Meet River & Celia

Survival. And thrival. All day. Every day. Writers. Wanderers. Overall odd-bods. We’re the duo behind Underland—an ongoing experiment in queer creativity, storytelling, and the boing of far too many ideas and the attention spans of moths on a Red Bull diet.

This is Underland. Reality is… flexible. So is sanity.

(Mostly harmless. Frequently caffeinated or stoned or something.)

—River

It’s a strange and wonderful feeling, sitting here in our living room, surrounded by our adopted cat children, planning a life I never thought I’d have. In just a few months, we’ll be heading to Thailand—that’ll make four countries together in under a year: the US, the UK, Turkey (for a holiday), and now our new home in Min Buri. It’s surreal.

The love and respect that’s grown out of this marriage is… bizarre and beautiful. We met on a writing site. There was an instant connection—a friendship built on mutual respect for the person and the art—that quietly grew into something deeper.

It’s been one hell of a journey. Literal blood, sweat, and tears. Celia came to America just after I had chest masculinization surgery—a double mastectomy, or, as we call it, “the yeet of the teets.” She took care of me in a surreal hotel room (meant to be an Airbnb, but that went to hell), where she cooked what we now call “bathroom curry” in a hotpot plugged into the wall usually reserved for the world’s saddest hairdryer.

We didn’t exactly take it slow. Trial by fire.

Then we had to part. I don’t think either of us expected the airport goodbye to be that brutal. We were ready—ready to begin—but an international move is complicated. I needed a few more months to secure health insurance, and to spend time with my sister before I left the country.

The day I flew to Illinois to visit her, Trump won the presidency for the second time. I was gutted. I wasn’t just leaving my country—I was leaving my friends and family in it. My sister is trans. I know she’s in danger.

R x

Still, that month was important. I got to know her again, this time as adults. It was slow, and it hurt not having Celia nearby, but I’m grateful.

Then we got married. The ceremony was very us: small, heartfelt, with a Republican mayor officiating (who, to be fair, turned out to be surprisingly lovely, if slightly clueless). After that, we left—and now, the rest is history. Or maybe it’s just the next story, waiting to be told.

We are life partners, writing partners, art partners. It’s a wild and wonderful thing to share your life with someone who sees your vision.

I’m glad to be here. Even if it’s a bit of a headfuck to be in another country while my own crumbles so spectacularly.

—Celia

I’ve spent my adult life working in education. That was my life. The classroom, young adults on the precipice of their next journey. My journey? Relationships? Love? That was for other people. I wasn’t looking for anything.

Then I met River on a writing site. Serendipity disguised as internet skulduggery.

I fell in love with a soul—their talent, their heart. The rest? Just logistics. Logistics driven by love, and powered by a healthy touch of insanity.

Now here we are, on the precipice of whatever comes next. Writing together, dreaming together, surviving and creating—hurtling forward in this beautiful, madhap narrative of ours.

C x

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