Yeastenders – Episode Fifteen

Image Description:
An overhead view of a fictional baked-goods town called Walnutford, designed in the style of a map. A glossy custard river runs horizontally from left to right across the centre of the image, gently curving as it flows. On either side of the river is a bustling town made entirely of baked treats. You can see pies with lattice and star tops, croissants, bread rolls, loaves, tarts, and pastry parcels, all arranged like buildings on a map. Whipped cream puffs and green fondant leaves appear like trees and parks. The ground looks like it’s dusted with fine flour or biscuit crumbs. At the top centre, large white text reads “YeastEnders”, with “Walnutford” in smaller letters below. The entire scene is warm, golden, and surreal – a deliciously baked parody of the EastEnders opening titles.

 

YeastEnders – Episode Fifteen – The Bunch Rises Soon

 

It was barely past sunrise when the shriek rang out across Almond Square.

Dotty Doughnut, arms full of crumpet crates, had dropped the lot outside the Queen Victoria Sponge.

“Peggy! PEGGY! Someone’s jammed the front!”

Peggy Cherry Bakewell came bustling to the door, tea towel in hand. “If this is about Ryan Rye’s breakfast tab again—”

But then she saw it.

Right across the bakery tiles in front of the pub, dripping in vivid red jam and piped chocolate, were four words:

“The Bunch Rises Soon.”

Grant the Spotted Dick stepped forward, nostrils flaring. “Is this some kind of sick bake-off prank?”

Phil the Pudding was already pulling on his oven mitts. “No prank. This is a warning.”

Peggy stared at the message, her cherry quivering. “It’s them… it’s really them.”

Raisin Roxy appeared at the edge of the crowd, silent.

Maurice Mille Feuille strolled out of the coffee van, slow and deliberate. “I told you they were watching. And now they’ve started baking again.”

“Who are they?” whispered Dotty.

Roxy spoke at last. “The Buttered Bunch. They don’t just bake cakes. They bake chaos.”

Everyone turned.

Peggy reached under the bar and pulled out her old biscuit tin safe. “Lock the doors. Double ice the windows. Until I know who’s smearing jam on my tiles, no one leaves this square.”

Maurice smirked. “Ah, Madame Bakewell… You still know how to lead a flan-fight.”

Fatbread popped his head out from the bakery. “So… do I cancel Open Mic Jam Night or…?”

Peggy glared.

“…Right. Cancelled.”