One fifth of Ukrainian territory is now under Russian control, and there seems to be little chance of any future deal to end the war for the Ukrainians living under the occupation.

Three Ukrainians from different Russian-controlled cities told the BBC they face the risk of pressure from being forced to accept Russian passports to the risk of carrying out small amounts of resistance. We do not use their real names for our own safety, but call them Mavka, Pavlo and Iryna.

The potential dangers are the same, whether in Mariupol or Melitopol, Russia caught in the full invasion in 2022, or in Crimea annexed.

When the Russians invaded her city on February 25, 2022, Mafka chose to stay in Melitopol, "Because it is unfair, someone can come to my house to take it out."

She has lived there since her birth, a halfway life between the Crimean Peninsula and the regional capital Zaporizhzhia.

In recent months, she has noticed not only strict “Russian” policies have been formulated in cities, but also improved militarization in all areas of life, including schools.

She shared a photo of a billboard that facilitated recruitment by young locals, a school notebook with portraits of Putin, and a photo and a videotape that included students in Russian uniforms, not school costumes, not boys and girls—and on military education missions.

According to Pavlo, the city of Mariopol is about 200 kilometers (125 miles) along the coast of the Azov Sea and is closer to the Russian border, and Mariopol feels like it has been "cut off" from the outside world.

This key port and hub for Ukraine's steel industry was captured after nearly three months of devastating siege and bombing in 2022.

Russian citizenship is now a must, Pavlo said, if you want to work or study or seek emergency medical help.

"Suppose someone's child refuses to sing the Russian national anthem in the morning at school, the FSB (Russian security department) will visit their parents and they will be 'penced' and then anything happens."

Pavlo survived the siege, despite being shot six times, including his head.

Now that he has recovered, he feels unable to leave because of his elderly relatives.

He told me by phone after midnight: "Most people who live in Maripool or return are to help their older parents or sick grandparents, or because of their apartment."

Mariupol's biggest concern is retaining in your home as much of the property damaged in the Russian bombing has been removed and the costs of living and unemployment soar.

He said: “What I want to say is that 95% of all the conversations in the city are about property: how to claim it, how to sell it.

Crimea has been in occupation since the beginning of the war to annex Russia in Ukraine in 2014.

Iryna decided to stay and take care of an elderly relative, because she didn't want to leave the "beautiful home".

All signs of Ukrainian identity have been banned in public, and Erina said she can no longer speak in public, “because you never know who can tell the authorities your authority”.

Children in nurseries in Crimea sing the Russian national anthem every morning, even the youngest. All the teachers were Russians, most of them the wives of soldiers who moved in from Russia.

Iryna occasionally wears her traditions, embroidering Vyshyvanka When she is having video calls with friends from other parts of the peninsula, the most important thing is.

“This helps us keep our spirits and reminds us of the happy life before the occupation”.

However, even wearing Vyshyvanka is very risky. "They may not shoot you right away, but you can then disappear silently," she declared.

She said a Ukrainian friend was questioned by police because Russian neighbors in Crimea told police that he had illegal weapons in 2014. "Of course he didn't. Luckily, they finally let him go, but it was really scary."

Iryna complains that even she can’t go out for coffee by herself “because solder can get a gun to you, say something abuse or order you to please them”.

The resistance of Ukraine's occupation of cities is dangerous, and it is usually acted in small quantities, aimed at reminding residents that they are not alone.

In Melitopol, Mavka Zla Mavka (Anger Mavka) "Let people know that Ukrainians disagree with this profession, we do not call on it, we will never tolerate it".

According to Iryna, the network consists of women and girls in “almost all occupied cities”, although she cannot disclose its size or size due to the potential dangers of its members.

Mavka describes her role in social media accounts running the network that document career life, like placing Ukrainian symbols or flyers in public places “remind other Ukrainians that they are not alone”, or even more risky practices.

"Sometimes, we also put alcohol and baked goods for Russian soldiers as 'welcome backpacks'," she said.

The punishment for such behavior that the BBC cannot verify will be serious.

Mafka said Russian professional authorities view Ukrainian language or anything related to Ukraine as extremists.

Ukrainians are well aware of what happened to Viktoriia Roshchyna, a 27-year-old journalist who disappeared when he investigated the charges of torture prisons in eastern Ukraine in 2023.

Russian authorities told her family that she died in custody in September 2024.

Mavka is most worried about the silent disappearance: "Suddenly no one can find out where you are or what happened."

Her network has developed a series of new carpenter missions to avoid penetration, and so far they have managed to avoid cyber attacks.

For now, they are waiting and watching: "We can't pick up our weapons and fight the occupiers right now, but we at least hope to show that the pro-Ukrainian population is here, and will be here too".

She and the rest of Melitopol follow what is happening in Kyiv, “Because it’s important that we know if Kyiv is ready to fight for us.

"We have an atmosphere roller coaster here. Many people are worried that the documents might be signed, God forbids, to keep us in Russia's profession longer. Because we know what Russia will do here."

Mavka and those close to her are concerned that if Kiev does agree to a ceasefire, it could mean Russia adopts the same policy as Crimea, thereby eliminating Ukrainian identity and suppressing the population.

"They have been replacing locals with their people. But the people here are still hopeful, we will continue our resistance, we just need to be more creative".

Unlike Mavka, Pavlo believes that the war must end, even if it means losing his ability to return to Ukraine.

“Human life is the greatest value…but there are certain ceasefire conditions and not everyone will agree with them because this raises the question, why are all these people dead in the last three years?

Pavlo is even wary of the conversation through encrypted lines, but adds: “I don’t envy anyone involved in this decision-making process. It won’t be simple, black and white.

Iryna, fearing that the next generation of Crigea has grown up in a violent atmosphere, said she replicated her father who returned from the Russian war against Ukraine.

She showed me the bandaged cat and said a child was shooting with rubber bullets in the street.

"It's fun for them. These kids aren't taught to build peace, they're taught to fight. It broke my heart."