing, and the spacefarers of the new frontier do the same. They speed between the stars or cut through wormhole gates for the occasional shortcut, skimming the three-dimensional surface of the vast four-dimensional space that wormholes can only tentatively pierce, and they are satisfied. But there are strange shadows in the stars, twisting and slow - distortions that ripple out from the hyperdepth and mostly pass without incident, barring the sensitive instruments left screaming in their wake. Nobody has ever seen the four-dimensional leviathans that cast these three-dimensional shadows. At least, nobody who's come back.

They call it a dragon because it flies and it's the scariest thing they've ever seen. It doesn't do it justice. If anything, trying to give it a familiar name only highlights its horrible uncategorizability. It flies, yes - or at least it undulates through atmosphere, seemingly irrelevant to its own mass. It has a golden hoard and breathes poison and fire, or rather the nuclear furnace that boils in its sinuous belly vomits out great gouts of poison fire that leaves stone and flesh as glassy slag and metals fused into radioactive gold. The land all around its lair is blackened and sick, a vile caldera of strange-colored swampland and twisted, fungal trees. In the absolute terror and devastation of its wake, the colonists fall back on old, bad superstitions and offer it a girl…

The sorcerer took out his heart long ago, they say. This is true, but inadequate. His true body is shattered in closely guarded pieces to protect himself from a total death; the form he presents is only a projection of his will onto and through the nanite colony his machinations spawned, a body crafted by the immortal mind and will of one who sacrificed everything to be deathless. His heart is concealed in a small life support capsule in a long-forgotten laboratory in a satellite orbiting the moon of a quarantined colony world; his nervous system wires itself through the vast, organic computer that has taken the place of the planet's core. Backups of backups of backups, redundancies laced through every stolen system. He knows there was a purpose to this, once; a goal to all this sacrifice beyond a simple extension of life. He will never remember who he wanted this for. To be truly deathless, one cannot have a heart.

It's retroviral, they think. No other form of infection could've rewired her cells this fundamentally. It's irreversible without gene therapy, but at least she isn't deteriorating, they say. At least she's holding together while they look for a treatment. She can feel it, though, no matter what the medic says; sub-cellular or not, she can feel it boiling under her skin, sharpening her teeth, burning out from the site of the bite on her arm. And she can feel, with absolute certainty, the planet's two satellites slowly shifting into opposition with the sun, right through the windowless walls of the quarantine pod. She doesn't know what she'll become when the moons are full, but she doesn't speak her suspicions. A part of her - perhaps even a part that's always been there - is very, very eager to find out.

A colony was here once, a long, long time ago. Terraformed and everything, but those were the early days, before they realized you needed a magnetosphere to keep all that air and water from being wicked away by the solar wind. The loss was so gradual it didn't make sense until over a century later, and there wasn't anything they could do for them long-term - wrong kind of core for a polarization op. They did evac, of course, but the priority was low - and it was centuries deep into social development. Everybody on that world had been born there, and some of them didn't want to leave. Way I hear it, some of them insisted on staying - strongly and violently - and the folks in charge eventually got tired of losing troops in a dessicating backwater that was gonna solve itself in less than a century, so they just fudged the paperwork and washed their hands of the whole thing. It's near airless now - stopped being a viable colony world nigh on thirty years back when the last of the ice vanished. But that's not why we steer clear. We don't land there because the locals didn't have the decency to die right, and it can be damn unsettling to catch their shadows sneaking across the sand. They're drawn to ships, you know? Poor bastards still think they can leave.

[yeoldenews]

Did Jack not come from the French version of john 'Jaques'?

This is a centuries' old scholarly debate, the short answer of which is most likely no.

First off a correction - Jacques is actually the French form of James, not John (which is Jean).

There appears to have been some discussion in the 19th century as to whether Jack may have originated as a nickname for James and only became associated with John later on (much as Hank originated as a nickname for John before it became associated with Henry) - but later research seems to discount this theory.

The seminal work on this subject is a paper/booklet titled The Pedigree of 'Jack' and of Various Allied Names written by English librarian E. W. B. Nicholson in 1892.

In his research Nicholson found "no recorded instance of Jack, Jak, Jacke or Jakke ever being used to represent Jacques or James".

That being said - names don't develop in a vacuum, nor in laboratory conditions. It's entirely possible that Medieval Englishmen being exposed to the name Jacques influenced the shortening of Jackin to Jack - but short of a time machine trip to ask someone why they chose to go by Jack and not Jackin, it's kind of impossible to prove one way or another.