Build the web you want to see

fortrabbit is not really the self-hosted indie web. We run servers (on AWS), push security updates, rotate TLS certificates, and charge you for the privilege of not thinking about that. That's the same trade some big walled gardens are selling, with a friendlier support inbox and much less lock-in. If "own your content" means "depend on no one," we don't qualify. We ask you to depend on us.

Between Lovable and a Raspberry Pi under your desk there's a third thing. A site that's yours — your domain, your files, your weird color choices, your eight-year-old post that nobody asked for — running on infrastructure you didn't have to build yourself. That's the web we'd like to be useful for.

# The boring parts

Here's what we actually sell. Linux. PHP runtimes. TLS certificates that renew before they expire. Security patches applied on a schedule. Backups that run whether you remembered or not. Logs you can read. A deploy you don't have to babysit.

None of that is glamorous. It's the part of the web nobody writes manifestos about, because nobody enjoys it. We do it so you don't have to learn it twice.

That puts us closer to the cloud landlords than we'd like to admit. We try to be a smaller, more honest landlord. But we're still renting you a room.

# Own it

A site we host belongs to you.

Your domain. Buy it from a registrar, point it where you want, take it with you when you leave. We don't hold it.

Your files. Markdown is still a joy to write and trivial to move. HTML is forty years old and still works. Static files outlive runtimes. Write in formats a future you can open without our help.

Your feed. RSS still delivers posts to people who actually asked for them, no algorithm in the middle.

If everything you make is exportable, portable, and addressable by a URL you control, you've already done the load-bearing work. The rest is taste.

# The taste

The taste is on you.

A platform can host a personal site. It can't make it personal. What makes someone bookmark a stranger's blog at 1 a.m. is a posture, not a stack. It's the willingness to publish something half-finished. To pick a stubborn color palette and keep it. To write a 3,000-word essay about your favorite font. To leave the tpyo in.

The web that's coming back isn't the one with the right tooling. It's the one with people in it. Odd layouts. Weird footers. Pages that take a position. We can keep the lights on. We can't be the person at the keyboard.

The web is better when you show up. We'll keep the boring parts running.