the australian ballet company

Amber Scott, Principal Dancer at The Australian Ballet Company. 

Totally obsessed and inspired by Amber and performance from the Aus Ballet today, so sorry for the spam. Fun Fact: I’m from Australia if you didn’t already guess. xx


We really couldn’t get over what a thrill it was to watch the Australian Ballet’s company class on World Ballet Day. We’ll be up early tomorrow to tweet along with the National Ballet of Canada’s barre as well! Time to roll out and start that floor barre. 

Good night, dancers. And enjoy the rest of World Ballet Day!

Find Me Tomorrow: Rumbelle RSS Gift

Hi @ashadeofpemberley! I’m so excited to finally reveal myself as your Secret Santa and to present your gift.Your prompt ended up being a wonderful title, so thank you so much. I really hope you enjoy this Rumbelle Nutcracker story with a healthy side of Swanfire goodness. Merry Christmas, my dear!

Title: Find Me Tomorrow
Rating: M (PG-13)
Prompt: Nutcracker; Curse; Find me tomorrow.
Summary: Ballet instructor and Nutcracker enthusiast Belle French has a terrible crush on bitter divorcé Christian Gold. If only she could get him to acknowledge her existence. When a mysterious blizzard and power outage strand them in the Storybrooke Community Theatre along with Gold’s son and star ballet student Emma Nolan, Gold and Belle discover that appearances aren’t always what they seem. Will spending the night in a dark theatre lead them to the Christmas miracle everyone’s been searching for?
Word Count: 10,880

Read on AO3

“Pop, come on. It’s time to go now,” Baeden Gold announced, jangling the car keys in front of his father’s nose.

With his dark head bent over his workbench and brow furrowed in concentration, Christian Gold gave no indication that he’d heard a single sound. Working away, he muttered to himself as though he was alone in the shop.

A stranger or casual acquaintance might consider the possibility that Gold really hadn’t heard, but Bae knew better. His father had the sharpest senses of any man he’d ever met. “Pop. Please.” Bae released the thoroughly exasperated sigh of a 16-year-old teenage boy. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Hmmm?” Gold replied absently, refusing to avert his eyes from the antique vase he was restoring. Perhaps if he stubbornly continued working he could avoid going to the dance studio. Avoid seeing her.

“Emma’s counting on me, Pop,” Bae reminded him. “Counting on us. We promised to pick her up from ballet practice and I really want to watch her dance for a few minutes tonight. The ballet is on Friday—only three days away!”

“I just need to finish this,” Gold stalled, but even as the words left his mouth, guilt washed over him. He scowled, hating the knowledge that Bae was right. Damnable conscience. For most of the year he could and would just ignore it, but Christmas was upon them, and even a Scrooge such as he relented in the spirit of the holiday.

In just a few days Emma would be performing in Storybrooke’s rendition of one of Tchaikovsky’s most celebrated compositions, The Nutcracker. Gold hated dancing, hated community activities, hated anything that drew him out of his shop and among other people. But he loved his son and he was fond of Emma Nolan. Baeden was in another stratosphere of excitement for his girlfriend, and that meant that Gold would grit his teeth and suffer in silence.

Refusing to acknowledge the lame excuse, Bae said nothing, just continued to bore holes into the top of his dad’s brown and grey streaked head.

Feeling the weight of that disapproving gaze, Christian groaned inwardly and forced himself to look into his son’s hopeful visage. He placed the half-finished Regency vase carefully on the bench. “All right,” he relented. “I’ll get my coat.”

Relief flooded Bae’s face, the tension melting away into a bright smile. “Thank you, Pop.”

“Yes, yes,” Christian grumbled, sliding into his greatcoat. “Oh! I almost forgot.” Gold walked through the parted curtains separating the back of the shop from the front and snapped open a display case. “Here, I thought you might like to give this to Emma. An early Christmas present or good luck with the ballet. Whatever you like.”

Delighted, Baeden accepted the gift—an incredible hand painted wooden Nutcracker. Festooned in a cheerful red coat, matching hat, blue belt, and shiny black boots, the Nutcracker was the very picture of holiday cheer. Beautiful dark eyes framed his face and his shoulder length hair was dark and soft to the touch. “Wow, thanks, Pop! Did you fix this yourself? It looks brand new. Emma’s going to love it!”

Gold beamed at his son, pride in making his boy happy swelling his chest. Yes, the many hours he had spent restoring the figurine were worth it to see that expression on Bae’s face.

Peering closely at the wooden solider, Bae stroked a finger down the smooth grain of its cheek. He shuddered, then glanced at his father’s face. How strange. The Nutcracker bore his father’s likeness.

“Hey, Pop? This Nutcracker looks a bit like you.”

“Oh?” Gold examined the majestic, brave figurine and snorted before wrapping it in tissue paper and tucking it into a gift bag. Never had he looked so proud and regal. “I think you’re imagining things, son. Come on. You’re going to be late to meet your wee sweetheart.”

“You know,” Bae said casually, casting a sideways glance at his father as they walked to the car, “Miss French will be there.”

So much for his not-terrible mood, Gold thought sourly as he impatiently thumped his cane on the asphalt. “Why should I care? I mean, of course she’ll be there; it’s her studio,” he amended quickly, giving a disinterested sniff for good measure. “Between the ballet school, the library, and the music classes she organizes, that woman is a walking Fine Arts department. I doubt she eats, sleeps, or has any sort of life.”

And that makes her different from you because? The voice in Gold’s head mocked him. Oh, that’s right. You’re nothing but an ornery old cripple who can’t dance. Belle French is a young, beautiful, vibrant, graceful woman adored by the entire community.

“Shut up,” he commanded his brain.

“What?” Bae asked.

“Nothing.” Fantastic. Now he was yammering to himself like a daft lunatic in front of Bae.

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