Twenty-five complete, deliberately different concepts for OrlaithAndNiall.com: same true facts, same photos, twenty-five worlds. Every one has the full content: both days, travel & stay, story, gallery, countdown, and a working RSVP mock-up. Open each, scroll the whole way, then pick the one that feels most like ye.
How to judge: open on your phone as well as the laptop — most guests will arrive from a WhatsApp link. Give each one 90 seconds. The winner gets the real RSVP backend, Niall's story copy, and the domain in the next session.
Orlaith's pick, rebuilt from her notes of 4 October. Same drive from Derry to Limerick, now with a full countdown to the second, a 1:30 ceremony, the starting fives, the new photos and captions, and a reply card where everyone on an invite answers for themselves.
New this round: sound comes on at your first tap (one switch turns it off), and the Woodlands room code has its spot waiting.
A naturalist's folio of one Limerick April — engraved dusty-blue plates, hand-drawn hawthorn and swallows, the pair recorded as specimens of one shared habitat. The soul of the invitation suite, pushed further.
The moment: "Orlaith woodsii — always going to end up at the Woodlands." Plates ink themselves as you scroll.
A souvenir sports paper for the only cup final that matters: WOODS v McDERMOTT. Halftone press photos, a match report, tale of the tape, classified-ad FAQ — and a real LED scoreboard counting down.
The moment: the seven-segment scoreboard ticking live under the splash headline. Funniest of the five by design.
The photo booth after dark. Your real black-and-white strip is the hero — scrolling physically advances it, flash by flash. Prints on a drying line, a call-sheet running order, an RSVP you take like a photo.
The moment: the strip advancing frame-by-frame under your thumb: the exact device that went viral for @the.white.lane, except this strip is really yours.
A mid-century departures hall where every trip ye ever took points home. A genuinely working split-flap board, stamped route map (Vegas → Dubai → Crete → Adare), boarding-pass days, check-in RSVP.
The moment: the board clattering through letters until it settles on MONALEEN CHURCH · BOARDING. Strongest for the travelling Derry/Belfast crowd.
The gig of the year: bulb-bordered marquee, your names in real flickering neon, The Bentley Boys on the bill, both days as taped setlists, and a song-request wall guests actually build.
The moment: the neon stuttering awake over "ORLAITH & NIALL", then signing the guest list for an ON THE LIST stamp.
Round two. Two more takes on the dusty blue, then three that go somewhere else entirely.
The website is the stationery. A dusty-blue letterpress suite on a linen press table: sealed envelope, deckled cards, a lifting vellum sheet. The closest cousin to the real invitations.
The moment: the wax seal cracks, the flap lifts, and the invitation slides out of its envelope. The RSVP is the reply card itself.
The good china, brought out for the biggest day: a blue-and-white service painted willow-pattern style with their places. Two swallows, the Shannon, the Kilkee cliffs, the table laid for everyone.
The moment: the hero charger paints itself in, stroke by stroke; later the biggest plate turns over and its backstamp is the RSVP.
The wedding as the final of a two-player arcade basketball game: attract screen, player select in county colours (Limerick green v Derry red), the story as stages, a stats screen, CRT glass over the lot.
The moment: player select pins while both pixel sprites slam in and the gold VS flips to an ampersand. RSVP means entering your initials.
Miss Woods' class does the news. The whole day written up in an Irish school copybook: An Nuacht entries with red-pen ticks, a spelling list, sums that all work out, gold stars earned honestly.
The moment: the manila cover tilts open on the desk, and the RSVP is a permission slip for the best day out of the year. Counted in sleeps.
Two counties, one map. Sheet 23-04-27: a red route from Derry and a green one that never leaves Limerick meet at Shake Dog, an X marks the Kilkee cliffs, and every road ends at Monaleen Church.
The moment: scroll draws the red line the length of Ireland while the green one barely twitches, and the day itself is an elevation profile with two summits.
Round three. Ten more, every one built around motion. The first four make the trip from Derry to Limerick as you scroll. Sound is off until you tap it.
Ireland from the air. A real 3D flight down the actual road from the Peace Bridge in Derry to King John's Castle: Donegal, Benbulben, Knock, the Shannon. The route turns from Derry red to Limerick green as the two counties meet.
The moment: the camera lifts off the Foyle at dawn with your names across the sky. Built on free map data, so it's best on wifi.
The trip south from the back seat. A cut-paper Ireland slides past the car window as you scroll, a basketball bouncing along the stone walls, and the road signs switch from miles to kilometres at Lifford.
The moment: your names traced in the fogged-up glass over Derry, then a rainbow over King John's Castle when you arrive.
Ireland as a toy on the kitchen table. A chunky 3D island, and a basketball bouncing the real road from Derry to Limerick, sixty bounces, with the camera chasing it.
The moment: swish: the ball drops through a hoop on King John's Castle. Ages: all. Pieces: about 298.
Derry was the shirt-making city; Limerick gave the world Limerick lace. A Derry thread stitches south down a linen map of Ireland while a lace thread works north. Scroll is the needle.
The moment: the two threads knot, and the knot becomes O & N in satin stitch. The FAQ is on the messy back of the cloth.
Real-time water at Kilkee. Scroll off the cliffs where he asked, through the surf and down into the Atlantic, where the details are found like things in the Pollock Holes.
The moment: the waterline rises over your names. The RSVP waits on the sand. Sound of the sea if you tap it.
Your story as a children's pop-up book. Every spread folds open and the paper stands up: the thumbs-up, Shake Dog, Dubai, Kilkee, the church, the Treehouse.
The moment: pull the tab at Shake Dog: one chicken, one cheese and garlic chips. The countdown is a paper wheel on the cover.
The whole site is one sky over Limerick on 23 April 2027. Scroll is the clock: the real sunrise, the one o'clock light over Monaleen, sunset at Adare, the real moon that night.
The moment: the day's plan written into the sky, pointing at where the sun will actually be at each moment.
Modern and minimal. Giant letters that collide, split and rebuild into the facts. Photos only ever appear inside the letters.
The moment: ORLAITH and NIALL squaring up like a fight poster, then breaking apart into 23.04.27.
Where it really started. The site is the takeaway at three in the morning: lit menu boards, the ticket rail, the counter. Order 002: one chicken, one cheese and garlic chips.
The moment: the RSVP prints a receipt you tear off. The day's timings are on the menu board as prices.
An Irish April grows on screen. Apple blossom, primroses, wild garlic and forget-me-nots, all drawn by code, unfurl stem by stem around the words.
The moment: say yes and the whole page bursts into bloom: 298 petals, about one for every guest.
Round four. Five closer to classic, built from Orlaith's notes: separate pages with tabs, a clear order of the day, the album up front, fun captions, no song requests. Three in cloudy blue, two in alternative colours.
Your own cloudy-blue invitation, grown into a website. White line flowers in the arched frame, a wax-sealed envelope that opens properly, and every tab is the next card of the suite.
The moment: break the O & N seal and the invitation rises out of the envelope to become the home page.
Pure letterpress, and the most professional of the lot. Nothing printed, everything pressed into thick white cotton in two inks. The photos sit in pressed frames like fine-art prints.
The moment: the logo is pressed huge and uninked, and a soft light follows your finger so the impression catches it.
The wedding lands in bluebell week, at a place called the Woodlands. A watercolour spring wood at the hour the bluebells turn the ground to blue haze.
The moment: the bluebells sway on the home page, and every tab change is a watercolour wash sweeping across the page.
A pressed-flower keepsake album in sage, the first alternative colour. Primroses, forget-me-nots and bluebells under glassine, photos tucked in with handwritten captions, and the tabs are the album's dividers.
The moment: change page and a glassine sheet folds across the album with the next page showing faintly through it.
Navy and gold, the second alternative. A navy envelope addressed in gold calligraphy, and the tabs are engraved stamps: Monaleen, Kilkee, the Peace Bridge, the Guildhall, the Woodlands.
The moment: the postmark rolls across the stamps, and choosing one lifts the flap and draws that letter out of the envelope.
Next step: pick the winner (or a "this one, but with that concept's countdown" combination; worlds can trade signature moments). Then: RSVP backend, real copy, photo grading, domain, deploy.