A/N: Guess what? I got inspired again. This time, not mainly by a song, but by another writer, which is the best kind of inspiration for me. If the fabulous Lady Blackwater hadn't written The Pepsi-Cola Myth, (read that flawless shit –NOW—but keep in mind that it's super-dirty so don't read it as a bedtime story for your kids) and given me the okay to write fanfiction from another fanfiction, then this little idea wouldn't have made its way to a document. It's really just the aftershock of that fantastic earthquake. I'm so going to hell for this, lol. Real person fanfiction is a crazy, complex concept. SeDona, you're the dopest. So here, I present…

Taybert Del Rey in…

Pepsi-Cola: Mythbusted

"Have you listened to Lana Del Rey, Kristen? You should."

"You've told me about her only a thousand fucking times, Rob. Who is she?"

"Why haven't you listened to her yet?" the British man asks, sitting down on the couch of his living room next to his girlfriend. His thick eyebrows furrow at the unbelievable thought that his girlfriend, Kristen Stewart, doesn't know who Lana Del Rey is, and she isn't making any attempts to find out. He thought they met before. Guess not.

"I've been busy, Rob," Kristen replies. "You know this."

"With that pig Rupert Sanders, right?"

Kristen hits her boyfriend, Robert Pattinson, on the arm. "He is not a pig!" she protests. "And that's beside the point. You've been so obsessed with Lana since you went on that bowling trip with Taylor a week ago. Did they play her songs all afternoon or something?"

Uh, something like that.

Rob shrugs innocently. "She's very talented." In more ways than one.

"I bet she is," Kristen agrees awkwardly with a jump of her thin eyebrows. "Have you heard about how she treats the people who don't like her?"

"She's a bad-ass," Rob says in Lana's defense. "She's allowed to do that."

Kristen nods. "Okay, and when I flip off the paparazzi, I get shit about it for a month."

"So? That always happens."

Kristen sighs and gets up, picking up her iPhone and sunglasses from the coffee table. "I'm going out," she says.

"Where?" Rob asks.

"You never cared before. Feed Max for me."

Leaving Rob wordless (and assigned to feed her cat), Kristen departs their Los Angeles home. She's been so distant lately, and it worries Rob. It truly, honestly, justly worries him. Rob and Kristen have broken up before, and it put Rob to pieces. Kristen was always the one doing the breaking, too.

Rob can't live like this, though. It's July of two thousand twelve. The next Twilight film's promotion hasn't started yet. He can have fun.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and dials the only person who would understand. He also craves the taste of Pepsi cola.

Taylor Lautner's simple ringtone plays and his phone vibrates as he is at the checkout line of the local grocery store. He is buying tampons for his girlfriend, Sara—again. Taylor doesn't mind, but he always gets the slight feeling in the back of his mind that he's being… used. He trusts his girlfriend, who plays for the Los Angeles Clippers, but he can't help but think that something strange is going on. All these trips to the local Olive Garden, always taking her and her friends out for sushi in his nice car… Interesting.

Taylor almost misses the call, deep in his own thoughts, but he eventually answers it. It's Rob. "Hey," he greets him, putting his—meaning Sara's—items onto the belt.

"What are you doing tonight, Taylor?" Rob asks.

"Going to the Oli—," he begins. Wait, no. "Nothing. Why? Are you doing anything?"

"No," Rob says sullenly. "That's why I called you."

"What did you have in mind?"

"I was going to ask if you wanted to go to a bar," Rob offers, "but then I remembered you're underage."

"I would," Taylor replies, "but you're right—I'm underage."

Rob gets a sudden idea. "How about we call Lana?"

"Paper or plastic, sir?" is what the giggly cashier asks Taylor. He flashes his million dollar smile in return and answers, "Plastic."

"Taylor, listen to me," Rob says through the phone. "We should call Lana."

"That was a one-time occasion," Taylor protests. "It was a… a meeting. That's it." Taylor pays the cashier, takes his—meaning Sara's—bag, and goes back to his car with the paparazzi taking many photos of him in the warm light of the near Hollywood sunset. Taylor adjusts his backwards cap and continues to make his way to his fast, sleek Mercedes.

"I know," says Rob, "but… dammit, I miss her." Rob takes a deep breath. "I think I love her."

Taylor nearly drops his keys once he gets into his car at what Rob just told him. "What?" he asks, slamming the door closed and pulling out of the parking lot.

"Lana Del Rey is…" Rob faltered. "She's the reason we exist. Everybody knows it; it's a fact. Kiss, kiss." Rob laughs. He can really crack himself up when he wants to.

Taylor laughs his trademark chuckle and then tells Rob he'll call him back soon. Taylor's not the best at driving, but he would never talk and drive at the same time; Sara would never allow it.

He eventually gets home, and Sara is waiting for him there with a smile on his face. He hands over her items and heads back out immediately. "Where are you going, Taylor? I thought you were getting me sushi later," Sara calls as he backs out of the driveway again.

Taylor rolls down the window and gives Sara a smirk. "I'll be back later. I'm caught up in the game."

That is the last thing Sara hears from Taylor that day.

In all honesty, Rob and Kristen don't really let Taylor into their lives anymore.

During the sparkling, fantastical Twilight promotion, the illusion of a three-person lead actors team is given, when in reality, Taylor receives the shorter end of the stick—every single time. That's not Rob and Kristen's fault, but it is their fault that Taylor never remembers where they live. For one thing, they never invite him over, so of course Taylor has to park on the side of the road and call Rob.

"What's taking you so long?" Rob asks before Taylor can say anything.

Taylor simply says, "I'm lost."

Rob gives Taylor directions to his large home he shares with Kristen, and Taylor is there in almost no time.

"So, you're in love with the girl we met only once?" Taylor asks, standing in Rob's living room.

Rob runs a hand through his tousled hair that made him famous, and sighs. "I guess so."

"Oh, boy."

"We should go out with her again," Rob suddenly says.

"We almost got caught the last time!" Taylor reminds his British companion. "You need to let her go."

"That's easy for you to say, Taylor," Rob tells him, pouting a bit.

"What are you talking about?"

"You're only not in love with her like I am—or you just won't admit it yet—because Sara keeps you as her slave."

Taylor shakes his head. "You wouldn't even know."

"Tampons, Taylor? Really?"

"How did you know about that?" Taylor asks, his eyes narrowing at Rob.

"I heard the checkout lady over the phone," Rob replies. "She giggled and said, 'That will be four dollars and ninety-nine cents for your tampons, sir.'"

"So?" Taylor asks. "I'm being a good boyfriend."

"You're being a slave!" Rob disputes. "Think about it: when was the last time you and Sara had sex?"

Taylor blushes a bit; people just don't ask him these kinds of questions. "Um…" he wavers.

Rob throws his hands into the air. "See, even you can't remember."

"Every relationship is different," Taylor says easily. "It's not like I ask you about you and Kristen."

"That's because there's nothing to say about me and Kristen," Rob admits. "She's been so busy. She doesn't even want me to go anywhere with her anymore. At least your girlfriend likes to be around you. I'm starting to think Kristen has a different English boyfriend."

"C'mon," Taylor says in a consoling tone, "don't say that. Things will be okay."

"And now I'm in love with the gangster bitch," Rob continues. "Insane, right? Absolutely bonkers."

"Maybe you should see Lana for closure," Taylor advises. "Maybe we both should. I mean… I love her, too. We need this."

"It's not like anyone died, Taylor. I already said it: I'm in love with her. And now you are, too. I've been listening to her album all day long. Kristen doesn't even seem to like her."

"Fine," Taylor says, giving up the consoling act. "We'll go see her. Is she still in town?"

"Her fan site says she's going back to New York tomorrow," Rob replies.

"Then we'll talk to her," Taylor decides. "I still have her number."

"She gave you a number?" Rob asks, bewildered.

Taylor nods. "Yeah, she did. Didn't you get it, too?"

Rob admits, "I think I lost it."

"Alright, whatever. I'll call her." Taylor reaches into the pocket of his (to be honest, pretty tight) jeans and pulls out his phone. He settles on Rob's couch, and Rob heads to his refrigerator to get himself a cold can of Pepsi. It's his favorite beverage now.

"Lizzy?" Taylor asks into the phone. "Yeah, it's Taylor… I'm great. How are you? …That's great! New York sounds awesome. So, Rob and I, uh… we were wondering if you would like to meet us again. …No, not at that hotel again. Somewhere kind of private, but not that private. How about dinner? …Fine, we won't go to the Olive Garden tonight. …What's the name of the place you said? Okay. Thanks, Lizzy. I mean, Lana. We'll see you as soon as possible."

Taylor hangs up and looks to Rob, who is finished with his Pepsi. "Do you really have to drink that right now?" Taylor asked, his brown eyes wide.

"Do you really have to keep calling her 'Lizzy'?" Rob asks in return. "That's my sister's name!"

"Sorry, it's out of habit. Anyway, she wants to meet us at this French restaurant."

Rob gulps down his Pepsi cola and picks up one of his jackets lying around. "Let's not waste time, then," he decides. "The queen is waiting."

In Los Angeles traffic, Rob and Taylor arrive at the restaurant that Lana guided them to in forty-five minutes, and Rob barely drove legally. The sky fell dark on the drive there, but they still made it. It could have been quicker, though. Exiting his bucket of a car, Rob thinks, Well, shit, at least I tried.

The flash bulbs of the cameras capture Taylor and Rob entering the restaurant, and Lana isn't hard to spot in the restaurant; she's easily the most beautiful woman in the room, and she smiles coyly at her two companions from her table.

The two men make their way to the table and sit down across from her. Taylor squirms in his seat a little. Rob hopes he smells okay. It's safe to say that Miss Del Rey, the self-proclaimed Coney Island Queen, makes these two men nervous. They are putty in her hands.

"What did you want to talk about?" Lana asks cutely but in an all-business kind of way, her fingers laced under her chin and her long, brown hair falling straight down her back.

"Um…" Taylor begins. "Well…"

"Lana, I'm in love with you," Rob blurts out. Many people at the restaurant fall silent and turn to Lana, Robert's, and Taylor's table's direction. Hopefully nobody heard that, Rob thinks.

"So am I," Taylor admits quietly.

Lana continues to smile coyly, and she straightens up in her seat. "What's the problem, then?" she asks.

"We have girlfriends," Taylor tells her before Rob can say something else much too loudly.

"We do," Rob agrees.

Lana nods at Rob. "I know your girlfriend," she replies, "and she wouldn't mind."

Oh, Rob thinks.

Taylor blushes and speaks up again. "But mine would," he tells Lana. "Look, Lana… Rob and I… we've got feelings for you."

"We can make things work," she says. "I always make things work. This isn't any different."

"But…" Rob begins quietly. "But do you love us, too?"

Lana smiles in a sad, puppy-dog sort of way and puts one hand each on Robert and Taylor's cheeks. "It's better than I ever even knew," she says sweetly and whole-heartedly, her hazel eyes darting from Taylor's brown ones to Rob's blue ones, back and forth. "Heaven is a place on Earth with you two."

Lana has always been honest with her emotions. She's never been a heartbreaker, and she doesn't plan on it. Even if she is one, though, Rob and Taylor would still love her nonetheless. She's young, dope, and proud, after all.

Taylor comes home to an empty house that night. His parents and younger sister are out, and not even Sara is waiting for him. Even as Taylor went on a date of his own tonight, everybody is still gone. And for once, he likes it. It gives him room to think. Without his cheerleader girlfriend wrapping herself around him like a boa constrictor, he has space. His mind can be free. And as of now, a war is running through it.

Taylor Lautner is very much so in love with Lizzy Grant.

He has a bad, burning desire for her touch, her smell, her voice… her taste. He already misses the way she smiles, even at the things that she says. He loves the faces she makes, because each and every expression is special and memorable. He loves everything about her—at dinner, she told him, "You think you like me now; you should hear me sing." And now, Taylor cannot stop himself from blasting Born To Die. He doesn't want to stop.

He loves her from head to toe, and he only wants to see her again. He loves her big, beauty queen-styled hair; he loves her seductive, yet innocent Bambi eyes; her pouty, gorgeous lips; her lean but beautiful frame… He loves the way she thinks. She's as smart as a whip, and she know what she wants. She knows how to be in control, and even as Taylor is a slave to that, he likes it. He's used to the feeling, but Lana's full of surprises, unlike Sara. Sara's pussy doesn't taste like Pepsi cola; Sara isn't the self-proclaimed queen of anything; Sara isn't even a degenerate beauty queen. Sara is nothing to Taylor now, or as close as it gets.

Taylor knows just what he's going to do to fix it.

"Hello, heaven, you are tunnel-lined

With yellow lights on a dark night. . ."

Rob doesn't go straight home after dinner. Instead, he hits up a bar solo. Taylor isn't of age, Lana is busy, and Rob doesn't feel like calling anybody else. He used to joke about his social life—or lack thereof—but now he realizes the truth in what he always says; he really doesn't have many friends. The friends he currently has are unavailable. Rob is having a very lonesome Friday night.

As he sits alone at the bar, he now has a taste at what it must feel like to be Taylor. The loneliness makes him feel guilty.

Rob is a lovesick, confused, and now drunk slob. If things were right with the world, he would be with Lana right now, but things are not right with the world. He doesn't know what to do with Kristen, or himself. Sure, he could leave her abruptly, disappearing into thin air, like she has, but he can't bring himself to do that. He just can't. He occasionally wonders where Kristen is, and then he comes to the conclusion that he just doesn't care.

You hear that? he thinks to himself. I don't care about Kristen anymore. I still have to break up with her, though.

He chugs down his beer –he lost count of how many he's had, but his vision is all blurry—and slams the mug down. He knows he's going to have to leave soon; the fangirls will find him. Their cries bring no appeal to Rob on a daily basis. He doesn't like it when every outing feels like a movie premiere. He doesn't like the fame at all anymore, but he can't let himself ever curse at the paparazzi or flip them off, much like somebody who he used to know does. That person is long gone, though. She's much busier than her other half these days, and Rob can't be bothered by it anymore.

"Put me onto your black motorcycle.

Fifty baby doll dress for my 'I Do. . .'"

Lana's dreamy, wonderful voice drones through the speakers of the bar, and Rob finds himself in a temporary, dark, fantastic paradise. It doesn't last long, because the song—a song he doesn't know—ends soon. Way too soon.

He can't remember leaving the bar later, but he eventually ghosts out of the pub. People are surrounding him, screaming his name, trying to touch him. He gets touched. He gets poked and prodded. He doesn't like it. He gets his hat taken right off his head. He even feels locks of his hair being pulled from his scalp.

He keeps his words (and middle fingers) to himself, but he can't take it any longer. He's not like Lana in this way. He never wanted the money (well, he needed that), notoriety, and rivieras. The cameras do nothing for him except make him want to curl up in a ball and die. Maybe if he can get to his car, though… Maybe he can—

He's falling.

He's down.

He's dead.

(He thinks.)

"C'mon, Rob. Wake up, babe. Do you need a cigarette or something?"

"I know I do. Robert, honey, wake up. Wait, Kristen, does he like Pepsi?"


"Never mind."

"Look, Lizzy, he's waking up. Or is your name Carmen, like the song?"

"It's Lana."

Rob's eyes flutter open. First he sees the ceiling of his living room, but then he sees both Kristen and Lana hovering over him.

He groans and passes out again.

The next morning, Saturday, Taylor is going to have breakfast with Sara. He needs to get things done. He's still unaware of what happened to Rob, and he won't know for a while either. Kristen wouldn't call him. Nobody would.

Or so we thought.

On his way out the door, Taylor gets a phone call. The caller ID identifies the caller as Lana, and Taylor's heart flutters like a hummingbird's.

"Hey, Lana," he greets her. "What's up?"

"Rob passed out last night," she tells him abruptly.

Taylor's expression is surprised. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah," she replies. "He was just drunk, is all."

"I'm so glad you're there to help him… Wait, you are with him, right?"

"Of course. And so is Kristen."


"Mm-hmm. Rob just passed out again, but he'll be fine."

"Uh, are things awkward with Kristen?"

"Kinda," Lana says honestly.

"I thought you guys were friends?" Taylor asks confusedly.

"I said that I know her," Lana reminds Taylor. "Not that I like her."


"I should probably go now. I think he's waking up. I'm supposed to be flying back to New York today, but I don't think I will. I have other plans in store."

Taylor's eyes widen. "What plans?"

Lana giggles and says, "You'll see. Just be home as soon as you can. It's already ten now. You're breaking up with…? What's her name again?"

"Sara. And yes, I'm breaking up with her. I'll be home by twelve."

"Okay. See you then, Tay."

"See you then, Lana."

"You're the bestest."

Taylor melts. "Thanks. You, too."

Taylor doesn't get swamped at the diner he meets Sara at for breakfast. He almost goes unnoticed, but he can't help but pay a little attention to some of the flashing cameras. He holds his ground and finds his girlfriend waiting at a table for him.

Sara looks tired. She's also not wearing any makeup. She looks annoyed, too, to top it all off.

"Hey," Taylor greets her easily. She doesn't even stand up to kiss him.

"Good morning," she says solemnly. This obviously isn't a very good morning for her

"Sara," Taylor begins, straight off the bat, "I wanna talk."

"About what?"

"We need to break up."

Sara's face crumples a little and she pouts in an unattractive fashion. "Why?"

"You're using me," Taylor admits. At least, that's half of the problem. "I don't want to be used."

"I am not using you."

"Tampon runs? Olive Garden trips? Me picking up your friends? Sara, you're using me as an assistant or something. And… and I can't have it anymore."

She frowns. "That's not true."

"Yes it is. Someone made me see the light, and oh, boy—I've seen it. You've gotta understand, Sara. I can't do this anymore."

"Are you back with Lily?" she snarls. "Or Selena?"

"What? No! Sara, I can't be your little pet anymore. And besides, I've found a new love in my life—and you're not it."

"Are you gay?" she demands.

It's not like Taylor hasn't heard that before. "Nope. I'm moving on." He gets up from his seat, pulls his sunglasses from the collar of his shirt, and slides them onto his face. He feels like a badass.

When he gets to his car, he can't believe how clean the break was. He just got it done, and he's proud of himself for it.

All he has left to worry about are Lana's plans.

Back at the Pattinson-Stewart quarters, Rob is cleaned up and slightly hung over. His mind is still his own, though, and once Lana leaves (Kristen offered her breakfast, which Lana politely refused), he's going to have to do the unthinkable.

Kristen makes an omelet for herself, and Rob wonders what Taylor did, trying to find a way to tackle his own problem. Then again, Taylor is not Rob, and Sara is not Kristen. So, Rob waits. He watches Kristen eat, and he patiently waits for her to be done. He wouldn't want to have a hot omelet flying at his face in case Kristen doesn't react well.

Finally, Kristen finishes her breakfast. After downing her screwdriver (orange juice with a touch of vodka, or vice-versa for her), she sets the glass down and makes her way upstairs. However, Rob catches her.

"Hey," he says.

She stops at the third stair up the staircase, glowering down at Rob. Her eyes are sort of glazed, and the same look is in his eyes. Even as they're wrong together, they're really sort of right, too. "Yeah?" she murmurs.

Rob looks up at Kristen, his hands at her waist. She doesn't look like she's about to cry or anything. She's just waiting for Rob to say the words. She's almost expecting him to say something displeasing.

"Kristen, doll," he begins uneasily, "this isn't a very easy thing for me to do."

"What's not an easy thing for you to do?"

"Um…" Rob sighs. "I… I… Kristen, I'm in love with another woman."

Her face doesn't change. "What the fuck are you telling me, Rob?"

"I cheated on you, okay? I cheated on you in a threesome with Ta—Um, other people. And I'm in love with the woman involved. I'm leaving you, Kristen."

Kristen takes his hands and slams them down, away from her waist. "What about the house?" she demands, angry now. "What about everything we planned? What about… well, Twilight? Rob, we have to keep this up. The company will go insane if we don't."

"You have money," Rob replies. "You can make it all work."

"Well, who's the woman?"

This is the hard part, Rob thinks.

"Who. Is. It?" Kristen requests, her green eyes like daggers.

"It's… well, it's Lana Del Rey. I'm sorry, Kristen, but she has something I need, and that's love. If I asked her to be with me somewhere, she'd be there, ride or die, fail or fly."

Kristen looks like she wants to scream. Or kick her English boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) in the face. Or both. The action is undefinable. She's fuming, though. She has nothing else to say. Lana was wrong; Kristen does mind.

"I love you, Kristen," Rob tells her truthfully, "but your pussy doesn't taste like Pepsi cola. Feed Bear for me."

Then Rob turns around and heads out the front door.

He doesn't take his car. He doesn't take anything but his wallet and cell phone with him. He has a bittersweet taste in his mouth, but at the same time, he feels relieved. He's never felt better. The early July breeze is his paradise—or as close as it gets—and everything is perfect. Almost.

He walks and walks until he gets to the open road, and all of a sudden, he hears an engine roaring from behind him. He jumps out of the way; him ending up as roadkill before the last Twilight movie wouldn't be a very good thing.

However, the car stops. "What are you waiting for?" a voice asks. "Hop in!"

Rob turns, and he suddenly sees Lana and Taylor seated in a light blue, 1957 Chevy Bel Air with the top down. Lana is in the passenger seat, and Taylor is now scooting over to the middle. They both have Cheshire Cat grins upon their faces, and one suddenly forms on Rob's as well.

Rob jumps into the car, and hoots in victory. He's fucking crazy—they all are, really—but he is free.

Lana floors it, and the three of them zoom off. "So, where are we going?" Rob finally asks.

Lana, in her heart-shaped sunglasses, turns to him with an adorable smile on her face. "We're going to Coney Island."

"We're escaping to the great sunshine," Taylor adds. Rob laughs in return. It's like they're reciting lyrics to a song they don't even know yet.

"What did I tell you?" Lana asks. "The myth is true, isn't it?"

"I'll say it's pretty mythbusted," Taylor replies. The three of them laugh, and they know for sure that they have found paradise.

Two weeks later, Lana, Rob, and Taylor are happily living together in a house near Coney Island (they weren't allowed to move into an amusement park). Taylor doesn't mind sharing as long as Rob doesn't, and vice-versa. It's a strange deal, but it works.

One afternoon, Taylor slams an issue of Us Weekly down in front of Rob. Kristen Stewart and Rupert Sanders are on the cover. They appear to be on the side of the road in a very romantic moment. Rupert holds Kristen from behind, and they snuggle.

"What the hell is this?" Rob asks in surprise.

"You tell me," Taylor says.

Lana finishes editing the final lyric of a song and sets down her pencil and notebook. She makes her way to Rob and Taylor on the other side of the room, takes one look at the magazine cover, and raises her eyebrows. "Damn," she says. "I guess I don't know your girlfriend."

"Looks like she has a new English boyfriend," Rob says, grimacing at the magazine.

"Are you going to go back for her?" Taylor asks.

Rob shakes his head and snorts. "Not until November."

Lana smiles to herself—she has an idea.

"I'm glad we have time," she says, "because I have a friend I'd like you guys to meet."

"What does she taste like?" Taylor wonders. "Diet Mountain Dew?"

"You'll have to find out for yourself," Lana replies with a flip of her hair. "They call her a homewrecker. You may call her a primadonna. I just call her 'Marina.'"

Taylor's eyebrows raise, and he and Rob exchange a look. Lana's always full of surprises.

Lana goes back to her notebook and quickly reads over the song she's finished. It's just about perfect. Then she hands the notebook to her lovers and best friends. The love came from a very random experience, but it's very real. How the three of them are today proves that relationships can form from just about anything. The men stare down at the page and read. The chorus in particular sticks out to them. It always will. They can all agree that the song is perfect because it's true.

"Come on baby, let's ride

We can escape to the great sunshine

I know your wife and she wouldn't mind.

We made it out to the other side. . ."