Happy Sunday, folks—except it isn't Sunday, and it isn't 2022 anymore. I'm writing this in 2026, looking back at a week of gaming discourse that somehow still feels relevant. The original roundup I'm drawing from covered Thor: Love and Thunder's queerbaiting, Red Dead Online's quiet death, the return of Beavis and Butt-Head, a grown man's Roblox problem, and Lego Bionicle as a secret roguelite. Back then, I thought these were just weekly talking points. Now, they look like signposts for where the industry was heading. The more things change, the more I find myself returning to the same arguments: representation versus marketing, live-service fatigue, revival culture, platform addiction, and the strange ways old limitations create new genres.

The MCU Still Owes Us More Than Queerbaiting

In 2026, Thor: Love and Thunder is a distant memory, but its marketing sting remains. Jade King's feature argued that the MCU kept dangling LGBTQ+ representation without delivering on its promises. I remember the trailers and interviews hinting at something boldly queer, only for the film to offer a few coded moments and a lot of jokes. Valkyrie's bisexuality was acknowledged, Korg was charming, and yet the 'so gay' energy that was sold never arrived. That's queerbaiting: using the language of inclusion to attract queer audiences while avoiding the risk of actually centering them.

The MCU has since introduced more queer characters, and some projects have done better. But the problem hasn't disappeared. In 2026, I still see studios treat representation as a marketing tool rather than a narrative commitment. The lesson from Love and Thunder isn't that the film was bad—it's that audiences are tired of being teased. If you promise a rainbow, you'd better deliver more than a cameo.

Red Dead Online Is Dead, And That's Still Okay

Rockstar basically confirmed in 2022 that Red Dead Online was done with major updates. Stacey Henley argued it was good news: the small community could move on, and Rockstar could focus on GTA 6. I was skeptical at first, but in 2026, that decision looks pragmatic. Red Dead Online still has diehard players, and the world remains beautiful, but the lack of new content is a mercy compared to endless live-service teasing. I'd rather a game be officially dead than artificially kept on life support with seasonal events and empty promises.

Sunsetting is painful, but it's also honest. The alternative—a zombie live-service game that bleeds players and resources—is worse. Rockstar moved on, GTA 6 arrived, and Red Dead Online became a quiet memorial. Sometimes closure is the best update.

Beavis And Butt-Head Do The Universe: A Revival That Worked

Andy Kelly called Beavis and Butt-Head Do the Universe one of the movies of the year, and I still think he was right. The Paramount+ film brought the duo back with the same brilliant stupidity that made them icons, but it also gave both characters a bit more arc than we'd seen before. In 2026, revival culture is everywhere, yet few reboots understand their source material this well. It's crude, smart, and weirdly heartfelt. The film didn't try to modernize Beavis and Butt-Head into something they're not; it simply dropped them into a bigger sandbox and let them be idiots. That's why it worked. If more reboots respected their origins like this, I'd complain less about nostalgia mining.

I'm Still A Grown Adult Who Can't Stop Playing Roblox

Harry Alston admitted his Roblox addiction in 2022. In 2026, I feel seen. Roblox is more massive than ever, and it's still full of terrible games and exploitative practices. Yet I keep logging in. Maybe it's the creativity, the social chaos, or the weirdly compelling loop of earning Robux. Whatever it is, Roblox remains a platform that shouldn't work but does. It's a metaverse that actually exists, a game engine for kids, and a nightmare economy all at once. I've spent hours in obbies, tycoons, and roleplay servers that look like they were made in a fever dream. I can't defend it, but I can't stop either. Pour one out for all of us grown adults who know better and play anyway.

Lego Bionicle Was My First Roguelite, Too

Ben Sledge wrote about Lego Bionicle: Quest for the Toa and how Blockbuster rentals plus no save files made it a roguelite before roguelites were cool. I had the same experience. Every death sent me back to the beginning, and every run felt different because I had forgotten everything. In 2026, roguelikes are everywhere, but that accidental design lesson still matters. Sometimes limitation creates genre. The game was considered a mediocre action platformer, but to a Bionicle fan like me, it was something I had to have. I didn't know I was playing a proto-roguelite. I just knew that losing meant starting over, and starting over meant learning. That's the core of the genre: failure as progress.

What These Stories Say About Gaming In 2026

Looking back, that week in 2022 was a microcosm of everything I still care about. Here's how I'd map it now:

The common thread is that games and their communities never really let go. We carry old frustrations and old joys into new hardware and new storefronts. Queerbaiting still stings because representation matters. Dead live-service games still matter because time is precious. Revivals still matter because nostalgia can be done with respect. Roblox still matters because play is irrational. And Lego Bionicle still matters because our first roguelite is always our first.

So here I am in 2026, still thinking about that week. The industry loves to move on, but these stories remind me that nothing really disappears. I'll keep playing, keep complaining, and keep writing. Happy Sunday, wherever you are. 🎮